#the only reason I bought instant noodles

[skullwyrm]

So you're telling me that the little packet of powder that comes with instant noodles was supposed to be added to the water and a magical little extra you get that you snort before eating the noodles?????????

[judebelle]

been thinking ab joao and reader hooking up behind his teammates backs'... like they've been "involved" for a while but sometimes the tension is too much and they have to sneak away iykwim ;)

sneaky - j.f. x reader

a/n : omfg anon ur gonna be the death of meeeeeee!! also i made this kinda long since i havent posted in a while, oops..

pairing : joao felix x fem!reader

word count : 2.3k

summary : joao and u prefer to keep your love life private, secret even, but the the flirty looks and knowing smirks from across the room are becoming unbearable.

cw : smut obv, lil bit of alejandro x reader, sneaky joao and reader, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it ppl), make outs, cursing, me not bothering to accent his name lol sorry

---

you were starting to regret going out to dinner with your friend alejandro and his teammates.

the only reason why being that one of his teammates had become more.

hooking up with joao felix on the down low has been fun, you won't lie. and while you enjoy sneaky quickies and flirty messages, there were times where you wish you could just tear off his clothes and fuck that smug smile right off his face.

you were currently sitting in a restaurant, a private room and table was booked for alejandro, his barcelona teammates, and their plus ones. you and alejandro had become inseparable ever since you met in spain a few years ago, and you had grown increasingly close to his teammates.

very close to a certain mr felix.

the first time you met joao, it wasn't anything magical, you just thought he was fit. alejandro had introduced you to him when he came on loan to barca recently, and you just couldn't get him out of your head.

it seems that the feelings were mutual, as that very same night he followed you on instagram. you, of course, played it cool and took your time following him back (you waited like 10 seconds).

from there, you two messaged often, especially after the team would hang out.

joaofelix79 : u got home safe?

ynsusername : ofc i did

ynsusername : alejandro wouldn't let anything happen to me

joaofelix79 : that's good.

you two started messaging more, sometimes even calling each other late in the night. you couldn't explain why, maybe he was just fun to talk to.

you would complain to him about work, and he would complain about a mistake he made in training.

eventually, you two started hanging out alone.

not anything crazy, of course.

joaofelix79 : hey

joaofelix79 : js noticed im about to drive by ur place

joaofelix79 : wanna get some ice cream? my treat

how could you refuse that?

it wasn't all that shocking to you when a surprise ice cream date turned out into a steamy make out session on a bench in a park in the middle of the night.

"we should stop, someone might see us.." you murmured against the portuguese boy's lips, you yourself making no effort to.

"ok, if that's what you want." he pulled away from you, his fluffy hair disheveled thanks to you.

"5 more minutes" you placed your lips on his again, feeling him smile against them.

from there, weekly hangouts became almost nightly. he would pick you up in his car, and you would drive anywhere. you just needed an excuse to make out. you even put your number in his phone.

eventually, joao grew tired of the make outs that led to nothing, and you did too.

12:03 am - joao : wyd

12:03 am - you : was ab to put some instant noodles in the microwave lol

12:04 am - joao : dont bother

12:04 am - joao : come eat at my place

12:05 am - joao : i ordered uber eats

of course, you went, and you two ate the chinese takeout he bought. you two sat and laughed together at his attempt at using chopsticks.

and then you found yourself perched on his kitchen counter, him in between your legs while he rammed into you mercilessly. you left red marks across his back and biceps.

"my god, you feel amazing, querida." joao's words were muffled as his head was nuzzled into your neck, his lips caressing your hot skin with every word he spoke.

"i'm so fucking close, joao.." you whined and whispered curses while your hands found themselves travelling from his arms to his hair, tugging on the soft brown locks.

"let go, y/n, i'm close too!" he removed his flushed face from your neck and connected your lips together again, breathing heavily into your mouth.

you came undone with a sharp whine, arching into him. his thrusts became sloppy as he let out a long groan against your lips, releasing into the condom.

that was the first time you two had fucked, and it definitely would not be the last.

his house was usually where you two would hook up because it was so big, and you didn't have to worry about anything when you were there.

you two fucked anywhere - on the bed, in the shower, on the couch, even in the laundry room.

you found that it didn't really matter where you were. if either of you were craving the other, it happened right then and there. it was fun. it kept you on your toes, kept things fresh and fun.

but it became a curse when you two were at a team dinner.

---

"si, i told him he could go fuck off if that was what he wanted. that guy needs to learn some manners, for fucks sake!"

the table erupted in laughs as pedro went on about some story that you weren't really paying attention to to be honest. you were sat right beside your good friend, alejandro, who was very intrigued in pedro's story and hadn't spoken to you more than twice this evening.

across from you was joao. he was wearing a black dress shirt that hugged his biceps perfectly along with black dress pants. of course, to make your life more difficult, the top two shirt buttons weren't done up.

one more open button and everyone would've seen the hickey you gave him the other-

"isn't that right, y/n?"

alejandro was speaking to you, and you were too busy staring at joao's biceps to hear him.

"hmm? sorry?"

"i said, it was you who i walked in on dancing silently in the darkness darkness of your room, right?" alejandro smirked at the sight of your cheeks going red, this memory being nothing short of embarrassing to you.

"yup, that- uh- that was me..!" you looked down in humiliation as the table giggled at alejandro's unexpected story about you. he loved embarrassing you, it was his thing. he found it fun because he thought of you like a little sister.

you looked up to see joao, laughing along with everyone else at the table, finding amusement in your misery. you shot him a playful glare.

"i'm only teasing, mi corazón." alejandro chuckled before ruffling your hair. "ale!" you whined, fixing your hair. his friends teased you. they all thought of you as their little sister, especially you being one of the younger ones.

the men continued on with their conversations as you continued looking at joao from your end of the table, only this time, he was looking at you too.

he was taking a slow sip of his water, eyeing you down.

joao wasn't the only one dressed all sexy tonight. you wore a short black satin strapless dress that hugged your figure perfectly. you thought of joao when you picked it out, you thought of him while putting it on, and you thought of him taking it off.

it seems that joao had the same thought. the way he looked at you from under his lashes gave you the impression that your outfit choice was a smart one.

you sent him a quick wink.

he smirked and dropped his eyes to your cleavage, widening them.

you rolled yours before continuing to eat your steak.

---

you couldn't take it anymore.

something the way he laughed with everyone at the table, his hair flowing when he turned his head. he had on a gold rolex and a gold chain, both glistening under the lighting over the table.

it was the way he carried himself with such confidence. he knew he was hot, and he knew you knew it too. that confidence definitely carried over into bed.

finally, you got up from the table, excusing yourself to "make a call".

shooting joao a quick look, he took the hint. his eyes followed you, watching you exit the restaurant and head towards the parking lot. after an agonizing 30 seconds or so, joao told everyone he forgot something in his car, and made a beeline to where he saw you last.

he saw you standing outside his car, waiting for him. he made his way towards you.

"so, who did you have to call?" he teased, his eyes waiting for your reaction. you scoffed and rolled your eyes, "very funny.".

you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you as you leaned against his car. he smiled down at you before looking over your figure.

"nice dress.."

"just take it off."

---

you two had squeezed into the back of his car, leaving nothing but surrounding street lights as your light source. you straddled his waist, rocking your hips while you smashed your lips against his. you two were breathing heavily, occasionally breaking the kiss to huff and puff before going back at it again.

joao's arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, his right hand occasionally sliding down to cup and smack your ass. his actions made you yelp into the kiss. your arms were everywhere. cupping his face, on his shoulders, in his hair, on his chest, on his abs.

it was like you two hadn't seen each other in years. like you were drowning and the only way to breathe was.. this.

your smooth rocking of the hips created a hard bulge in joao's pants which felt great on your throbbing clit. he groaned into the kiss, breaking it for you to breathe and to leave kisses down your neck.

"so, fucking, horny" he broke each word with a kiss. you moaned above him. "you can't even last one dinner party without my hands all over you?" you wanted him to shut up, so you grabbed his face in your hand and smashed your lips against his.

you started unbuttoning his shirt, but your hands were too shaky to do it quickly. "take this off, god damnit!" you groaned as he laughed and began unbuttoning it himself. you hiked your dress up and helped him with the last few buttons.

you moved his shirt partially off him, leaving it on his arms since you couldn't be bothered. you leaned down to kiss his chest while looking up at him. he was smiling down at you, hands rested behind his head.

he brought you back up to pull the top of your dress down just enough so that your tits would pop out. when they did, he licked his lips. now it was his turn to lean down and suck on them, making you tilt your head back and pant.

"joao, we dont have time for this-"

"shhh, patience princesa. don't worry." he went back to sucking.

"they're going to realize we're gone- joao!"

he couldn't bring himself to leave your tits alone, but when he did, you quickly reached down and undid his belt , not even bothering to pull it off.

"estás mesmo excitado, não é?" (you're really excited, aren't you?)

you nodded and bit your lip.

he unzipped his pants and pulled his hard cock out of his boxers. you raised yourself up on your knees and hovered over his dick. he held it up with one hand, the other resting on your hip.

"are you ready for me?" he teased.

"enough questions." you cut his teasing short as you took his cock in your hands yourself and sunk down on him.

joao hissed at the unexpected pleasure. he looked up at you, gasping for air above him before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"move for me, bebé."

you did as you were told, lifting your hips up until just the tip of him was left in you, before sinking back down on him, agonizingly slow.

he shuddered at the feeling.

you picked up the pace, causing the car to rock. your tits bounced in his face, causing him to twitch inside you.

"fuck, y/n, you're amazing-" you laugh breathlessly above him, your hands resting on his shoulders for stability while his gripped your hips tightly.

after some time, your thighs were burning, and you were getting tired. joao picked this up, taking control. his grip on your hips was put to some use as he moved your hips up and down for you. he lifted and dropped you so easily and made you move so much faster. you felt the air leave your lungs and arched your back to stick your tits in his face.

he grinned as he thrusted his hips up, meeting you in the middle. he tilted your body back, and started to hit the spot inside you that made you see white.

your pants and gasps turned into moans and whines as you felt the bundle of heat in your core.

"joao, i'm close" you warned, your nails digging into his shoudlers.

"i'm right there with you, baby, oh," he groaned and grunted as he watched him drill into you faster and faster. "meu deus, foda-se!" (my god, fuck!) he hissed with gritted teeth as he felt you clench around him.

his pace was too much for you to hold back. you let go with a gasp and moan, your hand slamming and sliding down the steamy car window, leaving a print.

joao was, indeed, right there with you. he pulled your body off of him and set you down on his thighs hastily before stroking his red, throbbing cock, cumming all over your stomach with a string of grunts and pants.

you both sat there in the hot and dark car in disbelief, covered in sweat and panting, after having the most mind blowing sex you've ever had. you leaned your forehead against his and smiled. he chuckled before teasing you once more.

"let's go. we don't want to miss dessert, do we?"

[rassicas]

I spent way too long on this but I tried to calculate the exchange rate of Splatoon G to JPY using a can of pringles, which sounds ridiculous and it probably is, so I'd like to fact check with someone smarter and has actually been to japan. So I ask. How much were pringles in Japan?

well. i dont remember. i only bought shitty knock off pringles for like 170 yen bc it was the only salt and vinegar chip i could find. unbelievable. the real thing cant be more than 500 yen in stores?? i see what youre trying to do here either way certainly not half the price of a nintendo switch game, unless these mr munchy flavors are like rare imports and video games are cheaper in the splatoon world. and then the tissue box is almost 500G which sounds okayish, albeit a lil expensive for a single tissue box if 1G=1JPY

1G=1JPY seems to work fine for the clothing items and that seems to be the intent. a high quality brand name jacket and vest for 10000 yen? sure. a simple new t shirt for 800 yen? that sounds right.

meanwhile hotlantis pricing is just fucked. most items feel like 3 or 4 times more expensive than it should be when converted to yen.

irl squid cushions ive seen between 2500-3500 yen, so 9980 divided by 4? sounds right

an instant noodle thing like this i see from anywhere between under 100 yen to 300 yen. but if we were to divide this by 4 then thats still 800 yen which is kind of crazy, but seems almost reasonable if its some limited time thing or some fancy import. lets go with that. the aforementioned 498G tissue box? divide it by 4, about 125 yen for a tissue box sounds realistic. maybe were getting somewhere.

i think harmony should be shot

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness

Diverted-Dimension (Christmas 2024)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Why am I back here again!? Take me back to the canon!

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Finally!" You cheered, stepping back to admire the Christmas tree in the corner of your living room.

"It looks good." Pantalone commented, looking at all the trinkets placed on the tree. "Although, I believe this gadget would look better placed there... And this bauble, yes, hmm, perhaps on the branch above rather than--"

Y'know, it always takes one person to ruin everyone else's happiness doesn't it? Especially when their name is Pantalone. You rolled your eyes, ignoring his fiddling with what you considered a complete and beautiful tree.

Let's just hope Columbina doesn't see him fiddling with her decorations. For Pantalone's sake, you pray she takes five extra minutes in the bathroom so he can have a safe getaway when he's finished with something he sees as necessary.

Anyway, you've been preparing for Christmas day tomorrow. You wanted to put up the tree earlier, not wanting to leave it this late, however being busy babysitting and making sure all the Harbingers go to work with a happy mood sure takes up a lot of time. Not only does it feel like you're playing a very dangerous version of the Sims, but more importantly, it sucks that when all of them leave you have to entertain the others that don't go to work in the first place.

"It feels like the tree is missing something." Dottore chimed in, standing back with a finger on his bottom lip.

"Please don't say that, The Regrator is already driving himself mad with his own activities." Arlecchino stated 

Ignoring those two... They're right, something seems wrong with the tree. But you used everything in the box, what could be missing --

Oh, of course! How could you forget!?

"It's missing an angel on top!" You pointed out, walking over to the Christmas box and rummaging around.

After a while of digging and loud crashing noises consisting of you throwing out whatever you thought could also be added, you found a dusty china angel missing a hand.

"Agh, this won't do." You scolded yourself. "We'll have to go with a star instead. I'll have to cut one out later."

"Cut one out? How are you going to cut a star out of the sky?" Childe asked with a bewildered expression.

"They mean they'll cut one out of paper you damn idiot." Scaramouche glared out of the corner of his eye.

"I often see the Children of the Hearth doing something similar when I pass by..." Signora thought to herself out loud, leaning on one of the arms of the sofa.

"Yes, the children love cutting out different shapes and animals. It just so happens stars are one of the easiest things to make." Arlecchino nodded in agreement.

If it's so damn easy, why don't you do it for me?? You grumbled with an angry grin. It took you a few days to learn how to cut a good looking star out of paper due to your clutzy fingers, how dare they call it 'easy' in front of you!

"Hm? Why do you look angry at me?"

"No reason." You answered her, sharply turning your head away from her tilted one. "Do I even have any paper left? Ugh, I might have to use lined paper and paint it using gold nail varnish if push comes to shove."

"Absolutely not." Sandrone interrupted you. "That sounds messy and unnecessarily more difficult than if you just bought yellow card."

"And where do you propose I get this yellow card? Out of my arse?"

"No." She looked repulsed. "The shop? I saw some in an isle."

"When and why did you go into the corner shop?" You caressed your head, sighing when hearing her solution.

"That's unimportant."

"Sure it is. Anyway, I need to start thinking about how I'm going to cook Christmas dinner--"

"Oh no you don't." Scaramouche interrupted you with a cold voice. "The last time you cooked a genuine meal that didn't include those 'instant noodles', you poisoned everyone who has an organic stomach."

"No way, the Balladeer cares enough about me to not want to see me bedridden again?" Childe gushed with a chuffed smile.

"That's not important!" You raised your voice with flushed cheeks. "How did you know that what I cooked was 'instant' noodles? I never told you that!"

"I asked a staff member in the shop down the street when I saw the exact same package for sale in one of the pasta isles."

"Oh my god, how many of you have been in that damn shop without me!?"

The room stayed silent, some looking away with a cringe whilst others looked at you with unbothered faces.

“Do I count? I’ve never left the house.” Capitano raised his hand innocently.

"Unbelievable." You cried to yourself dramatically.

"I can't believe he's still fiddling." Pulcinella sighed with judging eyes, watching the banker radically move around the tree mumbling to himself like a robot given an impossible task.

"So this is what happens when you don't give him something to do after a long period of time. Lesson learnt." Pierro sweated, coughing into a clenched fist with shut eyes.

"It's not my fault." He turned to the group with hysterical eyes, every so often one twitching. Considering his eyes are always closed, you’re impressed that his mania has managed to do the impossible. "The Decider won't let me do one of the things I'm best at, manipulating an economy. Denying me access to undermining this country's government is making me go mad!"

"What a lunatic." You ignored him, eyeing his antics as nothing more than a regular occurrence at this point.

"So, we're up for cutting a star for the tree then?" You turned back to the group.

"It's your decision and your tree, so of course." Signora shrugged.

"I'm baaaack!~" Columbina burst through the door like a canary, singing with a pep in her step.

She stopped when she saw Pantalone running around the tree, her energy from earlier vanishing as fast as a bird when hearing a gunshot.

"Erm... It's not what it looks like." He turned around slowly, feeling her menacing and dangerous energy piercing his back.

He put his hands in the air, his smile shaking in fear.

"It better not be what it looks like." Her smile contrasted his own. "Because it seems you've been touching something I specifically warned all not to touch.~"

"He's dead, he's actually dead." Childe commented on the sidelines.

"Amen."

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

Sandrone left to go get yellow card whilst Columbina forced you to tear down the Christmas tree and start decorating it from scratch. She said it was a punishment for you also, due to letting him rearrange it despite hearing her warning. What bullshit, she just couldn't be bothered to do it again. Anyway, Capitano helped you hold the christmas tree up so you could wrap the tinsel around it without trouble. What a nice guy… even though he technically isn’t helping you with what counts most.

"I don't understand why we're cutting out stars. Can't we just use me as the angel?" Columbina giggled to herself.

"No, that would be weird." You frowned at her. "What I don't understand is why everyone is cutting stars with me. Didn't the majority of you say this is going to be boring? Do something else!"

"The 'something else' you're talking about was also boring." Scaramouche picked up his pair of scissors, tracing his finger on the sharp side.

“I’d much rather cut something up than count how many particles are in a cloud.”

“What does that even mean!?”

“Anyway,” Dottore coughed with an irritated stretching smile. “I propose we make this a competition.”

“Of all the childish suggestions–” Arlecchino was cut off.

“I agree, I agree!” Columbina nodded with a happy smile. “It can’t be too hard, maybe we should have a reward for who wins the competition?”

“Although I find the idea of a competition to be senseless, a reward does sound quite… boosting.” Pantalone thought out loud, a greedy smile on his lips.

“This is not happening.” You sighed to yourself, head planted onto the table with exasperation radiating off of your slumped form.

“But what reward could we put on offer? I’m not against competition, heck, I encourage it! But what could we all fight for which would allow us to fight at our strongest the whole time?” Childe leaned against his chair.

The Harbingers thought to themselves, the room erupting in silence with the occasional cough or sniff. All of a sudden, their heads turned and looked at you. Feeling their gazes burning into you, you looked up from the table to see them expectantly eyeing you.

“Ohhh no. No way in whatever thoughts you’re all sharing am I getting involved in this. I’m not becoming some trophy you can flaunt for the rest of the evening.” You denied them.

“But you’re the perfect solution!” Childe playfully pouted.

“Quit torturing them, Childe.” Signora scolded the young ginger. “I propose this; let whoever wins ask The Decider one question. That question can be related to anything, the future or the past.”

“Hmm, but how would we know whether The Decider wouldn’t lie to us?” Dottore suggested.

“I’m staying out of this one.” Pulcinella put his hands in the air, leaving the room. “You youngsters go have fun, I’ll sit this one out.”

“Rooster, I would suggest staying to supervi–”

“So you can go back to that dirty office you keep closing yourself in to work? No thank you, I shall handle your paperwork today. You supervise this time.” He gave the director a harsh glare, making sure to purposefully hit him with his walking stick before walking away.

“Sometimes I can’t tell whether the Rooster is secretly a teenage girl or is just simply strange…” Pierro muttered to himself. Sighing.

“How about both, mixed in with the fact that he’s a psycho with more control issues than you think.”

“Hm? You think even more than the Regrator?”

“Deffo.” You clicked your tongue. “He just hides it because he’s a champ like that.”

“Don’t change focus!” Scaramouche raised his voice. “I order you to answer me. You will tell the truth to the victor of the contest, no?”

“Hold on, didn’t we agree to ask our own questions once we deliver them to the Tsaritsa?” Childe questioned.

“That was just to get you to not hound The Decider back when we first found them.” 

“Fine.” You agreed with an eye roll, secretly crossing your fingers behind your back like a five year old. You’ll probably just make something up that sounds accurate when the winner asks their question. You’re betting that Sandrone will win this though, this kind of has something to do with her job after all.

“It’s decided then!” Columbina clapped in delight. “The Decider and The Director will be our judges. We’ll work for 10 minutes to create a star suitable to be put on the tree, then will be judged to see who has the best!”

“This is not gonna go well…” You said, trying your best to cover the shaky smile on your face. This is the best! You’ll just pick someone who won’t ask a question you don’t mind answering! Thank you Columbina for giving you this chance.

“You’re telling me!” Pulcinella shouted from the other room, sarcasm oozing like tar glooping down a slope.

“Count us down, count us down!” Columbina couldn’t contain her excitement, her body practically vibrating.

“Alright, alright… Ugh, I regret this… On your marks, get set, cut!”

“Seriously? ‘Cut’?” Pierro turned to you.

“What was I supposed to say!?”

The Harbingers sat at the table immediately started cutting, the sound of card shredding and small pieces emitting everywhere. Guess who’s going to have to clean that up? You thought with a frown, watching card pile up in the small crevasses in your carpet.

Looking around at the Harbinger’s cutting paper, you realise one was just sitting there watching the others work.

“Uhh, Capitano? Aren’t you going to begin?” You asked him.

“No.” His deep voice answered in return. “I am not going to join this display, no matter how entertaining it will be for you. Firstly, my fingers won’t fit in the holes of the scissors. And secondly, I have no question to ask you so entering just for victory would be pointless.”

“Brother, your fingers can’t be that big.” You deadpanned, letting your mind wander a bit too far with the thought.

He simply crossed his arms and continued to watch the others, ignoring you from then on. Oh well, he’s not interfering or arguing back like a child so you’ll let it happen. Besides, it looks like he quite likes watching so it’s the least you could do.

Pierro put an arm on your shoulder, getting your attention. You turned to make eye-contact and saw him hesitating in what to say to you.

“Do you need a defibrillator? You look like you’re having a seizure.”

“Who do you think is going to make the best star?” He said after, not registering your insult you said a few seconds prior.

“Wow. Did it really take you that long to think of what to say to me?”

“Quiet.” He warned you.

“Hmm… Who do I think is going to win?” You mumbled out loud, pretending to give it some thought. “Screw it, I’m not going to pretend. Sandrone’s going to make the best one because she does this kind of thing as a job.”

“Hah!” She guffawed after hearing your predictions, continuing her cutting with a content smile.

“Buuuut, that’s not what makes a star special. It isn’t just perfection, but passion and hope. I want to see how unique some people will make it… within reason of course.”

“I wasn’t expecting such an intelligent reply.” Pierro sweated. “Here I was, ready to scold you.”

“It’s like that’s all you can ever bloody think about when it comes to me.” You deadpanned.

“You give me no choice half of the time.” He sighed with a shaking head. “Your choices are often questionable and must be corrected. Would you rather have a physical punishment instead?”

Is this guy nuts?

“No… No, I would not.”

“That's what I thought.” He turned to look at the competition.

“Decider, help me out here.” Scaramouche clicked his fingers, beckoning you like an old woman would to her juvenile cat.

“Do I look like your pet?” You recoiled in disgust.

“I’ll let you leave the house to go to that dumb park you like if you help me right now.”

“I’m on my way!” You ran over to his side, peering down to see the mess of a star he’s created. It’s not bad at all, it’s actually your style - you like it a lot! What on earth could he need help for?

When you peered down to his design, you felt a cold unnatural hand grasp the side of your head and pull it closer to his face.

“Tell me how you like them.” He whispered. “Would you rather me add more detail or remove it? And don’t lie to me or I’ll kill you.”

“Pierro, The Balladeer is cheating! He’s bribing The Decider!” Sandrone pushed her chair back and stood up dramatically, pointing her scissors at the offender.

“Hey, no fair!” Childe whined. “If he gets to bribe them, let me bribe them too!”

“If anyone is to bribe the Decider, it should be me. I am the richest man in Teyvat after all.” Pantalone shrugged whilst lazily cutting.

“Correction: Ningguang is the richest in terms of all. You only count as the richest when it comes to being a man.” You pointed out. “And besides, I would never take your dirty money.”

Piero coughed loudly to quieten everyone down, all in the room turning to him like a deer in headlights. He waited until everyone stopped complaining and then spoke.

“Do continue with your cutting, you have less than a minute left.” He gestured to the timer. “And no bribery. The first to test my patience and even attempt to do so will be put under experimentation during the rest of our stay here and our return.”

“Oh, by all means, bribe away!” Dottore laughed at the Harbinger’s around him, silently cutting.

Huh? Less than a minute left? But when you last looked at the time they had at least 8 minutes left. You checked the timer once more, and found fat greasy fingerprints on buttons that weren’t there prior. You turned to the old man with an incredulous face, mouth wide open. He caught your staring, and put a finger on his lips with a small almost unnoticeable smile.

Pierro, you cheeky bastard. I love you for this.

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

The stars were laid out on the dining table, each Harbinger stood behind their own creations. Sadly but also un-sadly, some Harbingers were too slow and couldn’t finish their star in time. By some, you mean Pantalone and surprisingly Sandrone.

“I’m not going to hear the end of this.” Sandrone had her face buried in her hands, looking at her creation with malice. “In defence, I value time to craft perfection. Announcing a set time dampens my methods and results in mechanics such as this one. Ugh, what a waste!” She threw the craft off of the table, the star unravelling itself immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.” You sarcastically waved at her embarrassment. “And you, Pantalone? What’s your excuse?”

“The scissors you gave me were tampered with! I call for–”

“So I’m the problem? Okay, whatever…”

You walked down the table, looking at each star neutrally then nodding and moving onto the next. Now, you’re not an expert, but did they really think you wouldn’t notice? They all look the exact same! They all look like copied versions of Scaramouche’s design! When watching him try to bribe you, they must have thought you liked his design the best and copied him to have a fair chance. Well, they’re wrong! You’re just going to pick the person who will give you the least trouble when answering their question, jokes on them!

…That was your original plan. After looking at all the stars, you felt a new motivation when noticing one person didn’t copy and stuck to their own principles. Also they may or may not be the only person to not take this seriously and you want to mess with the others a little bit. Pierro will agree with you, he’s the type to disregard any copycats so he won’t have trouble with your choice at all.

“Okay, I’ve decided on my winner.” You announced, stepping back to view the expectant Harbingers.

“Arlecchino, you win.”

“WHAT!?”

“But why?” She asked, not looking surprised or pleased. “I could care less about an answer to a question, nor do I care about winning this childish competition.”

“That’s actually why I picked you. And because your star is an original design - sorry Scara, but uhh, you might have won if the others didn’t copy.”

“Of course.” He grumbled, glaring at the Harbingers staring at him. “One day, I’m going to murder all of you fools and sell your parts to people far worse than Dottore! I’ll get back at all of you for ruining my chances!”

“Anyway,” You tuned his violent voice out. “Yeah, you’re the winner. Pierro, what do you think?”

“...I agree.” He said in a quieter tone. “Now, I will be returning to my office to continue what’s left of my work… and review what The Rooster has already completed.”

As he was walking away, you turned back to notice the majority of Harbingers had walked away to go back to what they were doing prior, bored after realising they wouldn't be able to profit with staying around for longer.

“Do I get to ask my question now?” Arlecchino tapped her elbow impatiently with folded arms.

“So you do want the reward?”

“Despite it not being my intention when joining, I would indeed like something that was promised. Whether it be an accident or a purposeful decision.”

“Okay, fine. Ask away then.” You shrugged.

“As you must already be aware, the majority of my Children from the Hearth hail from Fontaine, the nation of justice. I won’t lie to you, I’m beginning to grow increasingly concerned with the prophecy where–”

“--where the whole nation will be flooded and all the people will be killed except the archon? Yeah, I know of it. Your point?” You finished her explanation, already having an idea of where the conversation was heading.

“Then you will understand I care deeply about the future of my children. Tell me, will I succeed in convincing the Tsaritsa to visit Fontaine to retrieve the Gnosis in place of Rosalyne?”

“Of course you’d use the question to ask about your ‘precious children’.” Scaramouche mocked. “Just how idiotic can you be?? This is your chance to ask about the future!”

You gave a harsh glare with icy eyes in his direction before sighing, a smile on your face. “Yeah.”

“Hm? You have to give a higher detailed response to that.”

“You go to Fontaine, Childe coincidentally also there for his own personal motivations which may or may not be important. The whole time you’re there, you’re investigating Furina and the prophecy. Long story short, that I WILL NOT be elaborating, the prophecy is sorted and the people are saved. This includes the children in the House of the Hearth.” You explained, pleased with the question she asked you and your own personal answer. Wow, you can even impress yourself sometimes!

“Excellent.” She sighed in relief, her face unchanging. “Thank you. But I do have to ask, is the Hydro Archon really working to prevent the flood?”

“That’s two questions. But fine,” You shrugged. “You can trust her. Everything is proceeding to the plan, although interrogation and suspicion do indeed accelerate it to completion.” You thought out loud, noticing her questioning gaze and smiling deeper.

“That’s enough serious stuff. When are we going to discuss presents? Now that the tree is up we need to put the presents under it!” 

“Uh… We’re flat-out poor. We can’t afford presents.” Childe shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to accept my love as a present instead!”

“Ew, what are you, five? Wait… Don’t come over here! Not after saying something like that!” You panicked, watching him run over to you at full speed and choosing to run away.

“Scaramouche you know how you said you’d take me to the park? I’m cashing in that favour right now!”

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, pining, best friends to lovers warnings: reader struggles growing her nails out, reader gets her nails done. vietnamese women are the best at doing nails i swear (also if you get the reference you win another kiss) wc: 1.08k

Spencer thinks you deserve all the best things in life. There are various reasons for this but the one that sticks out to him the most is that fact that you have always been exceedingly kind to him. You have always listened to him when he talks and never once tried to belittle him for any of his interests. A part of him thinks that it’s because your ages are so similar. Another part of him thinks that you’re just pitying him. He truly hopes that isn’t the case. 

He makes you your coffee in the mornings. He knows how you take it– which milk you prefer, the amount of sugar. He has even gone as far as to buy your favourite instant coffee brand– the kind that are unreasonably expensive and have to be bought through a weirdly sketchy website despite its raving reviews. He remembers the way your eyes lit up as you held the familiar box excitedly and he can’t help but preen at the memory. 

“Thank you for coffee, Spence,” you chirp as you spy your unofficially assigned mug on your desk. You’re wet from the rain, the shoulders of your coat darkened from where your umbrella has dripped water onto it. “Hotch would’ve killed me if I had to spend another five minutes at the kitchen. It’s not my fault my train came fifteen minutes late.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, watching as you shake your hair away from your face before warming your hands with the mug. “I did tell him that there was a correlation between rainy weather and increased train delays which could have been a reason that you were late.”

You smile, clearly amused, asking, “how did he take it?”

“He pointed out that I’m still earlier than the rest of the team,” Spencer responds sheepishly, his cheeks growing pink. “I planned my train route for when the rain would be the least heavy.”

“I should follow in your footsteps,” you muse, sipping at your coffee and sighing in relief. “You always make this better than me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs, his hand brushing against his scarf. “I was– um, I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together later?”

You laugh softly and he relishes in the sound. “I only just got here and you’re already asking about lunch?”

He feels his cheeks glow hotter as he scrambles to explain himself. “Well– usually– uh, JJ usually asks you so I guess I wanted to ask before she did. And you have lunch with Garcia a lot so I thought I should ask when you get here and– sorry, is that wrong?”

“No, of course not,” you assure, beaming. “I’m touched that you think that I’m so popular that you need to book an appointment with me.”

“You are popular?” He says it like a question because a part of him is genuinely baffled that you don’t realise how well liked you are. He has found that you always manage to command the attention in the room and he has seen first hand the way people would be instantly drawn to you. He finds that he is no different. 

“I promise you that I am not as popular as you believe I am,” you say with another laugh. “I’m flattered though, truly. I’d love to have lunch with you.”

Spencer cannot stop smiling.

*** 

“You’re whipped.”

Spencer shoots JJ a look, his cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment. “I am not whipped.”

“You have been staring at her talking to Officer Deetmore for the past six minutes and twenty seven seconds,” she points out, her eyes narrowing. 

“They’re probably just making small talk.”

Emily shrugs from her desk, mixing her cup noodles around. “I don’t know, I’m surprised that she can hold a conversation with someone so intellectually disinclined.”

JJ snickers. “You’re just mad that he mislabeled a file and spread the profile.”

“Intellectually disinclined.”

“Guys,” Spencer pleads, inconspicuously gesturing to you saying your farewells and already heading in their direction.

You’re smiling although it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your arms are folded over your chest, a classic sign of discomfort, and your hands are tucked into your armpits. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks instead of answering, soft enough as not to call attention to your little group. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Oh. I broke a nail.” You show him briefly– your natural nail has split at the corner just where they’re gaining length. “I’m a little bummed. It caught on the zipper of my go-bag.”

“Do you want to get your nails done after the case?” He asks, brows furrowing. “I have a nail clipper and file in my bag.”

JJ can’t help but be amused at this new fact. “You have a nail care pack in your bag? What, do you just take it around with you everywhere?”

He shrugs, ignoring the slight jab, pulling out the little pack from his satchel and handing it to you. He is well aware that you take pride in what you look like, especially your nails. You’ve told him the reason before, that your school was so strict that they wouldn’t let anyone grow their nails long and if they did they would be cut short by the nurse. He thinks that it’s borderline abuse. 

“Manicures are expensive,” you murmur, your eyes downcast as you focus on clipping each of your nails to an equal length. “Are we even allowed to have our nails done?”

“Federal Enforcement Resources states under grooming guidelines that ‘Makeup (including fingernail polish and artificial nails) may be worn by employees but must be professional and must not interfere with the proper use and handling of equipment necessary for their assigned duties’,” Spencer provides helpfully. “I can pay for your nails, too, if price is the issue. The bakery I buy my banh mi from has a nail place next door. I’m sure I can get a discount.”

You laugh as you file down your nails into a smooth edge. “You want to pay for my nails?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” He nods, cheeks suddenly hot and he wipes his palms on his slacks. “If you’d let me.”

“Gosh, well, at least take me out to dinner first, Spence.” You say it with jest, your eyes lighting up with mirth.

He doesn’t seem to catch your joking tone, nodding in earnest. “Alright. After the case, how does Saturday sound? I can pick you up at 6?” 

Emily and JJ are all too pleased. 

reblogs are always appreciated !!

[aayakashii]

I always considered fiction my main way of escapism from my own troubles and the world's troubles. After yesterday, I feel like we all need a little bit of escapism and comfort, and I did the only thing I can offer, which is to write. I hope this can bring a little bit of comfort to anyone who's feeling depressed or scared. I hope my blog can be a little safe space if you need to escape. Please take care of yourselves and ily <3

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, actually a lot of comfort, Luca helps reader cope with their feelings

Frostheim always made you feel inadequate. Small. Wrong. Not enough. Your blood wasn't blue and your voice didn't have the sound of centuries of generational wealth, unlike all of its students. Thus, you had no place in speaking up, or expressing your discomfort. Much less saying no.

Which was why you found yourself stuffed inside itchy, uncomfortable clothes that had been bought with Kamurai money – another reason why you couldn't run away from that place – nursing a glass of champagne that you would, most probably, not drink.

Frostheim's balls were a whole different torture on its own.

It's not surprising that the rich would pride themselves in following obscure little etiquette rules that made them feel like they were better than everyone else. It was fine, really. They could choke on their diamonds and coins and silver cutlery for all you'd care.

It's the fact that you had to endure them that truly abhorred you. Endure the waltzes, and the fancy canapes, and the constant flood of drinks, and the stares and the whispers and the stares and the whispers.

The stares and the whispers.

You knew how much people loved to gossip in that godforsaken dorm, but you hoped your professional (and almost friendly) relationship with both the Captain and Vice-Captain would keep them at bay, at least in front of you.

But you forgot that rich people have no respect for those they deem less important than them.

So you were standing on your own, in the corner of the giant ballroom, as you counted how many people would pass by, stare you down and snicker.

Your record for the previous ball was a little over 20 people. This time, you were already on 23.

What a lovely setting.

All you wanted to do was run, go to the campus’ store and beg Benkei to give you a little discount on a bulk of instant noodles and cheap wine. You refused to eat their expensive food as much as you refused to get drunk in front of them.

That was your plan, until the loudspeakers, carefully placed in every corner of the giant room, began playing a gentle tune that reverberated deep inside your bones, and caused you pain you weren't quite expecting.

At least not at that moment.

Much to your dismay, your eyes began to sting as the first words of the oh-so familiar song reached your ears and your grip on the glass tightened instinctively.

It was such an old piece. A cheesy, melancholic little tune released back in your early teens. Back when your biggest worry were your grades and being noticed by your cute classmate.

You downed the champagne in one go, trying to force the lump on your throat to disappear. Breathing became a little bit harder as you felt your chest squeeze with painful nostalgia and you stumbled towards one of the many balconies of the vast building.

You knew they would most always be empty due to the harsh winter weather right outside its glass doors, but you didn't mind. You needed space. Air. And if you were going to ruin your makeup, you wanted to do it on your own.

The singer's voice was slightly muffled, but you could still hear her. The lyrics lamented a wasted love, but all you could think of were the memories associated with the song.

You remembered carrying your childhood dog in your arms as you danced to it in your old bedroom, thinking about fairytale romance and the bright future ahead of you.

You remembered crying to the sound of it after your first heartbreak and the taste of salt on your tongue while your parents drove you to the beach, the song playing softly in the car's speakers.

You remembered sleeping soundly in a friend's room during a sleepover, the song playing time and time again after you all forgot to turn off the computer and the old music player.

You remembered your past life, seeming so far away from you despite you still being so young.

White, glittery flakes barely fell despite the biting cold that enveloped Frostheim like a snow globe. You shivered constantly, but were focused on how strongly you were biting your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Your hands gripped the balcony's railing tightly, as you tried to ground yourself.

You missed the sound of the door opening in your intense focus, only snapping out of your daze once you felt a warm coat being draped over your shoulders.

“You shouldn't be outside without a coat. You could catch a cold, or worse.”

Warm breath tickled your cheek and you turned around, only to face two bright violet orbs that widened as soon as you showed your tear-stricken face.

“What happened?” Luca placed his hands on your shoulder, squeezing them lightly, voice frantic. “Are you okay? Did someone say something to you? Did you get hurt?”

You sniffled, quickly shaking your head in order to stop the barrage of questions. You enveloped yourself with his coat a bit tighter, finally realizing how cold you felt. The scent of bergamot on his clothes managed to ground you better than your own nails ever could.

“No, I'm fine. Nothing happened.” You murmured, looking down, a bit ashamed that your breakdown just had a witness.

“Something must have happened. You're crying. If you're distressed, you can tell me.”

You stared at Luca's worried expression for a second before sighing. He walked to your side, leaning onto the balcony's railing like you were just a few moments before.

“It's… nothing important, really. It's just a song that was played there.” you murmured.

“A song?”

“Yeah, I… it's a song I used to listen to when I was younger. It made me remember, you know? Stuff. My life out of here.”

Luca's worried expression morphed into one of sympathy. His lips pursed as he nodded, understanding what you meant without needing other words.

“You must be missing a lot of people.” He said quietly as you settled yourself beside him, looking at the winter wonderland that were Frostheim's gardens.

“Haha, yeah…” You sighed, tired. “A lot of people I didn't get to say goodbye to, nor explain anything. People that probably miss me too. My pets as well. Friends. I had a lot out there. It wasn't much, but it was mine.”

Your voice became strained as your eyes watered once more. You cleared your throat, trying once again to push down that lump. You might have ruined your makeup, but you didn't want to cry even more in front of the boy – you didn't want to feel like you were victimizing yourself, even if deep down you knew you were anything but guilty of your situation.

Luca placed his hand on your head, his touch heavy and warm despite the ambient. His violet eyes looked at you with a swirl of empathy and pain.

“I understand you.” He said, swallowing hard. “It's jarring. The sudden changes, the fear of the unknown and what the future holds. I miss my family too.”

“Right… you came from another country.” You felt dumb for a moment. For venting your anguish onto someone that was living something so similar to you. And in Luca's case, he was all alone in a foreign place.

You suddenly felt small.

“Yes. And it's hard sometimes. Most times, actually.” He chewed on his bottom lip before giving you a small smile. “But I try to keep my mind set on something so I won't get lost in my emotions. Nor in my grief.”

“Your brother…”

He nodded.

“I set my mind into finding a way to get him back. And I won't back down from this until I've done all I can, until I have him back with our family. But also…” His eyes flickered towards yours, scanning your face.

“What?”

“I do have another goal to keep me afloat. Something else I fight for, so I won't give up despite how hard it all is.”

You tilt your head in curiosity. Luca places his gloved hand onto yours, the warmth seeping into your skin as he squeezes you tightly and his eyes burn with determination.

“I also want to find a way to cure you of your curse. To send you back to those people you love and miss. I want to help you get your future back.”

You couldn't help the way your eyes welled up once again, this time out of gratitude for the boy that stood right beside you.

You knew how Luca had to consciously choose to fight against the odds time and time again, despite how others didn't understand his drive and even deemed him weird or inconvenient. You knew how he worked so hard to one day achieve his goals and to have him so openly offer his hand to help you achieve yours warmed your heart.

“Luca…” You muttered, feeling the tears freely run down your cheeks.

“You won't be lost if we're like this.” He raised the hand that was intertwined with yours. You nodded, drying your eyes with the flimsy sleeve of your clothes.

“I'll help you find your brother too.” You announced, as determined as him, through a stuffy nose and dry mouth.

“Thank you.” He beamed at you, his smile blindingly bright. “And when you feel like this again, when you're lost in your own grief… I hope you know you can count on me. As much as I will count on you when I need your help. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Let's just ask Tohma to delete that song from his playlist, please.” You added and Luca laughed in agreement.

He pulled you towards the glass doors, leading you back into the warmth of the ballroom.

Before he opened the doors, he looked at you one more time.

“Let's help each other stay afloat?” He asked, smiling gently.

You smiled back.

“Let's. Thank you, Luca.”

“It's what I'm here for.”

He opened the doors and ushered you inside, shielding you from the cold outside.

[3-2-whump]

Earning Your Keep, part 1

<prev next>

For the first time in quite some time, we're getting a flashback, people!

Thank you beta reading team @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz

TW/CW: whump aftermath, recovery whump, conditioned whumpee, minor whump (at time of flashback), slave whump, mentions of nightmares, negative self-talk, and all those fun bits of healing and learning how to be a person again

A week. It had been an entire week since Thomas Costa had died, and now four days since he’d begun to live with the roommates. Khaled was alive, he was safe, and the roommates were… well, they were acting strange. Nobody had asked him to do anything he was uncomfortable with–not that he would’ve objected, of course. But, more confusingly, nobody had asked him to do anything at all. Sure, the trio would ask for his opinions, or if he wanted to do something or other, but they’d never explicitly told him to do anything, leaving him guessing as to what these people’s true motives were.

It had been four days, the roommates treated him so well, and Khaled had done nothing for them in return. It was more than weird; it was unacceptable! The first group of people in a very long time to treat him with a modicum of respect, and how was he repaying them? By doing fuck-all all day and tormenting them with his nightmares? When Khaled would have nightmares–vivid nightmares that wracked the whole house with screams–they would each take turns checking on him and settling him down until he could sleep again. And in the morning, when they’d yawn and shamble tiredly around the kitchen to get ready for the day, they reassured Khaled that he had nothing to apologize for, and that their visible exhaustion was not his fault. It was nice of them to lie like that, but completely unnecessary.

Khaled knew that, if not for the roommate’s grace and generosity, he would be out on the streets right now. Maybe that’s what you deserve, freeloader, the intrusive thoughts told him. But instead, he chose to focus on earning his keep. I can at least be useful to them while I’m here, he reasoned.

Make yourself useful. That was what he told himself the first day he was left alone at his master’s apartment all those years ago. The day after his master had bought him was a weekday, where the man had to go to work. He left Khaled at the apartment alone, and for the better half of the day, the boy tried to figure out why the mafia boss bought him and what he was expected to do. From all the stories he’d heard in history classes and dramatized Bollywood movies, the slaves to wealthy masters mostly did domestic chores, so he started on that premise. Khaled tried to cook, twice, which resulted in the fire alarm going off each time. (He only knew how to make a few simple things like buttered toast and instant noodles, and he wasn’t familiar with the induction cooktop.) He tried to do a load of laundry, but only got as far as putting the dirty clothes into the washing machine. He did not understand the settings on the washing machine well enough to even venture a guess on how it worked, so that chore was abandoned too. At least he did dishes; that was one chore the fifteen-year-old knew how to do correctly, regardless of language. He tried to organize the canned goods and the foods in the refrigerator, first by name (if he could read them), then by color/size/how they smelled. He wanted to vacuum and mop the floors, but he couldn’t find so much as a broom in the apartment anywhere. At least he found some rags in the linen closet. Once he finished wiping clean every flat surface in the apartment, Khaled realized he ran out of things to do. So, he spent the next nearly four hours sitting on the living room floor, watching the city from the wide windows, wondering what else he could do/what else was expected of him to do, and worrying that he did not do enough. Occasionally he’d follow the movements of the odd sparrow or pigeon that landed on the balcony.

After he finished fajr, Khaled quietly slinked to the kitchen. He flicked the lights on, looked over his shoulder, and silently stalked to the fridge and cracked it open to see what was inside. Eggs, butter, half an onion, a jar of kimchi, a jar of pickles, two rasgullas, a carton of Chinese takeout, and a package of baby carrots–not much to work with, but I’ve worked with less. He turned his attention to the coffee maker next. It was far less complicated than the artisanal contraption his late master used to keep on his countertop. He vaguely remembered using a coffee machine just like that one, a long time ago, when he was much younger, and more innocent, and far less damaged–

Enough of the self-pity, he mentally scolded. Within moments, he got the coffee machine to begin brewing dark, fragrant, caffeinated liquid. Now all that was left was the breakfast–maybe an omelet? After rummaging around as quietly as he could, he took out eggs, a frying pan and the other tools he needed, faced the stove… and realized it was gas-powered.

Shit. It wasn’t as if Khaled hadn’t cooked on a gas stovetop before, but for the past ten years of using a fancy induction-based system, he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. He turned the knob, listening for the hiss of the gas, but frowned when it wouldn’t ignite. A bright red lighter strategically placed next to the faulty burner caught his eye. He reached for it, held it as close to the gas source as he thought reasonable, and flicked it on.

He yelped in a cry of pain and dropped the lighter as the flames blazed to life, then quickly turned the knob to dial back the heat and fanned the stovetop with his other hand. Once he had assured that the fire alarm wouldn’t go off and alert the roommates to his early morning struggles, Khaled peeked at his hand. The burns weren’t serious, from his experience, but they did hurt. He rushed to the sink and stuck his hand under cold, running water. “It’s no big deal, it’s just a small burn, you can power through this, come on,” he told himself.

“Khaled? What are you doing? Are you okay?” a sleep-heavy voice asked behind him.

He whipped around, drawing his still-wet hand to his chest protectively as Vikash stood there, hair mussed up and eyes heavy with sleep, but slowly coming to his senses as he pieced together what happened. “Let me see,” he directed him. Reluctantly, Khaled extended his burnt hand to the doctor, who examined it carefully. “Yeah, we usually don’t use that burner for this exact reason,” he belatedly warned. Vikash turned off the stove and retrieved a first aid kit from one of the cupboards.

“What are you doing up so early and burning yourself for?” he asked as he treated his hand.

“I-I wanted to make breakfast,” he said. He gestured toward the eggs on the counter and the coffee machine that just beeped.

“Really?” Vik hummed. He threw a glance at the window above the kitchen sink, noting it was not yet dawn. “It’s kinda early, though isn’t it?”

“I know you and Eric work early, so I wanted to make it for you while you were still here,” Khaled explained.

“O-oh, that’s–that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to do that!”

“I wanted to. Besides,” he murmured into the floor, “it’s the least I could do.”

Vik paused, then sighed. “Khaled, I appreciate the gesture, but it’s okay. Eric and I can look after ourselves, you don’t have to feed us.”

Khaled’s brow creased with confusion. “But, how else can I repay you? I don’t pay rent–”

Vik took down a mug from the cupboard before re-lighting the troublesome burner on the stove. “For now, just focus on getting better. Both physically, and mentally, okay?” he answered. Once he’d gotten a reluctant ‘okay’ from Khaled, Vik cracked the eggs into the bowl Khaled took out.

His master came home that night, unhelpfully silent as he scrutinized everything from the pile of undone laundry to the trash can full of burnt or half-cooked food. Khaled didn’t say a word as he nervously awaited either a scolding or a punishment. “What did you do all day?” his new owner had asked him. “I fulfill my purpose, sir,” the boy replied awkwardly. “Your purpose?” he echoed. “What you buy me for, sir.” “So, you cleaned? You tried to do laundry? You… cooked?” Attempted to, anyway. Khaled nodded, holding his breath. “What?” The boss shook his head. “No, you don’t get it–I hire people to do this! I have a cleaning service that comes twice a week, and I rarely cook myself! Why did you just–” he let out a loud, gravelly sound between a groan and a sigh. “Then why buy me?” the boy asked, cocking his head like a confused puppy. “What is my purpose?” “Your purpose is to–um, is to–” The man shook his head, as if he was trying to dispel a fly or an invasive thought. In hindsight, Khaled would look back on this moment with disgust and dread, but at that time, he didn’t know what to make of his master’s reluctance to answer. “That’s not important right now. Just bag up the trash and put my laundry back. I’ll order us some takeout,” Thomas Costa said.

Khaled watched dejectedly as Vik whisked the eggs and poured them into the hot pan. The roommates were being way too generous with him. This kind and benevolent façade was sure to crack eventually, just like last time, and he didn’t want to be accused of being some ungrateful, parasitic freeloader once it did. Surely there must be some way to repay them, preferably before they came up with a payment themselves. He’d just have to try harder until then.

Le Tag List (also if you want on or off, nbd, just let me know 👍🏼): @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @borp0

[maleyanderecafe]

Channel 453 -Shadows of the Game- (Visual Novel)

Created by: Bulhwa

Genre: Horror/Romance

The unfortunate thing about this one is that while the artwork is gorgeous, the UI looks great and it's a time loop story, it starts to stop making sense after a while. I'm not sure if it's because of the translation or story itself, but either way it unfortunately makes the visual novel pretty confusing and in a way that's not very fun.

The story starts out with the main character moving into a new apartment. She seems so excited, but is tired from the move. After getting into their apartment, they find a note on their TV mentioning channel 453, something that they are curious about. They can have the choice to go to this channel out of curiosity, or watch their normal channels. Upon going to this channel, the MC sees a young man there who introduces himself as Liotte. He starts talking to the MC, which makes them a bit unsettled considering it's not every day that you talk to someone inside of the TV. After some chatting, the MC goes to make herself some instant ramen but ends up cutting herself while opening one of the packages. Liotte notices this and gets really freaked out and possessive, stating that this should have never happened. This leads to them causing a time loop (?) and them going back in time a couple of times. Eventually, the MC shuts off the TV, leading to a strange man named Ivan to appear in her house. Ivan talks about how he gives wishes and that Liotte made a wish that caused him to be like this. He ends up teleporting the MC into the backstage where we learn bits of his backstory, like how he knew the MC from when she was younger. It's implied that he made a deal with the devil (which I think in this case is Ivan) for him to be together, with the curse of them essentially being stuck in a timeloop.

The good ending has it so that the two of them get together, while the other two endings have him sad that he isn't with the MC, or at least she doesn't reciprocate his feelings as much.

The artwork and UI in this one are genuinely very pretty, with a lot of work done in on making it look nice. The video effects for when Liotte freaks out and asks the player if he's the worst are nice, as well as the video that plays when they're placed into a timeloop. UI, again, also extremely pretty and well placed.

That said, after the entire incident with the cutting her hand on a noodle packet, everything becomes very confusing very fast. Loitte becomes suddenly very hostile towards the MC, wanting to cage her and trying to get her to rely on him, while also talking about how they met each other in the past? I don't really understand what is going on after this point, and I'm not sure if it's because of a translation thing since the original game was in Korean or if it more or less plays out like it was in the original and the game is pretty accurate to it's English counterpart, but either way, I genuinely have no idea what happened after that point, and lot of it was guess work. Ivan appears in our house for no reason, and seems to know about Loitte's history. From what I can tell he seems to be the god/devil that made the initial deal with Loitte in the first place, though he seems more like a trickster if anything. I'm not sure what even caused the good ending considering that I think the only major difference is that we talked to Loitte a little bit more about his hobbies. Normally I think timeloop stories are pretty good since I like the way that people use them to sort of show the deterioration of a yandere's psyche, but this one... was just confusing. I can't even tell if the MC remembers what happens during the time loops because in some instances it seems like she does while in others she doesn't, with no reason or rhyme. I also don't know if it affects anything, since it doesn't seem like time is really affected, given that it doesn't seem like the MC goes back to before she bought the apartment or even before she made herself instant noodles.

It's hard to say because I really don't understand what's happening and I don't know what the reason is behind that, whether it's a translation thing or if this is actually what it's giving us. Either way, as of now, I don't really know how to feel about it because again, I don't really understand. It certainly has good presentation as stated from before, and Loitte's design is pretty cute, but story wise, nothing really makes any sense. Hopefully, this can be changed in the future, but for now, I think the presentation is really what is holding this game up for me.

[sgiandubh]

For a very quick, but effective fix: Pasha's improv rustic pizza

Meet Pasha IV, Shipper Mom's British Shorthair spirit animal and soulmate:

This is the most lazy & gourmet being ever to grace this planet, so it's only normal to dedicate the following quick fix recipe to him (pets are never 'it' in this house, nor should they ever be - damn grammar!).

This is a freestyle recipe I invented for myself back in my first days of desperate cooking apprenticeship, in Paris. Leaving home at 18, with virtually zero food skills, I quickly realized it was not reasonable to eat every single day in town. My path to cooking began with books, fantasizing scrumptious recipes and a lengthy, persevering trial and error process. I always was a difficult, horrendously fastidious client, but now I was slowly turning into a monster, keeping my eyes peeled on cooking gestures and mannerisms, wherever I could find them.

This pizza experiment was an instant success and the moment the coin dropped: I actually could do things to and with food, that would be something more than survival. The rest is reading ahead, combining ahead and never being shy to ask around for that recipe. From taxi drivers to friends, they were all more than happy to generously indulge, all around the world.

You need whatever you have loitering around in your fridge and you aren't really sure how to recycle. I even happily, barbarically put mac & cheese or cold satay noodles (want my recipe? I poached it in Phnom Penh) on it. Tuna/corn/red onion is a sure combo and so are deli bits and bobs/corn/Vidalia onion. Cold roast beef, too. Diced ham, onion and even roasted potatoes leftovers, plus heavy cream - only in winter. Sardines (tinned), lemon/orange zest, ground pepper and perhaps a dash of coriander leaves (add herbs at the end, otherwise, they will go bitter). Fresh goat cheese, pistachio, figs (even fig jam will do) and balsamic vinegar. Sky is the limit. I also never use Mozzarella, and yes, please curse me - I always use Irish red cheddar, because this is what you are likely to find in my fridge until the end of time. And whenever you can or see fit, break an egg on top of it three to five minutes before you take it off the oven: it's called Pizza Radio and it is a local Corsican secret.

Preheat the oven at the usual temperature: 350 Fahrenheit/180 Celsius.

Unroll a store-bought pizza pastry sheet in a parchment paper lined 13x8 baking pan. Let rest while you prepare the easiest sauce in the world.

Mix Heinz ketchup, Sriracha and sweet Thai chili sauce. Should yield about a cup - proportions vary according to your own resistance to heat: one of the reasons you should taste your own concoctions and do it often. If you went overboard with the sacred Sriracha, immediately add honey or some brown sugar, until rectified. Add two Tablespoons (30 ml) of EVOO and mix well. Spread on the pizza pastry sheet with your usual brush.

I always try to use this one, but any brand will do:

4. Add the grated Cheddar, with spiral, clockwise movements (this is something I stole from a pizzaiolo in Florence, it is the only way to make sure all the surface gets evenly covered).

5. Thinly cut the onions (you know: halve them, then go ahead exactly like you would do for onion rings or quarter them and go ahead for more caramelized crunchiness, curse TPTB and cry your arse out). Add them on top. I had red onion - it is stellar with cold cuts.

6. Add whatever it is you want to garnish the pizza with. In my pic, we had thinly cut (recycled) debreceni kolbász (Debreziner) sausages and diced Prague/cooked ham (you need something more neutral to counterbalance all that heat).

7. Finish off with 150 grams/5 ounces (drained) canned sweet corn. No particular brand, but make sure it's dry before you add it on top of this.

8. Bake in a very hot oven for about 20 to 25 minutes. Take out, let breathe (5 minutes tops), cut and devour. I guarantee no leftovers.

You're welcome! We'll get to more serious things this evening, though.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

The Boss’s Heart

Chapter I: When Opportunity knocks

Summary: You’ve had enough of working for your slimy boss, but the bills need to be paid. Just before you give up all hope, a stranger comes in one night and paves a new way of opportunities for you.

Warnings: guns, horrible bosses, sexist behavior.

This is more of a prologue to get the ball rolling :) leave back any feedback you have

The streets lay desolate and cold, a biting chill hanging in the air, occasionally broken by the shadowy figures of drug addicts lurking in the corners. As you walk, your foot nudges a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the slick pavement. The can clatters and rolls, glinting in the dim light, before finally bouncing off the jagged surface of a weathered brick wall.

Walking home from your job was never fun.

The seedy bar you worked at preferred keeping you during the closing shift. According to them, having a woman working would draw in people, which was true, but the place was still a dump. No amount of skin showing would have people lining up at the door for warm alcohol and unsalted peanuts.

The owner wasn’t a peach either. Mr. Norris was an older man in his sixties, with a bald head and a nasty attitude. When he wasn’t drinking the gross liquor, he was holed away in his office, finding out ways to cut corners with expenses, with a dry cigar hanging from his lips.

The bar, The Purgatory Lounge, used to be a pretty lively and popular place before Mr. Norris took it over. Norris bought out the previous owner after seeing the success and money it brought in, but his cheap tendencies eventually caught up to him. The place was falling apart, multiple staff members were let go, and the patrons went from everyday people to the lowest scum wandering the N109 Zone.

Fishing out the keys from your purse, you pushed open the creaky wooden door and shut it behind you.

Home sweet home.

Your home wasn’t terrible-ish? Eh, it was still a roof over your head. The space was a small one-bedroom apartment with the paint on the walls fading, cracked, and tinted yellow from the previous tenants who were smokers. The only pieces of furniture you had were a small armchair that had torn fabric and a table where you would eat your microwaveable meals. You wanted some little house plants, but unfortunately, natural lighting doesn't exist in the N109 zone. The bright white light flickers as you flip the switch and toe off your shoes.

After peeling yourself out of your work attire, you changed into some comfy pajamas and scrolled through job websites on your computer. The little inbox icon on the website’s toolbar remained empty no matter how many times you’ve refreshed the stupid page.

You have had dozens of interviews for different places, but there was always a reason they couldn’t hire you. The more popular bars in the city thought you didn’t have the look they were going for, which was just a nice way of saying you looked too poor.

Other places were looking for men to do the jobs, as a lot of them were too shady or labor-intensive for a ‘little thing like you.’

You were one paycheck away from being homeless at this point. Norris had cut your pay again, making you just a few cents above minimum wage, which was never enough to keep anyone financially stable. At least before his old ass bought the place, you could save a little bit of money before. Now, you’re counting pennies and being forced to decide if you want your heater on or the water.

Shutting your laptop in frustration, you made some instant noodles before heading to bed. As you lie underneath the covers, you toss and turn.

Maybe you’ll dream about being a princess again, living in your huge castle with a handsome prince beside you, your bellies full with a warm fire crackling across the large king-sized canopy bed.

Maybe tomorrow would be different.

But it never is. It’s always the same routine day in and day out. That's all it would ever be.

——

“Mr. Norris, you left before handing me my check yesterday.” You say calmly, but deep down you are fuming.

You were in the middle of making the customer in front of you a cocktail when Norris walked in. You could tell he tried to duck past you and head straight for his office, but you had bills to pay. The guy sitting on the stool in front of you looks between the two of you curiously.

Mr. Norris sighs heavily, tucking the folded-up newspaper under his sweaty sleeve. “Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time, we’re getting audited again and-”

“That’s okay.” You smile and pass the customer his drink after garnishing it with a mint leaf. “I’ll just come pick it up when my shift is over.”

“I don’t have your check, Y/n,” Norris says, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Then I should expect it cash then, right?” You look back at him with your head tilted. “Payday was yesterday, sir. Unless you’re going to pay my light bill, I need the money.”

Norris stays silent for a few moments before he rolls his eyes and waves his hand at you, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the only customer you’ve had in hours. “Come by my office before you leave.”

The office door closes behind him, and you roll your eyes at your cheap boss before turning to the gentleman in front of you. “Sorry about him, is there anything else I can get you?”

“No worries, Miss. I’d hate to work for a sleaze ball like him.” He sips his drink before making a sour face.

This guy isn’t dressed in stained sweats either, instead, he wears dark slacks and a grey dress shirt. He almost looks too normal to be in such a place. Maybe he just isn’t familiar with the area, perhaps?

“You want something that doesn’t taste like shit?” You place down the glass you were polishing and don’t even wait for the guy to answer before you duck under the counter and unlock the mini-fridge where Norris keeps his pricier alcohol. He forbids you and the other bartenders from selling it- it’s a special privilege for him only.

“Here.” The chilled amber liquid fills the glass halfway before you slide it over to him. “Sorry about that first one, I can only work with what I have.”

The guy takes a long sip of his whiskey and nods appreciatively. “Don’t worry about it…”

“Y/n,” you smile politely and hold your hand out to him.

“Apollo.”

“Cool name.” You comment and go back to polishing the glasses. Apollo seemed like a nice guy, and he looked to be in his thirties- and the best part is that you didn’t get the vibe that he was a pervert at all.

“Why you workin’ in this shithole, Y/n?” Apollo crosses his arms over the counter.

“Uh,” you drag out before shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t find another job. Trust me, I’d leave if I could. What about you, though? You look like you’re smart. What made you stop in here?”

The man lets out a chuckle. "My wife’s sister a few streets away, and I just finished up at work meeting. Thought I’d catch a drink before stepping into the chaos.”

“Yikes, that bad?”

“I love my wife… hate her sister. That chick is crazy.” Apollo throws the rest of his drink back and holds his glass out to you. “One more for the road?”

You nod and pour him another glass.

“Why are you hiding this stuff? This is some high-end shit.” Apollo asks.

“That’s the boss’s personal stash. I told him we’d make money off of it, but no, he knows the clientele that normally drop in. They deserve what we have, his words not mine.” You give him an awkward smile and raise your hands in defense.

“So why give it to me?”

Once again you shrug and dump out the bowls of untouched peanuts that were strewn across the bar. “You were nice to me. Actually wanted to have a conversation instead of asking if you could hit it.”

Your face turns bright red at your words. “Sorry, you’re like the first person I’ve had a conversation with all night.”

Apollo laughs again and waves it off. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine.”

For the next twenty minutes, you two engage in small talk. Not a single customer walks in, so you begin to tidy up for the night.

As you wipe down the counters and straighten the liquor shelves, you find out Apollo manages a warehouse on the outskirts of town, he’s got a beautiful wife, and two small kids whom he’d do anything for. All in all, a pretty down-to-earth fella.

He asks why you haven’t found another job yet and you indulged him in your rotten luck with the shitty job market in this city.

Apollo throws back the rest of his whiskey before slapping a few bills on the counter.

Your eyes widen as you quickly count the amount in your head. “Oh no, that’s too much, I was just gonna charge you for the first drink, don’t worry-”

“Nah, take it. I have a feeling you won’t be getting your check after your shift.” Apollo frowns as he glances towards the closed door where Norris disappeared. “He better not see a cent of this, alright? Take the amount that you need for the shitty drink and pocket the rest. It’s a tip.”

You smile at him appreciatively. Normally, you wouldn’t be one for handouts- but money is money, and you have very little of it.

“Thanks, Apollo.”

“Anytime, and here.” He pulls out a business card from his wallet and places it on top of the cash.

“That’s my work address and phone number, call me or stop by when you’re ready to leave this place.”

You stood speechless as he offered one last wave, a smile on his lips. With a tug at his coat, he exits through the door. ——— By the end of your shift, you grab your jacket once the closing tasks are done. Hesitantly, you knock on Norris’s door.

“Come in, Y/n,” Norris says lowly.

Opening the door, the room reeks of his cigar smoke. Your eyes fall to the scattered papers surrounding his desk.

“Do you have my check, sir?”

Mr. Norris chuckles slightly before he wheezes and shifts into a coughing fit. He picks up the small waste bin that was overflowing with crumpled balls of paper and spits in it. Your mouth curls up in disgust at the sight.”

Do you know how much money that bottle costs?”

You stiffen at his words. “W-what bottle, sir?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, did you forget I have cameras in this shithole?” Mr. Norris stands up, and you clutch your jacket tighter as your anxiety builds up.

His hands are in his pockets as he casually walks over to you, but you keep your head up high.

“If I remember correctly… it costs much more than you can afford, right?”

You can feel your heart rate quicken and the blood rushing to your ears. “I don’t know, sir. It was only two glasses, and I told you if we sold that kind of liquor here, we’d have more customers.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think.” His tone is bitter.

“I’m the owner here, not you. Got that?” Norris turns around and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just hold your check as compensation.”

Your eyes widen, and you step forward in desperation. “No, you can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. You stole from me. I can do whatever the hell I want and you’re lucky I don’t fire your little ass. Besides, I saw that stack of cash he gave you, that should cover your light bill, right?” Norris gives you a smile before gesturing you to the door.

“Mr. Norris-”

“The job market is pretty bad right now, isn’t it?” His words cut you off. “I would just hate to see you wind up on the streets selling yourself for a couple of bucks. No one wants to hire a little brat like you, so if you think about it, I’m technically saving you right now.”

You look at your boss in shock at his words. The whole situation makes you want to almost throw up.

He sits back down in his chair and waves a dismissive hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” — The harsh breeze stings your face as tears mercilessly roll down your face. At least you dared to wait until you left the building before you started crying. You were so done. With Norris, with that stupid bar, with having no money to survive. Everything.

You kept your head down as you walked home.

You just dared any mugger or criminal to try and mess with you right now. You had no real way of dealing with your frustration or anger besides a few tears here and there.

When you made it home, you didn’t even want to eat. Stripping to your underwear, you collapsed on top of your squeaky bed and cried.

———

You pulled the sleeves of your thin coat over your hands as if they would cover the nerves. The work address Apollo had given you took you to a warehouse hidden within the desolate city. It was rather shielded, much to your surprise. The walk was relatively creepy, too, passing by barren trees and chipped pavement that you only stumbled on once. Something screamed at you to forget about the job and head back home to your small apartment before being humiliated and taken advantage of by Norris at the bar. Your brain mulls over the possibility of you being kidnapped, trafficked, and killed, all before 7 a.m..

“Maybe I should've called him first," you wondered aloud as you finally made your way up to the rickety chain link fence surrounding the property. Various 'KEEP OUT' signs were strewn along the links.

The fence rattles, aggravating the creepy silence of the night. You can't help wince as the metal chains holding the gate clink loudly together.

"Damn it."

Locked.

You pulled the two gates apart with as much slack as the chains would allow and squeeze underneath the metal. The warehouse rests about half a mile from the fence with prickly shrubs and dirt patches littering the yard.

The large doors at the entrance are locked shut, much like the perimeter fence. Luckily, you were able to find a door cracked open by a small slat of wood around the corner.

The door creaks loudly as you open it, and you cringe at the noise and push it back against the peg gently.

Turning around, you're met face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. The silver metal gleams under the dim white lighting. Your body tenses, and a gasp escapes your lips as you freeze in shock. Instinctively, you raise your hands in a defensive gesture, your heart racing as you brace for what's to come.

"You have twenty seconds to explain who you are and why the fuck you're here." The man holding the gun demands. He stands taller than you with a bulkier build.

"S-Shit, I'm sorry! Don't shoot, don't shoot. Apollo gave me this address! Here, I have his card…" With trembling hands, you reach into your purse and pull out the crumpled business card Apollo had given you not twenty-four hours ago.

The man snatches it from you quickly, and his eyes skim over the small lettering before tossing the card to the ground. He grumbles something under his breath and grabs your bicep, making sure to keep the gun pointed at you. You don't dare utter another word; you can practically hear your gut telling you, 'I told you so.'

This is it. This is how you die.

Your feet move with his subconsciously, your shoes tapping against the metal floors with every step. The gun still taunts you as it's pressed rather snugly against your shoulder. Sweat beads down your neck, and suddenly your thin coat feels extremely hot.

The man drags you to a closed door and knocks rather aggressively.

A loud sigh is heard on the other side, and then you hear it- that familiar voice. "Come in, Will."

Will opens the door, and you're met with Apollo sitting casually on his desk and sipping on a cup of coffee. Instead of the slacks and the dress shirt he wore when you first met, Apollo was in a navy jumpsuit.

"Oh, hey!" He jumps off the desk with a grin that heavily conflicted with your traumatized expression. "I was hoping you'd finally leave that shitty bar. Good to see you again, kid."

"You know her?" Will asks.

Apollo nods and grabs the nose of the gun, pushing it away from your body. "Yes, I do. No need to scare her."

Will nods and holsters his gun, he looks at Apollo, who only gives him a nod before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

"You alright there, Y/n?" His voice breaks you out of your stupor. It takes a second for his question to register in your head.

"Y-yeah. Just ya know, never had a gun pointed at me before."

Apollo nods and gestures for you to sit in the empty chair across from his desk. “Better here than by yourself on the street.”

You sit down and try to stop your hands from shaking so violently- instead, you clasp them together tightly in your lap.

"Can I get you some water or coffee?" He offers, and you shake your head. The silence is a bit awkward for a few moments as Apollo grabs some papers from a desk drawer.

Finally, you break the silence. "What exactly do you guys do here?"

"We distribute weapons." Apollo answers, keeping his gaze on the paperwork in his hands. That's it? No other details…?

"For who?"

Apollo's soft brown eyes meet yours, but they don't hold the same warmth as before—it's as if he was tentative to tell you.

"Onychinus."

Onychinus? That criminal gang you've only heard horrible rumors of from the streets? The same Onychinus that can make people disappear from multiple records in just a few seconds? That Onychinus?

"Oh."

"Is that a problem, Y/n?" He asks, setting down the papers in front of him.

"I just…" Don't know if I want to work for a gang.

“Onychinus isn't a gang," Apollo tells you as if he was trying to be reassuring. Shit, had you said that outloud? "We're the faction that controls the entirety of the N109 Zone."

You miraculously break out of your petrified trance and had to stifle a scoff. "Is that not what a gang is, though? I mean, you guys 'control' the city, and word on the street is that the N109 Zone is run by criminals."

"Look, Y/n, you didn't receive your check from that shitty boss of yours, am I right?" Apollo places down the papers and leans his head on his hand. His words reel you into check and you’re quick to shut your mouth and remember where you’re sitting.

Your only response is to nod.

"I know it seems scary here, but we look out for each other believe it or not. Especially the boss. He takes care of us so long as we follow through on our part. I mean, yeah, sometimes we need to put people in their place if they mess with us, but a lot of the guys here have families. I told you about my wife and my kids, too. Here," turning around breifly in his swivel chair, Apollo grabs a picture frame from atop the metal filing cabinets.

The photo captures a woman with short, tousled blonde hair that accentuates her dazzling blue eyes that sparkle with warmth and joy. Beside her are two children, the perfect blend of their parents' genetics. The smaller child, a girl with chubby cheeks and a playful smile, is nestled in her mother's embrace, radiating innocence and happiness. Meanwhile, the older child, a boy with tousled brown hair, wraps his arms around his mother from behind, flashing a carefree grin.

Your fingers trace around the edge of the frame as you contemplate your choices.

"So I'm gonna ask you, do you want the job or not?"

"…yes."

Apollo nods thoughtfully and turns the stack of papers around to face you. He leans in, the gentle clinking of his pen from his shirt pocket momentarily breaking the silence as he retrieves it. Your gaze glides over the printed words, scanning the dense paragraphs, until it lands on a substantial figure.

There, in bold contrast, the metal ballpoint of his pen hovers, tapping against the dollar sign as if emphasizing its significance. "That's what you can make your first year here, kid. If there are no problems, of course."

With wide eyes, you swallow hard and suddenly regret not taking him up on his offer for a drink earlier. Your dry lips part as if to say something, but before you can utter a word, Apollo interrupts.

"Full-time benefits, too. Paid vacation, uh, what else…" He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back into his chair.

There was no way this could be real, right? I mean, what job pays this well, offers benefits, and vacation, without you having to sell someone's organs on the black market? But, with this salary, you can move out of your small apartment, actually eat healthy meals, maybe even afford a nice car so you wouldn't have to walk everywhere.

"Apollo?"

"Hm?”

“I don't have to like- kill anyone, do I?"

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"No."

"Then no." A grin spreads across his face. "We'll just have you start processing the orders and deliveries. No violence necessary, kid."

Well,

Oh, what the hell…

"When can I start?"

———

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment or send me an ask <3

[comingfromastatechampionasshole]

Making Yorkshire Parkin: When You Want to Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November (but you forgot)

I bought Lyle’s Golden Syrup on a whim in our international grocers months ago, nestled between the Marmite and jarred clotted cream. I didn’t know what golden syrup tasted like, I had no use for it, and no recipe I had ever read included it. Naturally, I bought it immediately. Walking by the racks of Japanese candy and multiple incidences of ramen noodles, I asked myself, “Is there a particular reason I’m buying this, or am I just pissed they don’t have Walker’s and don’t want to walk away empty-handed?” 

Months later, I end up watching a video on parkin. Uses golden syrup. In this moment, the stars align. 

How did I stumble on this? Well, I’m interested in historical food, and even more so historical baking, and November was coming up. Try the Guy Fawkes day cake, it proclaimed to me, and as I watched it, and it was described to me as an English gingerbread-style cake, i thought, “There’s nothing about that idea I don’t like! I can make parkin, it can’t be that hard. Not like i’m going to be able to buy it here to try it.” 

And hard is not the word for it. Let’s go on a journey. 

So the first thing is, that Yorkshire parkin isn’t the only parkin in town and so, as I glanced at recipes, i discovered that there were multiple theories of the business, and many of these theories involved insulting each others’ grandmothers. Lancashire parkin uses mainly golden syrup, resulting in a sweeter and softer-flavored cake, and I guess that’s why the only things a civilized human being knows about Lancashire is that it’s in the North of England, and it features in the Merrily Song from the Wind and the Willows. No, the more I read, the more I realized I wanted Yorkshire parkin, a dark, aggressive form of the cake that makes heavy use of black treacle and threatens to kick your teeth in. It’s no wonder that Yorkshire gets all the great wonders of the North, like Wuthering Heights, The Secret Garden, and that one pizza place I really liked. 

It turns out that Yorkshire parkin uses a very small amont of golden syrup, and so you may be saying to yourself at this point, “Doc are you unnecessarily complicating your life to say you literally opened this stupid plastic bottle of sugar syrup?” to which I say, ‘No one asked you, okay?” 

Black treacle is the first thing on this list, and this was actually the easy part. One of the ‘fun’ things about reading recipes from English to English (and sometimes even to English!) is that you have to make substitutions, and people’s attitude toward substitutions for ingredients run the gamut from questionable to hysteria. The good news is that this unites us all, and I am sure there will be several fine Brits yelling at me that unsulfured molasses is nothing like black treacle, in the same way that many Americans lost their mind at the mere suggestion that a digestive might be more or less equivalent to a graham cracker. I welcome your hatemail, Hail Satan , Lord of Spiders, just use unsulfured molasses and you’ll be fine. 

But then we have the problem of “medium oatmeal.” The Brits are running on a completely different system than we are with our paltry three or so styles of oatmeal: Rolled, steel cut (often called Irish oats), and instant. There are some outliers, but they are mostly the exclusive purview of places where one might buy free-range ostrich farts and consensually squeezed oranges. Meanwhile, on a rainy rock in the North, we have seventeen separate grades of oatmeal, some of which are only found on one specific moor where young maidens cry over it, keening into the wind (An expensive delicacy not unlike kopi luwak) Try as I might, I found it near impossible to get medium oatmeal, and so I took the most reasonable out possible: Buying steel cut oats and frantically googling photos of medium oatmeal until I had processed it down to the rough appearance. 

This is medium oatmeal. Probably. 

The assembly of it is stunningly old-fashioned, and I’m not making a joke when I say it seems basically unchanged from the 1700s: You mix the sugar and butter ingredients together in a sauce pan until the sugar melts, and then throw it into the dry mix, putting it together and then throwing in an egg as some desperate attempt to give so loft to what is going to be a doorstop or perhaps the blunt object that was originally used to kill Guy Fawkes, as well as a splash of milk, though what it hopes to contribute to the action I can’t possibly imagine. 

Having read over all this at 9:30 pm on the 5th of November, I ready myrself to assemble the parkin so I can leave it out for King James or whatever. Then I read the cook time on the cake: Seventy to Ninety Minutes. 

“Fuck this shit, I’m American,” I said, cracking open a beer and heading upstairs with my sixteen guns while eagles cried and sang “God Bless The USA” overhead. 

REMEMBER, REMEMBER, THE SIXTH OF NOVEMBER, WHEN ALL THESE INGREDIENTS ARE STILL SITTING IN MY KITCHEN. 

So, I have followed the recipe. The cake is in the oven. What will it become? Stay tuned!

[rom-e-o]

So a very, um... concerning thought occurred to me.

We know Scrooge hoarded his money and didn't even make himself comfortable with it. Do you think that means, at least for modern!Scrooge... he only ever bought the rough, one-ply, really bad toilet paper?

That, very unfortunately, checks out.

I can see a V05 2-in-1 shampoo\conditioner in the shower too. And let’s not even talk about the unsettling number of instant coffee canisters and ramen noodle packs.

Another reason for the girls to be like “oh. Oh no. No longer.”

[yeoroot]

9 people you'd like to know better

thank you for the tag @broh3m3 !!

Last Song: it’s either Her (according to my YouTube history) or Kororon (according to my memory and the fact that I have a browser window open for this song to play on repeat)

Favourite Colour: Various shades of blue and on occasion, green. I’m also starting to really like red and specific shades of pink cause of the instant gratification those colors give when I use them

Currently watching: Ruze/Jurard/Bettel from Holostars. I watch them on and off, this week I was just in a mood (I needed those hours of content while playing Getting Over It-)

Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: Savoury, but I also like spicy stuff!! (I keep eating chicken and every chance I get I eat those x2 spicy Buldak noodles; I keep giving myself dietary issues that my friends know me for them now)

Relationship status: Single, but I also thrive on friendships like a dog so it doesn’t really matter hHAHDAJNDAK (im aroace spec, I think. I forgot what labels to use ever since I just settled with the term queer-)

Current Obsession: Twisted Wonderland. I almost bought a bunch of perfume samples when I found out the Valentine's Day limited scents were difficult to ship overseas (the only thing stopping me is the time required to research into perfumes that resemble Jamil and Kalim). A few days ago I looked into how to make those heart magnet charms for JamiKali and several minutes ago I typed up a few notes and came up with another drawing idea. I do not think there is a way out. Everything I see is just another piece of inspiration...(I saw someone on twitter making cd charms and the light music club came into my mind 1 2 ). I also have a bunch of fanmerch and JamiKali/KaliJami doujinshis that are up on my keyboard's music sheet stand like they're family photos but this part I consider normal.

Last thing I googled: “Restrain synonym” (Kalim related but I swear its for a sfw and sweet reason)

Tagging for fun except I only really know 2 other people right now- @soup-du-silence @ohiko-artsworld

[the-official-account]

lush's instant ramen adventure #1: jongga kimchi ramen

So I bought a fuck ton of ramen. I have my reasons. And I'm gonna talk about what I think about them.

I tend to like the broadest, to my knowledge, staples of Asian flavors (I'm trying to say this like someone might say they enjoy "some western food" referring to cheese) I like...soy sauce. And such. I cook with it often. And I don't think I'm getting anything particularly authentic in instant ramen. I only mention this to say I'm trying not to be orientalist about this? But I also am not well read on the topic at all. So do call me out if necessary. Onto the ramen

One should know I am notoriously bad at food photos! But here is the ramen

Out of 9 flavors I purchased I chose this one so I don't have to wash another bowl later! I've had kimchi (Love it) and kimchi flavored ramens (very spicy. Cried) before, and so this didn't seem altogether too unfamiliar cause I'm not in the mood to actually adventure that much today. There's one other bowl ramen in my stash. I only have one of these, so if I fuck it up Then Oops, but I am preparing it as instructed except to fry two eggs to go with it, standard ramen practice for me. And giving it a good mix at the recommended 3 minutes to sit a bit longer as I finish my eggs

Fried to mediocrity.

I was expecting the kimchi in the package to be dried because I'm illiterate and didn't really read the top of the package, and because the instructions said one might eat "REAL kimchi" (Caps their own) as a side dish. It wasn't, though.

And here's how it looks finished

Initial taste for spice tolerance: there is a minor amount of burn! And it's tasty.

Sipped the broth! Gagged and coughed a little because that is spiciER. While tears are in my eyes I doubt they'll fall. Not the spiciest ramen I've had, but not for the spice averse of intolerant. Tastes quite good with the eggs!

I was not properly scientific about tasting the kimchi BEFORE immersing it in the soup broth, but it's okay! Not my favorite Kimchi, a bit too vinegar heavy and it doesn't have that sort of mellow flavor primarily that I would be looking for. It's moreso earthy. But maybe that isn't technically the high quality 'chi. While I doubt it, I'm no expert.

With chicken top ramen at a 2/20 and chicken maruchan at a 4/10, i'd give this a solid 8/10!! It's nothing particularly special, which would actually make it quite nice for folks who like to dress their ramen up to the nines. It's not the most craveable, but I've gladly try it again! Though I might reach for maruchan if I really wanted a sodium hit, or for mi goreng (9/10. While not bought in this batch I'd love to rate it one it's own) to get something more texturally complex. The eggs are really carrying in that regard, though the chew of the noodles does hold up to a solid soak in the broth as I eat!

Notably, the bowl is also holding up beautifully, and the cover was neither too flimsy nor too difficult to remove. Balanced a fork like a champ to keep it closed during the rehydration process.

Now for it's online presence:

Jongga claims the kimchi adds a crunch texture, and that'd definitely false. I don't think it's bad! But if you want that good good kimchi crunch, it'd be best to add your own. (Actually, the kimchi sinks to the bottom, do you will get more crunch as you have less noodle. But despite much stirring, I wouldn't say it has textural variety. I'd actually reccomend eating it on the side of that's what you want! Though there's only really enough to constitute a garnish for flavor, and not an entire side dish. If you want veg, bring it from elsewhere)

Multiple reviews mention that it IS very sodium heavy (though it doesn't taste it to me, it's worth noting that I tend to eat foods just-too-salty, which is a part of this ramen journey called to me, though worry not for my blood pressure.), but none compare it to crack cocaine, or say it's worth selling a child for, which simply does not reach the bar set by Mi Goreng, and I'm inclined to agree.

At just about three dollars for a bowl that is enough to satisfy (from a person of roughly-rounded —you do not need to Percieve me and do nothing with this information but use it for context — 250 pounds) but that I wouldn't call filling, the monetary value is eh, bumping it down to a 7.5. and, the spicy throat-punch aside, I feel no temptation to drink off the rest of the broth, resting it at a solid 7/10.

[linkware]

super awesome resippy for my instant ramen. tbis is the only way ill eat it and i sometimes will add or take stuff but only i decide this for me (and if i bought miso soup.)

ingredience:

-1 packet maruchan instant ramen, chicken flavor (i do not eat any other type or flavor. do not try snd get me to eat top ramen or the cup noodle type ill light on fire snd then explode^_^. i sometimes eat the soy sauce flavor of the gold maruchan tho #yummy)

-1 quart stainless steel saucepan w lid (not to eat but like, its essential to how much water you need. i use the one from mainstays at walmart, it has a small indent for pouring and a built in strainer in the lid)

-enoigh water to barely cover the noodles (idk i dont fucking measure) (thats why i only make it in the pot. i bought one to make this recipe correctly after i went to college and then i left it oops so i bought another ^_^)

-low sodium soy sauce, like. idk....i measure w my heart 1-2 tbsp? i love salt 2 much so i nerfed it. ill be real its the store brand too im cheap 😗

-lil red peppy flake action (like 2-3 good shakes)

-lil garlic powder action (like 2 shakes)

steps:

1) put water in the pot. i cannot tell you how i know how much water so i guess dunk the noodles in once or something idk (ill check tomorrow)

2) add soy sauce, red pepper flakes, garlic powder, and ramen seasoning to the pot

3) mix if u want. i don't

4) add lid (!) and turn stovetop to medium-high

5) after 30sec-2min at a rolling boil, add ramen brick, cover again. like not as soon as it starts boiling but dont let it boil forever, i just do this for mystery reasons

6) cook for 3 minutes and 30 seconds, covered, do not stir!!!!! do not disturb those noodles!!! the texture is a little different i swear 2 u its different.

7, optional) add 1 packet kikkoman miso soup powder to bowl (i think its white miso w tofu specifically but id have to look at it. imagine how i felt when the packaging changed and i thought i got the wrong type) before putting soup in bowl

8) put it in a bowl. i usually have a fork and a 1/4 cup measuring cup so i can eat it easier without spilling everything or hunching over the coffee table cuz i eat on the couch most of the time

9) wow its my recipe . enjoy i love it. sometimes i add less water, seaweed strips, or a little sesame oil. yummyness

important notes:

you have to cook the noodles in the broth you cannot adf the seasonings after cooking. also do not use a microwave. also i have the cheapest spices availible. and also i have made this into like a different recipe by (after cooking) making a cornstarch slurry and adding the noodles into a frying pan with some broth, and the Liquid Thickener slowly and it was fucking banging... im super original so its "saucey noodle instant ramen" oh also read the whole recipe so i can tell you that if you add miso dont add as much soy sauce beforehand and also mix it with the broth first (lid strainer is handy!) and then let it sit so the tofu rehydrates better ^_^

[klarawinslet]

@LifeBeforeWinslet ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Hangzhou, 2004. She was born in one of the prettiest areas in China. Her childhood had been one of unusual privilege, growing up in a villa surrounded by gardens and several luxury cars. She had known only silk sheets, sparkling chandeliers, and afternoons spent in designer boutiques or enjoying desserts with a view. That was all until her parents vanished without a trace when she was just thirteen.

The disappearance had been sudden and for sure still remains a mystery. One day, they were there, sipping tea, and the next thing you knew was that they were gone without a trace. As the police declared them missing, their child, Genevieve, was sent to an orphanage. The transition from being fed with a golden spoon to.. whatever spoon you call it was a nightmare for her. Unfortunately, that was what she had to deal with for the rest of her life.. or maybe not?

At the orphanage, she learnt to bury her past. She refused to let anyone see her vulnerability, so she carefully built an image of her self-assured elegance. Her designer wardrobe (though minimal) became her armour. "Luxury is not a possession; it's a persona" became her life motto from then on.

By the time she was a proper teenager, Genevieve had launched accounts across social media platforms, curating an identity that surrounds luxury and class. Though we all know that those are just a facade. Convenience store instant noodles were her staple, and Pr packages were her lifeline.

Her social media gained lots of followers and attention, but the revenue was.. well, not up to par. Knowing she would eventually run out of designer pieces to show off, Genevieve took a break from posting, focusing instead on her education. The orphanage had provided her with adequate education, and her determination earned her a scholarship to a prestigious high school. From there, a full scholarship to the University of Medicine in Berlin opened the door to a new chapter of her life.

In Germany, she saw an opportunity to reclaim her internet persona. With knock-off items carefully picked and bought to pass as authentic items, she resumed posting. Of course, while flaunting her 'lavish' life abroad. "People eat international student shit up, this must be easy", she thought.

Life wasn't as easy as Genevieve thought, juggling both her 'influencer' life and medical school, a financially struggling one at that. One day, a follower slid into her inbox: "Are you sure you're not a Winslet? You're SO Winslet."

Genevieve, of course, was confused; who? or WHAT was a Winslet? As her curiosity increased, she began her mini-investigation. Late one night, curled up in her tiny Berlin apartment, she typed up 'Winslet family' into the search engine. She was NOT ready for what she found.

The Winslets were steeped in both wealth and scandal. Articles about them are all talking about their high-profile lives and a series of controversies. One headline did stand up to her, though, "Search for Missing Winslet Siblings Continues."

She then delved deeper and found an archived interview of one of the siblings with a private investigator. "We have reasons to believe one, or even some sibling, may have been taken to Asia. One of them should be in her early twenties by now."

Genevieve sees this as a chance, a gift, a miracle, whatever you call it. This couldn't be her, but it wouldn't hurt for her to try. I mean, she succeeded in deceiving the whole world; it shouldn't be hard to make an identity to trick the 3 Winslets, right?

That was the start of everything; becoming a Winslet is the only way for her to escape this and go back to where she belonged. She contacted Winslet's representative, claiming that she might know who they were and handed them a piece of her hair strand. Again, claiming it as if it belonged to someone she knew. And now, all she had to do was wait and hope for the best.