#the tale of food irl

[gluttonyedits]

@fated-edits's prompt list day 2: a black and white/grayscale edit Gold Chicken Shred headers Please do not tag as kin/ID/me.

[muchmossymess]

I need to stop sleeping all day its giving me wild as fuck dreams

[slowd1ving]

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k  

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs. 

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives. 

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building. 

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often. 

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted. 

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs. 

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time. 

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition. 

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there. 

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head. 

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.” 

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious. 

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell. 

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men. 

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of. 

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt. 

But he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t. 

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze. 

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does. 

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger  in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth. 

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up. 

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material. 

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together. 

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin. 

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too. 

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break. 

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that. 

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way. 

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason. 

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking. 

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons. 

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more. 

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good. 

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front. 

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you. 

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away. 

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice. 

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor. 

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze. 

He’s never seen it before. 

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you. 

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips. 

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t. 

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene. 

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been. 

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste. 

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz). 

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow. 

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts. 

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of. 

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point. 

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence. 

You’re harsh as winter. 

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment. 

Or two. 

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen. 

Fucking his hand has never felt like this. 

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin. 

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing. 

But he forgets how cruel you are. 

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile. 

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred. 

What the hell? 

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock. 

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet. 

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously. 

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences. 

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange. 

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood. 

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense. 

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage. 

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night. 

“A-ze. What do you want?” 

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness. 

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you. 

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation. 

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke. 

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please. 

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons. 

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips. 

What a mess. 

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together. 

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him. 

Fuck. 

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from. 

He’s beautiful. 

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words. 

Well. 

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones. 

・゜゜

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

twst food culture compilation

Please note: this post does NOT include all food-related lore in TWST (for example, you won’t find a lot of information about individual characters’ food preferences or personal experiences with food here). This post ONLY talks about the food culture, notable locations, cultural dishes, and unique foods of the Twisted Wonderland world at large (ie countries, specific towns and cities, etc).

I did my best to scour for info, but I’ll update if I find anything new or details I missed the first time around.

General and/or Unspecified Location

Icicle mushrooms are one of Twisted Wonderland’s three greatest delicacies. They are extremely rare and expensive.

There is a seasoning called “pure azure salt”, which is said to be rare, even in the Coral Sea.

Twisted Wonderland has a fruit called ruby berries (which taste “like freshly picked strawberries”).

There is frozen mint with a “refreshing profile” that grows in icy mountainous areas.

There exists Walrus-brand oyster sauce. Trey uses this to cook hamburger steak for his younger siblings. He says the oyster sauce provides a "nice savory flavor" with considerable depth. Trey also jokes about adding it to chestnut tarts in book 1.

There are mentions of irl Japanese foods such as konjac and takoyaki, but so far no place of origin in Twisted Wonderland has been sited.

Like in the real world, celebrities like Vil and Neige are used to promote products (including food and drink) in commercials, on social media platforms, etc. For example, in book 5, we see Neige advertising Red Apple Soda and Vil using his Magicam account to promote the apple juice made by Epel's family.

There's a popular dish called "pumpkin carriage stew". The insides of a pumpkin are scooped out and the shell is filled with a creamy stew, which made it difficult to carry over to tables. It would sell out every day at the cafe Ruggie used to work at.

Some restaurants call their spaghetti with meatballs "starry night spaghetti", named after the tale of two dogs who shared a spaghetti kiss under a starry sky. It is said that sharing spaghetti with meatballs with someone outside would lead to true love.

Hunting is sport as well as something done for food.

Crowley goes on vacation “to the South” and reports to enjoy mango and mango-flavored products from there. He also brings back manga tea as a souvenir.

Briar Valley

General

Cotton candy is a classic snack food sold at Briar Valley food stalls. The way it is prepared resembles spinning threads, which is considered a blessed occupation (as there was a period in Briar Valley's history when no one was able to spin thread, so some clever individual tinkered around and made cotton candy instead).

In the battlefield (~400 years ago, during the human-fae war), soldiers would roast rats and lizards to eat if they didn't have rations or other ingredients.

There is little in the way of modern technology and electricity; typically, one would prepare dishes and/or collect ingredients by hand (such as via fishing) or by using magic.

Magic is used to light fires for cooking. There is little risk for fire accidents since magical fires automatically go out when you go to sleep.

Because Briar Valley is located to the north, it can get very chilly. When the snow melts, it turns into very cold freshwater.

According to Lilia, “berries are a must-have, especially at birthdays parties” in Briar Valley. They are famous for its berry juice.

The forest where Silver and Lilia live has strawberries. Silver picks them with his animal companions.

Coral Sea

General

According to Jade, there are no fires in the Coral Sea. Therefore, most of the food consumed is raw.

A month-long land boot camp first established by a mermaid princess that married a human prince teaches merpeople fire safety and how to eat food as part of its curriculum.

It's rare for merfolk to eat anything sweet, as those kinds of foods aren't readily avaliable in the sea.

The Atlantica Memorial Museum has the mermaid princess's "silver hair comb" on display. This, of course, refers to the "dinglehopper"--a common fork. This implies that merpeople (such as the mermaid princess referenced in many stories) fused to be unaware of the eating utensils on land.

Azul's mother owns the "hottest restaurant" in the Coral Sea. It started off as a small place, but has since expanded to have a large staff.

Couples from the Coral Sea frequently request rainbow dessert soup with trident cookies for their weddings. To eat it, you use the trident cookie to stir the sweet sky-blue soup, which then turns the soup into seven colors of the rainbow. This is a dish that is only served for special occasions in the Coral Sea, and it is typically served warm.

Jade says that he was surprised to see that many land dwellers eat their fruit without the peel; this would imply that those from the Coral Sea typically eat their foods with the skin/peel left on, or as-is.

Playful Land Amusement Park

All food and drink are handed out for free.

They serve food in large quantities, such as tuna, entire tart cherry pies (with cinnamon, clove, and crushed nuts in the filling) and a whole peppery roasted chicken. The park encourages consuming in excess.

Other food items being offered include fried tuna fish and sparkling apple juice. The juice comes with an umbrella stuck in the opening to prevent bugs from getting in. You remove it before drinking.

They have ice-cream in many flavors! We see strawberry milk in the related event.

The park had candy and popcorn in “apple core” flavor. Supposedly, this is a taste inspired by the story of the Generous Fox giving a Puppet Boy an apple core instead of a whole apple because “the puppet wished to have a core”.

There is a “Candy Road”, a street lined with shops that have caramel lollipops, chewy candy, marshmallows, cookies, chocolate crunch, and lots of other sugary treats!

Their chocolate crunch has 12 different charms thrown in.

The third most popular souvenir are pasta snacks in the shape of the Friendly Fox and Gentle Cat. The second most popular is a tin of plain cookies in the shape of the Friendly Fox and cocoa cookies in the shape of the Gentle Cat. Finally, the most popular are apple core flavored candies!

Sage's Island

Night Raven College

Pomefiore holds a welcome party for the freshmen, which includes a fancy dinner. Savanaclaw does not hold a welcome party.

Scarabia regularly holds banquets, typically at Kalim's request.

Heartslabyul holds "unbirthday parties" whenever it is a day that does NOT fall on a Heartslabyul student's birthday. Sweets are mandatory at unbirthday parties.

The dorm members of Scarabia and Heartslabyul pitch in to prepare for banquets and unbirthday parties.

Mr. S's Mystery Shop stocks food items, such as candies (which Floyd often buys), tuna cans, and ingredients for baking (this is where Deuce and Yuu pick up things for the chestnut tart in book 1). Sam also sells food items that he seems to have made himself, like the Mystery Drink (which Octavinelle eventually buys the rights to).

The school cafeteria is said to have delicious breads.

Students can use the school kitchens outside of normal serving hours; Ruggie and Jamil sometimes do this, but they also have their own dormitory kitchens to cook.

Once a month, a famous bakery from out of town serves their goods at NRC. Their stock includes items such as chocolate croissants, egg sandwiches, yakisoba bread and cream bread ("cronuts and bear claws"), roast beef sandwiches, red bean buns ("hot dog buns"), and deluxe minced cutlet sandwiches ("deluxe ham and cheese"/"grilled cheese" in the localization). They sell out fast!

The school library includes recipes books. Some recipes include spicy curry soup, red pepper and tomato soup, and garlic pork habanero soup.

Basic school lunches are free to all students, but they must pay for changes or extra items.

The cafeteria at NRC serves food buffet style; the cafeteria is kept warm with magic from fire fairies which are supplied with dry firewood every day. There is also a rotating daily menu.

Master Chef ("Culinary Crucible") is an elective course at NRC that teaches students how to cook. It is meant to curb the expenses related to eating out and to help the boys maintain balanced diets and learn how to take care of themselves. Judges for this course are randomly selected from the students and staff (prior to this methodology, people would bribe the judges for extra credit).

While taking Master Chef, students help with preparing meals in the cafeteria in exchange for part-time pay.

The instructors for Master Chef are ghosts who were professional chefs at five-star restaurants when they were alive. These same ghosts also serve as cafeterias staff. Crowley says it was difficult but worthwhile to recruit them.

There are various locations on campus where the students go to fetch ingredients for Master Chef. This includes an on-campus farm, ranch, windmill... and even the dormitories themselves!

The woods behind the campus have chestnuts, which the main crew collect for an apology tart to Riddle.

The Botanical Garden has some edible plants growing there. These include strawberries, which the Science Club cultivates.

NRC opens its school gates to the local townspeople for a period leading up to Halloween; during this time, they distribute candy and other sweets (such as Sam's waffles, served with jam made from NRC's apples) to guests. There's also a party on Halloween night where lots of food is served.

Mostro Lounge

Octainvelle has the Mostro Lounge, described by Jade as "a meeting place for gentlemen" where fighting between dorms is prohibited. While dining there, students are expected to abide by Octavinelle's rules. It is run by the manager and founder, Azul, who made a deal with the headmaster to get the rights to open the establishment. NRC gets 10% of the revenue the Mostro Lounge makes.

Jade and Floyd partake in some cooking, but Azul does very little cooking. He tends to investigate the competition and market.

Jade uses the weeds and plants he collects from mountain hikes to brew experimental new teas. Sometimes Azul adds these drinks to the menu.

Floyd likes to experiment with making sauces. These, too, are featured in the lounge.

The lounge offers cakes with coral decorations. You can order one for your special occasions.

The Mostro Lounge is particular about its quality name-brand dishware. Azul believes that this will boost the experience customers have in the lounge.

The Octatrio bought the rights to the Mystery Drink from Sam and raised its price from 600 madol/6 thaumarks to 1500 madol/15 thaumarks.

The Mostro Lounge has a one-drink purchase minimum.

Menu items range from roughly 600 madol to 1500 madol (6 thaumarks to 15 thaumarks).

The menu rotates on a seasonal basis; this helps to cut down on costs since they can focus on cheaper in-season ingredients.

The Mostro Lounge also operates food stalls and/or sells food at many school events, such as the cultural festival in book 5 and the interdorm magical shift/spelldrive tournament in book 2.

It is mostly Octavinelle students who staff the Mostro Lounge, but there are occasions when outside students are brought in as extra help. Ruggie has worked there part-time, as well as Jack, Ace, Deuce, and tons of other students.

Unbirthday Party Rules (related to food)

Rule 25: There must be a tea party on the 5th of every month.

Rule 29: You must not eat the Queen's tarts without her permission.

Rule 153: The only tea you may drink in the evenings is herbal tea.

Rule 186: Do not eat hamburger steak on Tuesdays.

Rule 256: You must not drink lemonade with honey past 8 pm.

Rule 271: You must get up from the table within 15 minutes after eating lunch.

Rule 339: Your post-meal tea must be lemon tea with 2 sugar cubes.

Rule 529: If you eat steak on the night of a full moon, a cat must play the violin afterwards.

Rule 562: Do not bring chestnut tarts to an unbirthday party.

Rule 648: You must brush your teeth 2 times on nights when you eat turkey.

Rule 703: Whoever comes in 2nd place in a croquet match must serve tea to the Queen (dorm leader) the next day.

If the dormouse wakes up at an unbirthday party, you are to paint its nose with jam.

Coffee is forbidden; tea must be served at all occasions except for birthdays.

According to Cater, sweets are mandatory at unbirthday parties.

Dwarves' Mine & Silent Woods

There is an abundance of wildlife in these areas; Jade often goes hiking and foraging, making note of what he finds. He uses the plants to make his own tea blends (which are sometimes added to the Mostro Lounge's menu) and the herbs, plants, and mushrooms to experiment with in cooking.

There are fish to be found at the lake, including massive catfish.

The Foothill Town

There is a port for mainly cargo ships located at the southwest part of town. It's called Crane Port! The east side has a port as well, but that one is moreso for passengers. Crane Port has been getting fewer and fewer people passing through lately (until Port Breeze Fest, in which the NRC boys run food stalls and help to revive business in the area). Group A makes churros, Group B makes waffles, Group C makes salads, Group D makes cotton candy, and Group E makes clam chowder.

A popular restaurant in the Crane Port area serves foods like french fries and burgers. Their signature menu item is a donut made from potatoes. Actually, this restaurant specializes in potato dishes!

There is a chain restaurant on the island that also has locations elsewhere, including in Ace's hometown. He mentions that there are slightly different flavors to the sauces depending on which location you go to. This chain is also described as affordable for students and gives free refills. There is a location of this chain a car ride away from Harveston.

The town also has other eateries that are more geared towards students, seeing as it exists on an island with two notable magic schools to the north and the south. Cater often mentions going into town to take pictures at cafes.

The town has a public market; the Ramshackle Ghosts resell mandrakes there.

There is a famous patisserie there. You have to line up early in the morning before opening time to get your hands on one of their strawberry tarts (or anything, really!).

There is a stall in the marketplace that sells specialty coffee. They also have a tea which Crewel enjoys (though he also brews his own).

Scalding Sands

General

The Scalding Sands seems to borrow heavily from Middle Eastern cultures. For example, some of the Scalding Sands’ traditional dishes include, but are not limited to: roasted lamb, moussaka, döner kebabs, shawarma, flatbreads, potato and bean spreads, and seafood sautés.

Tea is a popular beverage; it is had at every meal and break. People can drink up to 10 cups of tea a day!

The Scalding Sands specializes in black tea. For entertaining guests, special tea leaves are used.

In the Scalding Sands, they brew their tea leaves loose and without an infuser. This makes the tea very strong and bitter. To counteract the powerful flavor, people add lots of sugar to their tea and drink it with sweets.

“Luxurious” tea is very sweet, since sugar was once very expensive (due to a shortage of it, according to the localization) and considered a luxury.

Due to the hot weather, people often toss herbs into their tea to make it more refreshing to drink.

Coffee is also popular; there are many cafes that serve coffee and tea. The Scalding Sands is known in particular for their spiced coffee, which has a very distinctive flavor. This coffee is brewed without a filter, and some cafes do “coffee divinations” (reading the shapes and patterns of the grounds and the water droplets that remain after drinking to tell the fortunes of customers).

There are a lot of unique spices in their dishes. This is especially true of banquet dishes. However, a variety of dishes are still served at these occasions.

Kalim describes the Scalding Sands as being “big on stewed stuff” like curries.

In Kalim’s hometown, people love to gather around the table and talk over a meal.

Halloween in the Scalding Sands is celebrated by feasting on a variety of dishes. The idea is that the food must be abundant so that the ghosts that return to the world of the living for the night may also have their fill.

It used to be difficult for the people of the Scalding Sands to obtain water due to the lack of rainfall, hot climate, and expansive desserts. However, Kalim’s ancestors utilized the country’s rivers to reach other countries and to trade their textiles, spices, tea leaves, and other local goods with foreign lands. It was particularly impressive at the time, as they were the first traders from the Scalding Sands to sail (back then, accurate nautical maps were not a thing). This maritime pioneering is what would make the Asim family their massive fortune.

The Asims and other merchants heavily invested in technologies and innovations to make the area more sustainable and potable water more accessible.

The waterways of the country eventually developed into canals and communities formed around them as trade hubs. The canals are also used to host ferryboats for locals and tourists to sightsee, boosting the tourism industry. This also made access to water much easier for the residents, and the water helps to cool the temperature.

Silk City

The bazaars in Silk City are where locals do their shopping for various goods and staple foods like vegetables and fish. There are also stalls with gourmet food that cater to tourists.

Camel Bazaar is named after camels, which were used to transport people, goods, and luggage before Silk City’s canals and roads came to be. There also used to be an oasis where the camels would rest and drink after long treks; this oasis became a center for commerce and eventually evolved into a marketplace. To this day, the name “Camel” has stuck, even if people use trucks, ships, and cars more than camels.

There is also Zahab (”Gold”) Market, which is popular with tourists for shopping (especially for souvenirs!) but also has swindlers and pickpockets mixed in with regular customers.

Many snacks are sold! There’s camel milk chocolate, cookies drizzled in syrup, sunflower seeds, pistachios, chickpeas, all kinds of nuts, dried fruits (including dates), jams, jellies, syrups, starfruit, dragonfruit, etc. 

(Lamb) shawarma is described as meat roasted on a spit and served on baguettes or pita bread. Because grease drips off while it cooks, it is “surprisingly healthier” than one expects it to be. Shawarma is also customarily served with vegetables (tomatoes, onions, olives, jalapenos, etc.) and sauces (yogurt, garlic, chili, hummus (a paste of garlic and chickpeas), mayo basil, etc).

There is a vendor that can supply large quantities of sweet and refreshing coconut water; this is because they’re used to providing for Kalim’s extravagant and excessive tastes. They create a hole in the top and provide straws to poke in and use to drink the water. The coconut flesh inside is also edible.

There are a lot of bread stalls; bread is also another staple food, and it comes in many sizes, shapes, and textures. Small roadside bakeries have wood-fired ovens which allow them to serve bread fresh to customers.

One stand sells baguettes that are taller than many children; these “tower baguettes” are a famous Fireworks Festival treat. People say that if you eat a big one, you’ll never go hungry again! The saying comes from a story of a young man that shared bread with hungry children. It’s because of that story that baguettes are considered a good luck food that many vendors sell on holidays.

The Camel Bazaar sells an elastic ice-cream (based on a similar irl frozen Turkish confection). It is kneaded on a pole and stretched out; customers are meant to “catch” it in their cups and cones. It’s food performance art! All the stretching makes the texture very unique.

There’s a fruit stand that is only open on festival days which sells a Silk Melon sundae; the fruit is hollowed out to host ice-cream (of the same melon flavor!) and toppings which make it very photogenic.

Starfruit is usually put in salads, according to Trey.

The dragonfruit sold is recommended to be eaten with honey. You drizzle it on top of a slice and eat!

Silk City’s signature fruit is the Silk Melon. It is called that because of its silky texture and sophisticated sweetness. It can’t be found in many other countries. The man of legend that shared his bread with a starving child is said to split a melon with his friend, even though he did not have much money to spare. It’s because of this tale that people started saying if you share Silk Melon with someone, it would make your friendship or romance last forever. Now the fruit is a festival staple and considered a symbol of good fortune.

In the past, water was only used for irrigation due to its scarcity. Some gave up on farming after years of trying to produce crops and failing—but others refused to give up and cultivated the land to made it fertile, something which future generations would reap the benefits of.

The fruits and veggies sold Camel Bazaar are freshly picked and grown locally. Jamil says this is possible because the arid climate actually helps with growing crops of high quality. Produce raised with less water concentrates flavor since the final fruit will have a higher sugar content. Because of this, Silk City’s produce is prized by chefs all over Twisted Wonderland. Of course, you can get them at an affordable prize in Camel Bazaar!

Shaftlands

General

The Shaftlands are famous for its jeweled pineapples.

The Shaftlands spans a large area of land and has drastically different climates depending on the part of it you're looking at. Therefore, we can deduce that foods and customs surrounding food are very different as well.

City of Flowers/Fleur City

The city’s food culture seems to be inspired by real world Paris, or at the very least, France.

Bread is a local specialty, particularly very buttery kinds. As you walk down the streets, you can smell bread baking. The City of Flowers has 10x (or more) the variety of bread that Sage's Island offers, and has an abundance of bakeries too.

Bread-making is popular in the City of Flowers. The windmills at the edges of the city grind grains to produce fresh flour. There are also watermills powered by the Soleil River to assist with making flour.

Because wheat is plentiful in this area, some of it is also used for desserts. One such confection is financier, which is made from a combination of wheat flour, almond flour, and butter. It resembles a gold bar, so eating one is said to bring financial prosperity.

Lately, gluten-free desserts have been trendy.

A dessert that does not use wheat flour is macarons. In the City of Flowers, they are yellow and shaped like bells to honor the Bell of Salvation which oversees the community and provides magic that helps rare plants grow in the area. The filling is a ganache with dried bits of grapes and apples.

Grape juice is popular in the City of Flowers, as the fruit is another specialty. You can buy the grapes raw and eat them as is, or ask a vendor to crush it (skin still on!) into juice for you. Some buy the grapes to give as gifts!

The grapes are grown in vineyards right outside of the city, and the farmers are constantly experimenting to improve their breeds. They taste very rich, tangy, and sweet.

The City of Flowers is also known for its many specialty cheese shops. Together, bread and cheese are called the staple foods of the city, and are sometimes eaten together. One specialty cheese shop the boys visit sells baguettes topped with ham and rich melted cheese.

The city considers goats a symbol of good luck, so they are treated with care. There are many community goats (which are just as common as domesticated cats or dogs) allowed to roam freely in the city. It is said that if you treat the community goats with kindness, they will come rescue you in your time of need.

Goat milk is used in some of the specialty cheeses produced by the city. The grapes mentioned earlier are also made into fruit compotes to go with the cheeses.

They served a roast beef at the young mage’s social; this was infused with spices and evenly heated.

Harveston

This village has many dishes that borrow from a mixture of irl Nordic cultures. There’s also an emphasis on having hometown pride and the community itself being very close.

Crows often damage the apples Harveston grows. The community comes together to put up nets and make noises to scare them off.

As expected, many of Harveston's dishes feature apples: apple pie, grilled and roasted apples, apple salad, apple pound cakes, etc.

Epel's family has an apple orchard that has been in the family for generations. They grow different kinds of apples throughout the year. Many of his neighbors are older people who also raise produce, and they help each other out when they're short on hands. The community is very tightly knit because of this, and treat each other like extended family.

Harvest season (autumn) is the busiest time of year; once that's over, everyone comes together to have a party. It's a potluck style celebration where everyone brings a homemade dish or homegrown food to share.

Harveston preserves its produce (such as apples and wild greens) by pickling them and serving them in salads. The bright colors are maintained by boiling the produce in a copper pot, which stabilizes the pigments. It's wisdom passed down from generation to generation.

There is also pickled herring, traditionally eaten on bread. Brining preserves the fish while it is still raw and doesn't dry it up. It's ready to eat right out of a jar, no cooking required.

The local stew is not very thick. It tastes sweet because of the added vegetables and savory because of the tender meat in it. There is also a salmon broth sprinkled with herbs which is described as "melty".

Fruits and vegetables can be packed in snow to keep them preserved. This method is called “snow aging” and prevents evaporation. In the old days, the villagers would build whole farms out of snow. In modern day, they just shovel the snow into a barn. This creates a natural fridge that will naturally thaw in the summers. Snow aging in this manner makes the produce sweeter and more nutritious.

The next town over is a three-hour bike ride. The roadside has many apple trees you can enjoy during the trip.

You can easily pick apples off the branch and eat them fresh! Farmers can snack on apples while picking.

Harveston is surrounded by tall mountains that are snow-capped all year, the most famous one being Mt. Moln. The greenery around Harveston is due to the spring water irrigation which runs down from Mt. Moln.

Most of Harveston’s land is used for orchards, and apples are their main produce. They also make many products using those apples like chips, rice crackers, and cookies.

Fall apples are sweeter, while winter ones are more sour. Winter apples are unique to Harveston.

Harveston also grows a lot of garlic.

Harveston farming is done the old fashioned way, as the predominantly older population distrusts chemical fertilizers and biotechnology.

Some villagers like the mayor and Marja (Epel’s grandma) adjust their accent to communicate with people from outside the village. Marja says she switches up when she’s selling goods in another town, since it can be tricky for non-Harveston locals to understand.

Hand washing before eating is a must! They take the act very seriously in Harveston. Stories say the miners of the past used to get very sick due to poor hygiene, but their health improved drastically once they started washing regularly with soap and water. It was difficult for them to get treatment because the town is so remote and far from hospitals or doctors, so the best thing is stressing prevention. This why the townspeople are sticklers about hand washing now.

To wash the Harveston way, you plunge your hands into ice cold water and make it all foamy with soap. You also scoop the water up and splash your face as well (as the miners from the past would also do this).

You can catch salmon in the nearby river.

Apple Square is the main festival venue; it has many vendor stalls in an area called Kokko (which means “Bonfire”) Market. The Sledathon is the most lucrative time of year for the townsfolk.

Many of their products are made locally by the older folks in town. The goods aren’t trendy or very fancy, but they’re high-quality and made with Harveston pride.

The stalls give apple juice, apple tea (which has fruit pieces floating in it), and apple ginger tea for free. The apple juice is one of Harveston’s most popular products.

Giant five-meter apple pies are made for the Sledathon. They’re considered one of the main attractions, and you can get a slice from them free of charge.

There are other stalls that sell regular apple pie too. Every vendor has their own style, from the apples used to the crust and baking technique.

There are other kinds of fruit pies for sale, but apples are the most popular and “special” ones. The Beautiful Queen had a preference for apple pies, so the townspeople do too.

Harveston apple pies have such an entrancing flavor that the nearest city has stores that stock them. Critics say that Harveston apple pies make anyone drool and that the best way to convince someone to do you a favor is to gift one.

Harveston holds an apple competition to find the reddest apple. This is because the Beautiful Queen prized beautifully red apples. In the past, the townspeople would offer the reddest apple from the season’s harvest to the Beautiful Queen. Over time, it evolved into the apple competition.

Kokko Market makes pancake balls from a flour batter and top it with jam. It’s prepared in a pan and with methods similar to takoyaki, coming out crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.

Pancakes also come in a square form. In Harveston, pancakes are baked in the oven instead of on the stove. Some people cook pancakes in the fireplace too; this makes them tender, thick, and pudding-like.

There are many grains used for bread: sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, oats, flax seeds, sesame seeds, rye, wheat...

Barbeque is served for large gatherings and celebrations.

Cooking tends to be done in the fireplace instead of on a stove, especially in the case for stews. It keeps the room warm in winter while the food cooks.

Harveston has a bean and fruit soup. Most other places serve it cold, but those in Harveston sometimes enjoy it warm. It’s a thick consistency and the fruit in it has been dried.

Farmers drink tea on their breaks between work.

When setting the dining table, people in Harveston leave one extra plate out. This tradition comes from a story about a traveler visiting a family’s house and being surprised by the messy state of it. The traveler cleaned the house and cooked a nice meal for the family. From this story came the belief that as long as you leave a plate at your table, you’ll never want for food or go hungry.

Sandwich cakes are common party centerpieces. They are made with bread and vegetables, topped with shrimp, deviled eggs, olives, apples, and salmon slides arranged in a rose shape. The frosting on it is made from mayonnaise and sour cream, making sandwich cakes more salad than dessert.

They sell cherries and other berries by volume. Also sold are vegetables and juice, freshly squeezed.

Because Harveston is located in a mountainous region, there are rare varieties of mushrooms to be found. These can be served in a traditional mushroom soup, which can be finicky to prepare (so usually only experts make it). Mushrooms are also cooked in butter and served in sandwiches.

Mushrooms, herbs, and flowers are foraged from the nature (both public mountains and private woods). Locals usually don’t buy plants that are wild when they can pick it themselves. Instead, they’re sold to tourists.

Good foraging spots on Moln Mountain are kept secret so people don’t overharvest. The mountains are dangerous in winter, so foraging has to be done in spring or summer.

Harveston brines raw fish like salmon in a mixture of salt, sugar, pepper, and fill. In the old days, brined salmon was buried in sand to let it ferment.

Fish is dried to preserve it and to enhance the flavor. Before there were proper roads, it was hard to bring in food for the winter, so Harveston relied on foods preserved in the spring. They last for a long time and have many uses (such as in soup stock or to eat straight up). To this day, preserved meats and vegetables are a local specialty and new methods such as roasting have been developed for preservation.

Sunset Savanna

General

The food here appears to be inspired by African cultures of the real world.

Fruit is more plentiful than grains.

There is floral cacao in the Sunset Savanna. It bears fruit only once every 10 years.

Gummy bugs are popular and a Halloween staple.

The people of the Sunset Savanna value living in harmony with nature and will go out of their way to adapt to the land (due to the high population of beastmen, who have animal ancestors). Because of this, they oppose change that could damage the environment. There are some parts of this arid country that still rely on wells for their drinking water needs. They also hold the Tamashina-Mina festival every year to pray for rain.

Sautéed mutton is a common meal in this country. Leona brags that the Sunset Savanna is top notch when it comes to cooking meats.

The bananas of the Sunset Savanna are starchy and resemble potatoes (similar to plantains). They are steamed and served as a staple food. They’re faintly sweet and are actually very light and easy to digest.

It’s easier to grow fruit instead of wheat and rice in their climate.

Rice hull crepes, another staple, are served with a stew that you pour over it. The stew comes in variants such as a white fish stew simmered in tomato sauce, spinach and potato stew, beef stew, etc. There are also many side dishes you can enjoy with the crepes. The crepes aren’t meant to be eaten alone, as they taste too sour solo.

The phrase “that’s the Circle of Life” is a proverb that has been around for ages. The strong eat the weak, then when the strong die, their bodies become nutrients for the grass which feeds the next generation of prey animals. Life comes “full circle”, and the proverb indicates this delicate balance.

The Sunset Savanna is famous for its coffee. It tastes spicy, not bitter, because the custom is to add spices to the drink.

Food prep performances seem to be common for the wealthy; Leona mentions seeing big fish filleted before being served.

Yogurt is considered a “healthy dairy” and is typically served for breakfast.

Elephant Graveyard

The Elephant Graveyard, once considered a scary and lawless place (the “shadow lands” which were not a part of the original kingdom), has become a tourist destination—something akin to a spa.

They are known for selling vanilla cookies shaped like bones.

The hot springs at the Elephant Graveyard have kettles hidden by the steam. The hot water vapor cooks onsen tamago (a traditionally Japanese irl dish) and puddings. It imparts a slightly salty and sulfurous flavor and smell to the foods.

Sunrise City

The Raintree Market is a bazaar that features many foods and drinks.

Many snacks sold in the marketplaces are local specialties, so they’re popular as souvenirs.

Wild and cultivated hibiscus flowers are boiled with sugar to produce a red juice. There is also a white juice, which is made using wild baobab (which is full of nutrients; people call it a beauty elixir you can drink). A legends says that, long ago, members of the royal family would have their foreheads painted with baobab juice when they were born. That’s how the fruit became a local specialty.

In the original tale, the juice for marking foreheads was red. It seems that, over time, the color was changed to white by word of mouth, with the latter description fitting more with the white fruit of the baobab. Because of this change, more and more stalls have been selling a mixture of hibiscus juice and baobab juice.

The baobab fruit is also used to make a particular sour candy. The candy is dyed with red food coloring and is then dusted with sugar and chili powder. It’s described as having a “mature” flavor. Leona has liked this candy since he was a child.

Mangoes are a local specialty! Vendors will happily cut open the fruit for you to enjoy on the spot.

Other notable fruits for sale are tart passionfruit and creamy but smelly jackfruit. The latter is considered the largest fruit in Twisted Wonderland and grows on its tree’s trunks.

The Sunset Villa is a luxurious hotel that hosts VIPs and important guests of the state. They offer a large selection of drinks (fruit juice, black tea, coffee…) and serve whole slabs of steak in front of you before serving at luxurious barbecues. After dinners, they have dance performances.

There is an enormous sausage that’s wrapped up in a coil. If unwound, it’s a meter long. It’s meant to be cut with scissors before eating. The sausage’s herbs make it taste refreshing, and its meat is finely grounded to allow its flavors to come through.

Seafood is fresh and cheap, provided you live by the sea or in a coastal region like Dawn City. In more inland areas, seafood is considered a luxury.

Their seafood tends to be cooked with strong spices.

Ruggie’s yet-to-be-named hometown

Because the residents are poor, their food is usually made from collected scraps (such as pumpkin pie made predominantly from the pulpy parts) or prepared with substitutions and without extra flourishes. For example, Ruggie’s grandma prepares homemade donuts for his birthday but they couldn't afford fancy toppings (until Ruggie started working to bring in extra income).

It’s implied that there were instances when Ruggie (and presumably others from his hometown) had to eat rotten food or out of trash cans to get by.

Queendom of Roses

General

There is reference to some irl UK foods in this region, such as the jacket potato.

The Queendom of Roses is famous for its rose jelly rolls. Roses are the flower the country is best known for, of course, but they also have lavender, rosemary, sweet violet, foxglove, bluebells, and many berries.

People from this country eat flowers (which are specifically grown for eating). Flowers are also used for dried flower bookmarks? potpourri, etc.

The Queendom has a good selection of breads.

Apparently, the Queendom also has a strong “tea culture”.

People in the Queendom of Roses eat a lot of different pastries (pies, tarts, quiches, croissants, scones, etc). Croissant donuts (cronuts) in particular have been pretty trendy lately. They’re donuts made with croissant batter, so they come out super flaky. They are sometimes sold with iced tea as a combo.

Potatoes are a staple food.

Jacket potatoes are common at festivals; they are potatoes baked with the skin (ie “jacket”) still on. The standard topping for them is baked beans, but you can also have tuna mayo corn, bean chili, sour cream, avocado, and other things.

Anyone that grew up in the Queendom of Roses has probably done the “cookie smash” at least once as a kid. (More info on this under the “Clock Town” section!)

The Queendom is known for lavender, berries, and rosemary.

Riddle and Trey's yet-to-be-named hometown

Trey's family owns a bakery (called "Patisserie Clover" according to the TWST manga). It seems to be a small "mom and pops" shop with no particular notoriety. However, the manga implies that it was the Clover bakery where Riddle saw the strawberry tarts and became entranced by them. This is also where Riddle would later try his first strawberry tart.

In Riddle and Trey's hometown, people enjoy apple bobbing during the Halloween season.

Before interview: Riddle was worried whether they can start on time and was relieved when Vil showed up and Vil was pretty smug about it lmao

There is a farm not too far from where Riddle lives; it is famous for its ice-cream buns. There is also a cafe located on the farm! It opened shortly after Riddle entered NRC and is so popular that it’s spoken about in magazines and tourists go there just to sample their sweets.

Clock Town

The people of Clock Town value time and punctuality due to the town's connection to the White Rabbit, who was always in a hurry. Many of the foods sold at stalls are things that are easy to hold and eat while walking, such as sliced sandwiches.

The Clock Town Folk Museum mentions a girl that appears in the story of the White Rabbit. She ate cookies that made her grow large; the museum recreates this experiment by projecting a large image of guests that eat cookies they have set out.

The Clock Town Folk Museum also runs a bugle-playing contest. The participation prize is a carrot cookie.

Clock Town sells a brand of potato chips with the White Rabbit logo on them.

The town also sells cookies iced to look like a pocket watch. The icing is made from a mixture of sugar and egg whites (“royal icing”) which hardens considerably. You’re meant to crush the cookie with a hammer to make it into smaller pieces, making it easier to eat. It’s based on the story of the White Rabbit breaking his pocket watch. Others tried to help him fix it by hitting it with a hammer, but it didn’t help at all, only damaged it more!

A lot of people enjoy growing plants, gardening, and horticulture, including stuff that can be eaten like herbs.

Sausage rolls are served in pairs to resemble bunny ears; the container they come in resembles the White Rabbit. They’re sausages wrapped in a pie crust/puff pastry dough, and come in cheese (with a shortcrust pastry similar to what is used for tarts to help hold its shape) and a spicy sausage (with a puff pastry that makes it flaky) variant for the White Rabbit Festival.

There are large mushrooms that grow in Clock Town; eating one side will turn you large, eating the other side will turn you small. The girl in the story of the White Rabbit has eaten these strange mushrooms before. These mushrooms are said to be enchanted and only work in a particular area; its effects last for ~1 minute after eating.

[extra-stout-stories]

First Date / Creepy Cookies

When a BHM in Florida decides to take the plunge on a long-distance relationship with a witchy SSBBW FFA in New England, their first IRL encounter goes even better than he expected. (BHM to USSBHM, magical rapid weight gain, SSBBW feeder. Romantic, but spicy and mildly explicit. Lots of sexy descriptions of food. CW: Immobility, mobility aids.)

My first contribution to Feedist Kinktober '24! Reblog if you like it, and thanks as always to the mighty @fatguarddog for blessing us with an inspirational list of prompts. Last year I bit off more than I could chew and ended up with a folder of half-finished story ideas, so this year I'm only writing the ones where I feel inspired enough to knock a full story out in one go. Here's a sexy supernatural mutual gaining tale.

--

His belly hang bounced against the steering wheel as he stepped with a grunt out of the rental car. A compact car wasn't exactly comfortable for a guy his size, but it was a chance to save a little bit of money on the trip. If this works out it's going to be expensive, he thought to himself. Long distance sucks.

He adjusted his jacket against the October breeze. New England was a lot different from Florida. He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibility of moving to somewhere he'd have to shovel snow in the winters, but he had to admit that at this time of year, the yellows and crimsons of the autumn foliage were beautiful like nothing he had ever seen.

And his date was like nobody he had ever met. It would be their first time meeting in person.

Dating as a 320 pound man was difficult enough, dating as a 320 pound man with a feeding fetish was more difficult still, and dating as a mutual gainer felt like the hardest thing of all. He was grateful that his last serious relationship had ended amicably; she was a Miami Beach gym bunny who loved the way her toned, tan body contrasted with his, and she had helped him break through a plateau at 300, but she grew increasingly frustrated that he couldn't reciprocate her attraction to him. Fortunately, they had managed to part without drama and stay friends, and he was happy to watch her pair off with a guy close to his size who was a much better fit for her. There was a text from her waiting when his plane touched down in Boston: "Good luck on your New England date! If she turns out to be a serial killer, text me and I'll come rescue you, k?"

But he wasn't too worried about that. Mostly he was worried that he wouldn't be as fat in person as his date expected. He was fat, of course, but he was also good at using camera angles to highlight his big belly and doughy double chin, making him look like a bigger SSBHM than he really was. And a part of him worried that the date would go too well. Plane tickets and a rental car weren't cheap, flying at his size was cramped and uncomfortable, and the drive north from Boston added another two and a half hours onto the trip. If things worked out, it wasn't going to be much fun trying to make a long-distance relationship work.

Still, it's worth a try. Nothing worth having in life comes easily. That's what he told himself as he took one last look at the scenery, the golden autumn colors mingling with evergreens this far north, the peak of Mount Washington in the distance already dusted with a layer of snow.

--

The Waterwheel Brewery was an old brick building at the edge of a ravine where a cold, clear waterfall splashed and foamed down a crack in the mountain granite. The rusty iron wheel that gave the brewpub its name was still there at the side of the ravine, a nineteenth century relic from a time when the building had been some kind of textile mill during the early years of America's industrial revolution. But that was a long time ago, and now the small factory town in the mountains was a self-consciously quaint destination catering to hikers, skiiers and leaf-peepers from Boston and New York City. The buildings on its main street had been transformed into upscale shops and farm-to-table restaurants, and the nineteenth century mill owner's stately Victorian mansion had been renovated as an expensive bed and breakfast. He had suggested to her that he book a room there for the night of their first date, but she had vetoed the idea. The Wilkes House is a tourist trap, she had messaged back. If dinner goes well, you'll stay at my place. She was nothing if not forward. He liked that about her.

Nervously, he entered the brewpub.

It was a busy Friday night. Middle-aged yuppies in fleece vests and college-aged hippies in hiking gear were clinking glasses. People really are skinnier up North, he thought to himself. It must be lonely being her size in a town like this. The Florida coast was full of tanned and toned beach bodies, of course, so he understood the struggle. Still, even in Florida, the South had its share of fat folks.

And he wasn't nearly as fat as she was.

Then a little voice in his mind seemed to whisper: Yet.

He shivered, his nervousness suddenly replaced by excitement. Don't get too far ahead of yourself, he thought. This is just a first date. She's cool online but you need to know if you vibe in person before you let her feed you for real. He glanced around the brewpub. When his eyes landed on her, there was no mistaking the woman he had come all this way to meet.

--

She was seated at the corner of the brewpub, on banquette seating behind a movable table. She seemed as wide as the table, fat shoulders in a loose white cardigan seeming to flow like lava into her breasts and belly rolls in a snug red cotton dress. An elegant antique necklace, a chunky Victorian brooch on a thick silver chain, drew his attention irresistably to her cleavage, then to the triple chins that seemed to rest directly on her chest and shoulders, her neck gone entirely, the chain disappearing beneath soft, pale folds. His attention wandered up her face just as she registered his presence and their eyes met. Her eyes seemed to flash with anticipation behind a pair of vintage eyeglass frames whose red matched the dress. Her fat cheeks dimpled as she smiled. Her chins quivered.

She was fatter in person.

--

Dinner went as well as he could have imagined. She was as clever as she was fat, a quick-witted conversationalist with a bright laugh and a keen sense of humor. They had spent so much time messaging back and forth that he already felt like he knew her, but she was even more charming in person. She had an endless supply of funny anecdotes from her job as an instructional librarian at the liberal arts college outside of town, the kind of school where rich kids spent four years as ski bums cultivating their weed habits. It wasn't where she had planned to end up, but her Ph.D. in anthropology from Miskatonic hadn't led to a tenure-track job, and she had grown to love the quiet beauty of the little mountain town.

The brewpub owners were graduates of the college, and the waitstaff all seemed to know her. They weren't fazed when she asked to see the menu for a second round of entrees, and while neither of them wanted to drink too much -- it would be another twenty minutes' drive up windy roads to her mountainside cottage, and besides, it was a first date -- the waitstaff were more than happy to pour small samples of the microbrews that the pub brewed on site. He told a few tall tales about life in Florida, exaggerating for dramatic effect. She knew he didn't really have to fend off wild alligator attacks on his way to work, of course, and she gave him a little coquettish smirk when he admitted: "…and besides, I'm too fat to outrun an alligator anyway."

It was all he could have asked for on a first date.

Still, it was hard to keep his mind from wandering to more primal urges, especially when she shrugged off the cardigan and he got a glimpse of her pillowy upper arms, as wide around as some people's waists, spilling like rolls of dough over her elbows, swaying irresistably every time she raised a fork or a glass to her mouth. Cool it, he told himself, biting his lower lip. This is a date, not a hookup. We're here to get to know each other, not just fuck. But the more he watched her stuff herself with gusto, polishing off a steak followed by a lobster roll and a series of appetizers that just seemed to keep coming, the more he found himself imagining what the mountainous rolls of her naked belly might look like beneath that red dress, how wide and soft her naked hips and ass would be when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her fat body against his.

"Distracted? They asked what you wanted for dessert." He blushed, suddenly realizing how far he had lost himself in the reverie. She gave him a wry smirk. "The bread pudding's good here. Get it with caramel."

The waitress looked at her, then at him, and didn't bother to ask him for confirmation. Soon he was tucking into the bread pudding. But by now, he thought to himself, the bill couldn't come soon enough.

--

He felt suddenly protective of her as she stood up from the table, reaching to steady herself on a stainless steel bariatric cane, face slightly flushed and breath slightly ragged from the effort of lifting her enormous body. He helped her slip the cardigan back on, and as he helped her navigate around the tables to the entrance of the brewpub, he found himself putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her, feeling her back rolls ripple with each step. She's really big, he thought to himself. But it wasn't his first time with an SSBBW, and he knew how to pace himself and help her feel comfortable, glancing and gesturing to signal to the other diners that they should pull their chairs in for a moment to clear a path. He caught one or two hostile stares from skinny couples eating salads, but when he glared back -- it helped that he was tall and stocky, muscular underneath his fat -- they looked away in embarrassment.

She smiled up at him as they reached the rental car. She was a few inches shorter than him, and the difference in height put just how fat she was into even sharper relief. "Think you can make it up the mountain?"

He laughed. "As long as you don't ask me to hike. That's what the car is for." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close for a kiss, the fabric of his shirt whispering against the fabric of her dress as their bellies touched, a peck on the lips leading to a momentary touching of tongues before she withdrew.

"Good. Make sure you turn right at the covered bridge. Otherwise you'll end up in moose territory. They're even faster than alligators."

"Got it. I'll see you in a little bit." He smiled and lowered himself with a grunt into the rental car. Damn, he thought, exhaling suddenly as his belly hit the steering wheel and he reached down to scoot the seat back a little further. I'm really full.

Only the knowledge of how easy it would be to get lost in these woods on a wrong turn, and the thought that a tourist town like this would be full of speed traps, kept him from rushing even faster than he did up the road to her secluded cottage.

--

She had just gotten out of her own car when he pulled up, steadying herself on the cane as she reached into her purse for her keys. The cottage was picture-postcard cute, wood and stone, built (she had told him at dinner) by some now-forgotten artist who had moved up from Manhattan in the Fifties to get closer to nature. As the door swung open she saw that she'd had it fitted out with energy-efficient modern luxuries and rearranged to make space for her ample body, the open floor plan giving it a feeling that was simultaneously spacious and cozy. Through a wide picture window he could see the lights of the town and the college flickering down in the valley; he thought he could just barely make out the silhouette of the brewpub.

But what really enticed him was the smell of fresh cooking. She must have spent all day baking, he thought to himself. There were savory breads and sugary sweets, pies, cakes and turnovers, all mingling with the aroma of beef stew bubbling in a slow cooker and the scent of cinnamon from an enormous apple crumble.

He watched her enormous ass and thighs quiver as she slowly walked to the kitchen. All of a sudden all he could think about was sex.

She turned back to look at him, the folds of her chins quivering, her cheeks dimpling in that irresistable smile as she winked at him through her vintage glasses. "Hungry?"

He exhaled and patted his belly. It had been a lot of food at dinner.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

He smiled back.

"I could use a little something. That was a long trip up the mountain."

"Good boy." She ladled some beef stew into a dish, then reached to slip on an oven mitt and open the oven. He couldn't keep his eyes off of how her ass and back rolls jiggled as she bent slightly to reach past her belly, her breath quickening with the effort. She drew out a thick loaf of bread and cracked it open. Inside, it was still steaming.

Turning to face him, she locked eyes with him and smiled, setting half the loaf down and reaching for a knife and butter. Slowly, sensually, she buttered the bread. He watched the glistening fresh butter seep into the thick, soft dough. He watched her arms jiggle, her chins quiver, her belly ripple.

She dipped the bread in the beef stew and took a small nibble. "Try dipping it." She grinned and handed him the dish. "Go sit on the couch. I'll bring some desserts, too."

She rolled her own dish of beef stew in on a cart, accompanied by pumpkin pie, apple crumble, and a large tub of ice cream. She sat down next to him and began to eat. By the time they finished, he felt so full he could barely breathe.

Her belly seemed to engulf him as she rolled over to straddle him on the couch, slipping her arms around his shoulders and pinning him down with her bulk. He pulled her closer and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Soon she was unbuttoning his shirt.

--

They were naked by the time they headed to the bedroom. She had been teasing him underneath his belly, giving quick, eager strokes, first with the tips of her fat fingers and then with the tip of her tongue. But he gave as good as he got, his own fingers deftly exploring the sensitive undersides of her rolls, sinking in a fraction of an inch further every time he plunged them into the warmth where her thighs and belly met.

By now he was so motivated by desire that he barely bothered to glance around the living room as she led him to bed. If he noticed the shelves of books, the replica statues of paleolithic goddess figures acquired during her anthropology research, it was only as background decoration.

His eyes passed over it, but he didn't really see the altar. A circle of red candles, designs painted in luminous white on dark black velvet, a small stone figurine, this one not a replica. Fresh fruit and grain placed as an offering. Slices of each of the baked desserts she had made, another offering.

And by now he was so full of dessert that he really couldn't take any more. If his eyes glanced briefly over the plate of cookies at the center of the circle of candles, he would have registered them only as one more item in the blur of sweet tastes and textures, of a piece with the pies and the brownies and the turnover soaked in ice cream. He was so full.

He certainly wouldn't have thought to ask her why the cookies were still steaming as if freshly baked, even though they had been making out for over an hour and he hadn't seen her take them from the oven.

She guided him to her bedroom tenderly, but when she shoved him the last step into bed she was almost rough, her own lust evident now, her face flushed as she took off her glasses and unpinned her hair, long locks falling down past her breasts and the enormous rolls of her belly, moving slowly but deliberately, fat flesh pressing against fat flesh as she curled up next to him in bed and pulled him in for another kiss.

The sex was even better than he had fantasized. Both of them were crackling with lust, burning with desire, as if lightning was passing back forth through their skin everywhere their bodies touched.

There's nothing like the sensation of fat on fat.

--

He was dozing off to sleep, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, when he felt her stand up from the bed. He heard the clunk of her bariatric cane as she left the bedroom. After all the excitement, he was too sleepy to do much more than grunt.

"Still hungry, babe?"

He groaned. At any other time, those words from her lips would have been the most enticing come-on he had ever heard. But the plane flight and the drive had taken a lot out of him, the sex had drained the last of his energy, and he was still full.

"C'mon. Just a few bites." She was back at the bedside, lifting a cookie to his lips.

"Mmmph." The warm, fresh dough. The gooey chocolate. He let her feed him the entire cookie, then another, then another. Barely awake, his eyes closed, his inner eye was already seeing half-formed dream shapes.

"Good boy." She traced her hand across his belly. So full, so achingly full. This was the best night of his life.

"Just one more bite. You have to eat the whole plate." She watched him swallow the last of the cookie, reached across his chest to pinch a few stray crumbs between her fat fingers, stuck her fingers between his lips so he could lick them off.

He leaned his head back onto the pillow and was immediately asleep.

--

His dreams were as much sensations as visions. Sensations of warmth, softness. Heaviness. Candles and torchlight illuminating his body. Eating, eating, always eating. Heavy, so heavy. His belly swelling.

She was there, or was it one of the goddess figurines? Looming over him, lustful and loving. Hungry for him, hungry to feed him. The goddess was vastly bigger than him, impossibly bigger, filling the bedroom, filling a torchlit cave, filling the night sky until her rolls of fat obscured the stars.

But he was big too, so big. And getting bigger.

Gradually the sensations ended. The visions ended. He sunk into a deep, deep sleep with no more dreams.

--

It was a bright New England autumn morning. He could see clear blue sky and a riot of fall colors, the town in the valley below framed perfectly in the picture window of the bedroom.

He was hungry. He didn't want to get up. Surely she had left some food in the bedroom.

Yes. A blueberry pie. Fresh. He was suddenly aware that he was alone in bed. From the kitchen, he could hear the clatter of dishes and the thud of her cane.

He was suddenly seized by the urge to devour the pie with his bare hands. He was hungrier than he ever thought possible. He reached for it, and --

His arm was heavy. So heavy. Just lifting it was an effort. Rolls of fat cascading, heavy as gym weights, his arms never reaching quite so far that the spilling softness of his upper arms didn't still touch the equally soft and heavy rolls of his naked chest and belly.

My belly. He looked down. He could barely see past his moobs, and he couldn't see past his belly at all. He felt it against his --

Against his calves. His belly had become enormous.

He looked down. He reached, or tried to. He was as wide as the bed, his fat arms splayed wide against side rolls that were just an inch or two short of spilling over the sides.

He wriggled his hips, or tried to. He felt hundreds of pounds of fat -- how many pounds? -- quiver in soft ripples.

He didn't even bother trying to stand up.

He felt the rolls of his chins against his chest, the rolls of his chest against his belly, the rolls of his belly against his thighs. He felt his thighs meet to well past his knees.

He even felt his overstuffed fat toes.

And suddenly there was a hardness under all that softness. He gasped sharply, drawing in a deep breath, feeling himself quake with excitement. Feebly, he tried to buck his hips against his belly, full of desire now.

She was standing in the bedroom door, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other.

"Hungry?"

She grinned at him.

He could barely speak. "W-what happ…"

She wore nothing but a silk robe, open at the waist. Slowly, sashaying her enormous hips to make her massive belly sway from side to side, she waddled towards him and seated herself as best she could at the edge of the bed. She traced her fingertips down his belly.

"Magic. Don't ask too many questions. Do you want the croissants first, or the pie?"

"The pie." At least he had a ready answer to that one.

"Good boy." She began lifting forkfuls of the warm, fresh blueberry pie to his greedy lips. She stroked his hair and gave a mock pout. "I'm not sure you're going to fit on the plane back to Florida."

"Not unless it's a cargo plane." He smiled. "You didn't have to do this, you know. I would have stayed anyway."

Her mock pout deepened. "But it's so fun this way! You should have seen the look on your face when you woke up." She gave his belly a playful shove. "And I had to know you weren't one of those feedee fuckboys. Lots of guys online talk a big game but won't commit."

He lifted an arm as best he could to squeeze her thigh. "Come on. You knew I was serious."

"Mmmhmm." She leaned across him, her belly spreading over his. She was the skinny one now. "But I'm even more serious."

"Is that so?" He polished off the last bite of the pie, then let his voice get a little fierce. "More food. Now."

She blushed and giggled. "Okay, you're serious. That's what I like to see."

"I know it is." He sighed with contentment, wriggled his hips to get a little bit more comfortable, and let her lift the first of many chocolate-stuffed croissants to his lips. "Am I going to stay like this?"

She smiled. "Only if you want to. The spell is reversible." She paused, a smirk on her face. "But I think you want to."

"You're right. How do you know me so well?"

He smiled. Then he pulled her in for a kiss, grunting with the effort, the softness of his upper arm sliding against her naked back rolls.

--

An afternoon of eating. An evening of sex. A day passed. Maybe two or three.

He heard his phone vibrate, somewhere in the pile of clothes that were now much, much too small for him. "Could you pass me that?"

She stood up off the bed and reached down to pick up the phone, moving slowly. Slowly due to her bulk, slowly because she knew his mouth was watering at the sight of her enormous body in motion. She placed the vibrating phone on his belly, then left for the kitchen.

It was a text from his friend in Miami Beach. "You doing okay up there? Should I call the cops?"

He smiled. His fingers were so fat that it took him a minute to correct all the typos, but he texted back. "Even better than I hoped."

A moment later, the reply arrived. "That's great. Anything you need?"

He glanced over his gigantic belly at the stupendously fat woman who stood in the bedroom door, carrying a tray of fresh blueberry pancakes glistening with maple syrup. Through the door he could see into the living room, where an empty plate sat on an altar surrounded by the stubs of red candles. "Yeah. If I Venmo you the money, could you hire some movers to box my stuff up and send it here? I'm planning on staying in New England for a while."

He put the phone down and opened his mouth to take his first bite of the pancakes.

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Eight

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia )

SEX POLLEN/FUCK OR DIE / CHASTITY / SEXUAL COMPETITION

Summary: Coming home from work, all you want to do is collapse on the sofa with Frankie and snuggle but a mystery package makes your evening a little more interesting.

Day Eight of @absurdthirst's fabulous Kinktober prompt list!

Warnings: Mentions of food and drink, sex powder/pollen, arguing, Santiago and Frankie being dom if you squint, biting, oral - female receiving/male receiving, fingering, squirting, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), rough sex, choking, three-way, MMF, spit roasting, Santiago gets a little soft, no use of Y/N

(If I miss anything, please say and I’ll adjust)

Word Count: 4.5k

Notes: I originally planned to write a Leash and Collar story with Santiago on Day Six but never got the chance, that storyline however is alluded to here. Maybe I’ll write it someday.

You were ready to go home and collapse on the sofa after a long day at work. It was Friday night so Frankie would have order some form of take out, the fire would be on to take the edge off the chillier evenings and he probably would have stashed some snacks away from his daughter. All signs would point to a good night in, though your interest peaked when you opened the door to see Santiago also sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey, Santiago.”

Francisco was hidden behind the fridge door, “Drink?”

“Please.”

You pull off your coat and step further in, your cold nose immediately being alleviated by the warm orange glow filling the room.

“Your pizza’s getting cold.”

You scramble to get your shoes off, hurrying to make your way to the kitchen table, a cardboard box still steaming. Frankie always ordered your favourite, he knew each variation of your takeaway orders from the Chinese down the block to this, the pizza place just on the edge of town.

Sitting down, you open it up and sigh as the cheese stretches apart.

He places a beer in front of you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How’ve you been, Santi?”

He snorts, “See, Fish, that’s how you welcome a guest.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, “Hey, I’m used to you coming and asking for a favour, hermano.”

“I’ve been fine, honey, just making sure my favourite pairing were ok.”

Actually, he was seeing if Frankie still had the hump about getting you a collar, everyone in the kink scene knows what a collar means and Santiago doesn’t necessarily own you. He’s put Francisco through too much shit to do something like it again.

You glance to Frankie, “It’s all been good.”

“You didn’t tell her how pissed you were, did you?”

“Of course, not. We’ve settled this, quit talking about it.”

You never questioned what they spoke about in their native language, it was clear they didn’t want you to know, it was also apparent that Frankie was annoyed and Santiago was fucking lapping it up, a smirk on his face.

“Now, now boys.”

You chew your food with a smile and the atmosphere calms.

They continue to ask about your day and all the usual tales about an ordinary suburban life before you can’t bring yourself to take another bite. As you tidy everything away, plating up a couple of slices for tomorrow, you catch an unopened parcel addressed to Francisco on the side.

“What’s this?”

Picking it up you see Benny’s handwriting.

“Why’s Benny sending you something?”

“I dunno, it’s Benny, he’s probably found something he thinks is funny.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“No.”

You tilt your head, “Can I open it?”

Frankie shrugs, “Sure.”

Santiago has a glint in his eye, all he wants to do is take a jab at the fact he’s letting his girl open his mail. He chooses to keep his mouth shut because he doesn’t need Frankie throttling him this evening.

Popping the parcel on the table, you rummage for a knife to break the duck tape.

“Any ideas?”

“Nah, man, knowing Benny it’s some sort of odd sex thing. You sure you want her to open that?”

Frankie honestly couldn’t care less, Benny had sent him some shit in the past, including a fake letter with lacy underwear hanging from the seal. Benny thought he’d have a laugh however he used it as an excuse to move and never come face-to-face with that postal worker again. It was small, what harm could it do?

You press the blade along the sides first before gently cutting the box along the middle, then the next part, is a little bit of a blur.

Your soft touch meant the box didn’t quite do what it was intended to until your face was close. Whatever way Benny rigged it, the lid of the item inside exploded off like an overenthusiastic Jack in the Box, sending a smoke plume of pink.

You heard a chair scrape heftily on tiled floors, felt the pressure of hands grabbing your arms as your back met the countertop behind. Frankie spewed a variety of profanities, both in English and Spanish, as you choked and spluttered on whatever had come from that package.

“I’m going to kill him.”

You blinked, the pink still in your vision.

Frankie brought his hands to your cheeks, callous thumbs rubbing, his big brown eyes searching your face. There was a tingling sensation that spread down your face pleasantly, it wasn’t scary just unusual.

“Everything alright?”

“I - urgh,” you process your words. “What the fuck was that?”

To your surprise, Santiago was still sat down, brows knotted. Benny wouldn’t be this stupid would he?

He draws the box closer, pulling out two pieces of paper. The first reads ‘Have fun you two ;P’, and the second is a pamphlet in a pink equally matching the cloud that escaped.

“Shit.”

“What?” Frankie’s query came from deep within his throat, your pussy clenched.

“I’ve heard of this, it’s just hit the market.”

By the way he says market, you know he means a kinky one.

“Pope, I swear -“

“It’s a powdered aphrodisiac…”

Both you and Frankie look at him with confused expressions, he would never tell either of you how adorable you looked or maybe it’s because those tiny potent particles are in the air.

“And our girl just got a face full of it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

That tingling in your face had travelled, you could feel it in every limbs, running through your veins, pooling in excitement. You wrap your fingers over the edge of the countertop to steady yourself, swallowing hard.

Frankie swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Oh no.”

You try to focus on your breathing, slowing down your increasing heartbeat but it’s seeming impossible, you can feel you legs turning to jelly. All you could think about was getting out of the space, containing your building ecstasy out of the vicinity of two men who, right now, were not burning with desire.

You take a couple of steps and Santiago is on his feet.

“Stop,” he comes forward.

“What, no, we’re not doing this,” Frankie blocks his path.

You try to make your escape as they start to argue.

“Are you serious, Fish? She’s got to get this out of her system.”

“There’s gotta be another option.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing that just wears off when she goes to sleep.”

You can’t remember their argumentative tones sounding this fucking good before. You were salivating at the thought of their heated bodies almost pressed up against each other, their hot breath teasing each other’s skin, muscle taut. The image wouldn’t leave your mind and you froze.

The noise that you released was both a cry of pain and pleasure.

Their voices hush before Frankie cautiously called your name.

Turning round, you pull at the edge of you skirt, your body vibrating. It was like you’d been called out at school, you couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

Santiago stood there as he does when things get serious, hands on hips, head hanging low. His eyes are dark.

“On the table.”

Frankie’s cock twitched, mouth hanging slightly agape and he looks back to you.

“Do as he says.”

He could be authoritative when he needed to be Frankie and it made your situation worse. You shuffle, the friction of your thin underwear threatening at your clit. Following their instruction, you pick yourself up onto smooth wooden top, feet dangling.

Santiago took the lead.

His touch sent electric shocks through your knees, pushing them wider. He lifts up your skirt and sees how dark your panties are, he hisses.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

Your lip quivered, “I’m scared.”

He picked up your chin, delivered you a soft smile.

“We’re going to help you, don’t worry.”

You laugh, built up nervous energy does that to you.

He waits for it to pass.

“Lay back for me.”

You continue to do as you’re told, your back meeting the table.

Santiago throws your skirt up and out of the way, fingertips grazing your thighs as he knelt at your feet. He trailed kisses up your leg, starting soft before growing heavier, his teeth nipping at your flesh before he soothed with his tongue.

Your breath was shaky.

“You’re going to be such a good girl for us, aren’t you honey?”

Frankie watches how you shiver, how your chest rises and falls as you steady yourself. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the sensation goes straight to his hardening cock, he can’t look away as his friend brushing the tip of his nose over your mound.

You mewl as he presses his lips against that built up bundle of nerves and groans.

“Feel free to step in whenever you like.”

Santiago glances over his shoulder, lips pouted, wet with the residue of your pleasure.

You pick up your head drunkenly, wondering why Santiago had stopped but also to look at him, eyes glossed with held back tears. The corner of your lips curl with a feeble smile, you’re worried about him.

“Just concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Frankie comes over and crashes his lips onto yours, your head falling back with the force of his action. You gasp, only allowing him to slip in his tongue and roam your mouth, yours working in tandem. He fumbles to undo your shirt buttons before his hands claw at freshly exposed skin, his thumbs following the curvature of your breasts.

Santiago hooked your underwear to one side, the tip of his tongue licking along the creases of your outer lips with careful precision.

You moan into Frankie’s mouth and he gladly accepts.

He pulls your shirt further open, catching the elasticated straps of your bra and running along the edge to free your breasts from the cups. He grabs them in handfuls, breathing in every delicious noise that escaped you.

Santiago’s cock was straining against his jeans, the air he was breathing thick with the scent of your juices. Letting go of your hip, he carries on licking you whilst his free hand pulled at his belt, popping open the button and unzipping with a satisfied sigh. He was throbbing, his balls feeling heavier than usual, he was going to take you on this fucking table if it was the last thing he did on earth.

Frankie finally let you come up for air but it didn’t mean he stopped.

His kisses ran down your neck and along your décolletage, his patchy whiskers scratching. You ran your fingers through his brown curls, nails digging into the scalp, raising his face up. His Adam’s apple bobbed as the saliva built against his cheeks, the colour of his eyes no longer visible.

And Santiago?

Santiago didn’t like not having some attention.

“Fuck!”

You cry as he presses his tongue flat against your cunt and licks in one lengthily swoop, your legs clamping around his head.

“Santi.”

Your shoulders fall back as he takes another lick.

If looks could kill, Santiago knows he’d be dead, the glare Frankie delivered him was enough to do that but it only made him smirk behind you. He chose to ignore the other man, taking two fingers and slipping them into your folds.

You moan, back arching as the spark ignited.

Frankie’s brows furrowed, expression stern but Santiago had only brought you closer.

Returning to your neck, he locked himself tightly into the crook, sucking hard.

“Shit.”

He was going to leave a mark.

His teeth grazed your chest, he moved down the middle before his slopping nose nudged your one breast. He pursed his lips before taking your nipple in his mouth and biting gently.

You hissed through gritted teeth, your hand reaching for the back of his head once again.

You were fit to burst.

Santiago was ruthless, pumping in and out of your weeping cunt at an alarming pace whilst Frankie was playing and nuzzling at your breast like a wild animal. You couldn’t see yourself but you know their brown eyes were dark, hungry to soak up every piece of pleasure you had to offer.

You weren’t going to last much longer.

The fever had entered every fibre of your being, ran hot through your veins and vibrated every muscle, your stomach coiling. Your skin was tingling, the pink film over your eyes lifting, bursting into white spots. Your walls were fluttering around Santiago’s digits and he knew exactly what he had to do then.

He straightened up, the tip of his cock notching the edge of the table as he continued to stroke you. He watched in delight as you dug your nails further into Frankie’s scalp, your neck taut as you gasped for air.

His fingertips curled, pressing into that soft sweet spot, thumb closing on your clit.

You screamed, snapping your legs closed yet you still didn’t give him what he wanted and that only coaxes him more.

He draws circles with his thumb as you visibly shake.

“Santi, please,” you whine.

You want him to stop, the sensation overwhelming, the blood rushing to your ears. Your hips rise to try and alleviate the pressure but he’s having none of it.

“You know what I want.”

His voice was low, gravely.

You sob. You were rarely a brat however you knew if you let yourself go, the flood gates would open and with the powder in your system, you had no idea of the outcome. But all three of you knew it had to happen eventually.

“Honey,” Santiago grazed his fingertips over your stomach, “Cum for me.”

He spread his hand and pushed you flat to the table, digging his fingers deep into that spongy spot and you unravelled. Your juices gushed, coating his hand as he removed it to rub over your clit and help you ride out your orgasm.

This is the first time Frankie has seen you squirt.

He finds himself unable to concentrate as he separates from your chest and watches your arousal soaks the kitchen floor.

“Fuuuck, querida.”

The comedown sent shocks through your body, toes and fingers curling.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you gasp for air.

“You don’t need to apologise.”

He kissed your lips gently and that’s all it took for the powder to take effect yet again. You deepen the kiss, placing both hands on his patchy jawline to keep him there.

Santiago unzips his top before desperately pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. The sweat already clung to his chest, pre cum already leaking from his cock as he shred his trousers too. Tucking his hands underneath your hips, he hauled you closer to him in one motion, ripping you from Frankie.

He balanced your lower half on the edge of the table.

“Wouldn’t you prefer the bedroom?”

“I need you here…”

He shook his head, focusing on playing with your clit against the radiating tip of his cock. It sent a shiver down your spine, a ragged breath falling from his lips as he stroked your folds. Your hands gripped the wood for dear life, you were in trouble.

“Now.”

And he pushed himself deep in one vigorous snap of the hips.

Santiago groaned, his chest rumbling against you as he brought your body to his.

“Still so tight,” he slurred to Frankie.

“Even after that? You’re losing your touch.”

You have time to catch your breath, walls pulsating around him.

“Eh, I’ll make sure you eat your words later.”

“We all know you’ll be the one with a dick in your mouth.”

Santiago squinted at Frankie to gage whether he was lying through his teeth except the man kept a straight face. Santiago had seen Frankie’s cock in the showers during their years in the military, he knew he’d be a decent size when he was hard, he’d gladly take him.

Ok, now this conversation was taking too long. You groan, “Please, hurry up and fuck me.”

The boys share a laugh.

Neither of them were used to you being like this. Sure, you always wanted sex when it came to it but this was desperate and needy and that mouth of yours, Santiago couldn’t get over it. You were normally so pliant and good for him that he may have to ensure he puts your mouth to good use later.

He swats your ass, sending a shockwave that bucks your hips.

“Been as you asked so politely.”

His grip on your hips tightened, fingernails digging into hot flesh and the thought of your trouble got worse, you were in real fucking trouble now.

Santiago had always fitted in you, his length perfect, his girth enough to stretch you but pleasurable and with the powder, you were riding high. He wasn’t like his usual, meticulous self, he had lost as much sense as you.

It was fast and rough, his cock gliding through your slick.

Everything within you burned, the sounds filling the room, the grunts of Santiago and the moans of you a musical unison.

Frankie couldn’t believe what he was hearing or seeing, every detail crystal clear like he was watching a film against a cinema screen. How every thrust of Santiago’s hips sent a ripple through you muscles, boobs bouncing, your knuckles turning white as you held on, your expression scrunched as he pushed you closer to your next release.

Then there was his cock, hard and constricted against his jeans, he had to get involved before he blew his load.

He scrambled to get his clothes off, the heat now radiating from him.

He was never a selfish lover so he found it surprising that how Santiago dominated you was a bit of a turn on. Maybe that’s why you agreed to their offer when the four of you met that evening, each one of them were different and you liked every single one of them for just that reason.

Though the blood was pumping quickly through his veins, Frankie approached the table cautiously.

Santiago caught him out of the corner of his eye and slowed, he needed to because he knew he was close.

Frankie took your chin, soothed you as he brushed his palm across your face, a thumb rubbing your cheek bone. Your expression relaxed, head falling to the side so you could drunkenly look at him and he smiled.

“Think you can handle me too?”

His thumb crept to you mouth and Santiago stopped, drawing circles on your thighs, cock steady inside you. He waited to see if you’d answer, he knew when you got overwhelmed or had a face full of aphrodisiac powder, your brain would get foggy.

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet, only enough for Frankie to hear, he leans down and delivers the lightest of kisses. You chase for him yet he pulled back, wrapping his other hand around his cock and bringing it to your lips. Much like how Santiago’s looked, the tip was flaming bright, the veins that ran his length bulging at the work of the powder.

Your tongue flicks over your bottom lip before you lick the precum off his tip, he hisses at the touch. Flitting your eyes to his face to check he’s ok, you carry on, taking the end into your mouth and circling the ridge where his skin had pulled back.

The shiver travels through him, a strangled moan that has Santiago’s cock twitching.

“Did you teach her that?”

Frankie laughed cracking under the pressure of two sets of eyes on him.

“No, she does that all by herself.”

“Fuck, how is she so good?”

“I wish I knew.”

Santiago really did because if that was just natural, he was jealous.

You circled Frankie’s tip once more before loosening your jaw and took his length in your mouth, the edge of your nose tickling at his matching brown curls at the base.

Santiago watched you pull back and match the rhythm with his hips.

As you guided yourself back down, Santiago pushed himself back in, your moan travelling along Frankie’s cock. He wrapped his hand the back of your head, fisting your hair as he helped you take what you could, your walls flutter.

“You two are gonna be the death of me.”

You and Santiago shared a look, Frankie unaware as his eyes were screwed shut.

He picked up the speed as you did you best to keep up, humming as your lips tightened around Frankie who steady you more. Santiago took both your ankles and placed them over his shoulder, practically folding you in half as he brought his weight down on you. He couldn’t keep it up much longer and if he was going, he was taking you both with him.

His next thrust hits deep.

The notion knocked the wind out of you, Frankie’s cock falling out of your mouth as you came for air.

Santiago din’t care, the way your cunt reacted to him was so intoxicated and he wanted that over and over until he filled you. Frankie couldn’t blame him either, he needed you to take him more so he could cum down that throat of yours.

They both knew you had it in you but right now, the room almost spinning as the fiery sensation entered every bone.

Frankie guided his cock back to your mouth, pushing gently at the back of your head.

Santiago was relentless, his balls shrinking as they seemed to overfill. His legs were cramping, his knees protesting yet he couldn’t stop. His grunts were now animalistic in nature, the chase for his release timeless.

You couldn’t tell how long the three of you were in that position, could only tell when they were both close and beginning to falter.

Frankie’s fingertips came to your stomach with a featherlight touch and you open your eyes to see his, irises so blown they were black. He pawed at your breast, squeezing a puffy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, your cunt holding closer to Santiago’s cock.

“We’re not gonna last much longer,” Frankie says.

You hum a response before he brings you down his cock and presses you into his belly, your throat constricts and he slides you back. He relaxes his hand on your breast and draws his hand up you décolletage, resting it at the bottom of your neck.

This is his tell.

He pumps you up and down his cock, noting the stutter in Santiago’s hips.

“Ready?”

Frankie puts his hand around your neck and applies light pressure before forcing your head down to the base of his cock. Every part of your body becomes tense, your walls trapping Santiago’s cock deep within you.

“Shit,” he chokes.

He comes thick and fast, his chin falling to his chest as he holds your hips up, his seed spilling messily out of you folds.

You whimper, your legs shaking as your orgasm washes over you.

Frankie felt your back beginning to lift from the table and he knows he’s got a fleeting moment to notch himself a little further. He squeezes your neck more, brings you closer and you feel him at  the back of your throat. That immediate muscle spasm causes his cock to twitch and you suck as he groans.

The salty tang fills your mouth, Frankie’s grip loosening against the back of your head.

You slide back, milking his cock as much as you can before you removed him from your lips with an accompanying pop, a string of your saliva trailing.

He snapped to his senses and cupped your face in his hands, “I’m sorry, querida, are you ok?”

You look up at him with swollen lips and glossy doe eyes, fluttering your lashes, dumbfounded.

Santiago stroked your ankles then pulled himself out of you, the cum pooling onto the table. You body shudders from the lose and he presses a smile to your skin before lowering your legs to the table.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He knew you were cock drunk.

“Querida?”

Frankie brushed his nose to yours, teased the hair that clung to your forehead.

It was like you were under water, their voices were muffled and the scenery was swirling, light brighter from the refraction.

“I’m ok,” you mouth was drying out.

He kissed you softly, laying you back against the cooling wood.

“There’s some bottles out in the garage.”

Once you all made it to the bedroom, you were there for the night so Frankie saw it best to stock up. He took the full glass from Santiago, who continued to saunter around the house nude, his soft cock already beginning to harden.

“Are you serious, what is up with you?” Frankie gestured.

“Fuck you.”

He knew the other man would let him too.

Returning to you, Frankie helped ease you from the table, getting you to sit up straight. You took the water from him and chugged it down, he immediately got you another one.

Santiago came back into your view.

“Can we go somewhere a little more comfy?”

“Of course, honey,” he kissed your temple.

Your cunt clenched around nothing. Though you were loving the attention Frankie and Santiago were paying you, you prayed it would end soon just for your pussy's sake.

“D’you want me to carry you?”

Frankie’s fingertips grazed your hip, gently coaxing you to come with him. Your eyes flit down to his cock, his desire apparent, and he looks away sheepishly. A smile drew across your face as you entwined your fingers into his.

“If you don’t mind.”

Sure, the night wasn’t the quiet night in you expected but thank god Frankie and Santiago were there to alleviate you.

—

“Can’t sleep?”

Santiago sat in the glow of the television, volume low.

You shake your head.

He smiled, “Apparently you might be the only person who’s ever had a face full of Aphrodite’s Powder.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?”

He hummed in response.

You hadn’t moved from the nook in the hallway, your focus on playing with the sleeve of Frankie’s flannel shirt you wore, legs fidgety.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Frankie’s out cold and I’m… still itchy.”

Santiago put his phone down and beckoned for you to go over. You scuttle, legs aching and settle into his lap. He coils an arm around your frame, pressing a shoulder to his, your head resting against his temple. With his other hand, he drops two fingers to your clit and draws careful circles.

“I don’t have the energy to fuck you.”

“I know,” you kiss his salt and pepper hairline, “this will do just fine.”

Everything about the evening became a blur, they pushed you through one orgasm then another then another before you’re sure you blacked out. You wake up to the stillness of the house, the calm of the morning sun breaking through the kitchen window. The television had switched off on it’s own accord and Santiago was sleeping softly, his hand resting between your thighs.

Yes, this will do just fine, you thought, nestling back under his jaw.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

Any tips on creating monsters? Especially if these monsters are simply some of the native life forms of an isolated location our heroes find themselves on? I mean sure, I think of whatever creepy and scary idea you can think of and chuck it in... but there would probably be reasons they evolved that way naturally and it isn't to terrorise outsiders.

Also, if I have one of those monsters secreting a toxin, how possible is to to have one of my humans someone be immune to it, or otherwise has minimal effect on them?

Addy: If you're looking to make something fit an ecological niche, start with what already exists and work from there. Not necessarily a cut-and-paste, but take inspiration from it.

For example, there's something to be said about the simple bear. Bears are scary. They're big, they're tough, they're pretty fast, they can climb trees, they're reasonably clever, and they're very hard to kill. The word "bear" basically means "the brown one," as people used to be so scared of bears they wouldn't say their name, in case a bear got summoned.

Also wild boars. Pigs are freakishly big, and wild hogs are worse. Boar spears have a crossguard to keep the hog from just running the spear through its whole body as it runs at you. You also get into jaguars (they're like IRL drop bears in the shape of cats), crocodiles, and all sorts of kinds of things. Even hippos.

You want somewhere to start? Take a large, bulky predator (or omnivore or big herbivore) and give it some weird traits. Adapt it to the demands of your local environment. Give it a niche to fill, with a lot of the basic premise/heavy lifting done for you by nature. How about a giant bat? Or a coyote with mange (likely the origin of the capybara tale)? Or a cannibalistic giant lizard? Then add spooky and scary stuff, go for it. But remember - some of the creatures that we find very normal and commonplace? They were once considered monsters too.

For toxins... it depends on what the toxin is. If it shuts down specific metabolic processes, then your characters could be totally immune, as they have different biology. Or maybe it's like how alliums (garlic, onions, and leeks) are super toxic to most pet and livestock species, but not us. Our blood is just a bit different in a way that makes n-propyl disulfide (the compound that makes alliums toxic) wayyyy less toxic. The toxin could also be intended for birds or reptiles or whatever else, and therefore have a lesser effect on mammals. Or maybe humans are just special.

Also, threat displays are very much a thing. They're big, they're flashy, they're scary. You can have a critter that hisses and growls and blows up a neck pouch for intimidation, and the intended purpose of that is to scare off creatures that would try to steal its food.

Feral: I’m gonna take a slightly different approach to monster making than filling an evolutionary niche. Classic horror monsters often derive from thematic or symbolic exploration. Vampires are a seductive Other; although they come from older folktales, the vampire of today was born in the early 19th century to explore the racist, xenophobic, and homophobic anxieties of English society.  Werewolves also have much older origins than the common version in modern media but have always blurred the line between a civilized human and a primal beast. 

Looking to the horror King, It fed on fear, taking the shape of the children’s fears - monsters from B-movies like werewolves, a clown, a woman from a creepy portrait, a syphilis-infected homeless man, a zombified Georgie - which the narrative used to explore more abstract fears - leaving childhood and going through puberty, not to mention the overall terrorizing effect of racism, misogyny, and homophobia on the population. The Shining doesn’t even try to pretend it’s not about alcoholism and the effects of substance abuse on a family.

You mention that this story will take place in an isolated setting. Isolation is terrifically thematic. How can you lean into it? What if everyone who dies seems to be totally alone when it happens? And even after they realize they’re in danger, they keep putting themselves in a situation to be alone? Pair that with your monster’s evolution to better survive. Does the monster have some way of peeling one person off from the pack as part of how they hunt - maybe they have some form of vocal mimicry like some birds or a cat that makes the person think they are going towards a crying baby or wounded animal? Does it have exceptional camouflage so no one suspects they are not alone when they’re in a vulnerable position? You mention there being a toxin - instead of killing, can it produce hallucinations or paranoia that would cause a person to split from the group? These could all help the monster hunt whatever its normal prey would be while still tapping into much more abstract fears that you want to explore.

[itsagrimm]

König is a bit nerdy

He might be an active, intimidating, focused and somewhat private man during missions but that basically goes out of the window as soon as he returns home.

Big into board games. It's his main friend circle and they meet up every time he gets back for a night of pizza and a new addition of Carcassonne, Munchkin or CATAN. König would love to play more Pen & Paper style of games as well but since he is in town so irregularly they never really do it.

Listens to audiobooks when traveling because it's easier than to pack all those tons of Sci-Fi and Fantasy books he is into. Currently re-'reads' Eragon because of the nostalgia.

Oh, he likes dragons (obviously).

Owns a closet full of costumes for Mittelalter Märkte / Renaissance Fairs. Also owns a traditional tent and everything else needed for a good LARP. Is 1000000% down for a couples costume.

König has the traditional not-leaving-the-house-for-a-day-when-coming-back-moment to play his favourite game (a certain AAA shooter). Due to the lack of practice and unfamiliarity with the map he isn't the best at it, which his teammates who know him irl tease him mercilessly about. Also, he prefers the sniper position and puts hours into decorating his avatar.

Used to be an avid reddit user. But got annoyed by some incels and left.

Likes going on bookstore dates with his S/O. Also really enjoys some quiet time with them just doing parallel play while being close.

Extremely specific about his keyboard preferences and cap designs. Generally enjoys researching how to improve his set up.

Treasures his old DS and was extremely happy about it turning on and working fine when he found it in an old box at his parents house.

Definitely has done the naruto run during a workout at home.

Can give a 45 minutes impro presentation about something Star Wars related. Will never grow tired of mocking Star Wars, it's a complicated relationship.

Always travels back home to Austria via Germany because the books are cheaper there and he stocks up especially on Mangas and Comics instead of paying an obscene amount for the shipping.

Has played Pathologic.

Has finished Pathologic.

Will not shut up about Pathologic. Yes, his S/O is very used to getting infodumped.

Currently learns polish to read the Witcher books in the original.

Owns and unironically uses themed kitchen utensils from his most beloved franchises. During Christmas time he brings out an absurd amount of cookie cutters for Plätzchen in fantasy themes like swords and witches. And in summer he serves up ice cubes in Death Star shapes. Has a very frilly apron because it reminds him of cliche anime stuff and he thinks him wearing it is funny. (he is right, it looks ridiculous and barely covers his chest.)

Can and will become extremely serious and intimidating again should someone say something sexist or racist or generally mean in his vicinity. He is here to enjoy himself with some nerdy shit with the people he cares about and not here to witness a hate crime or aggressions. He knows too much about that already from work and will become A TREAT if necessary. Don't try that shit around him otherwise you will be faced with spitting-fire-soldier-König and not goofy-nerd-at-home-König.

Likes cute shaped foods and always gets himself or his S/O to try out or as a gift.

Should he ever have kids they will have the most down to play games dad. They will grow up in a house filled with playful things and toys. And reading fairy tales with doing-all-the-voices-König becomes a nightly routine.

[bleach-your-panties]

Intro:

Hello babies!!🖤🐦‍⬛

So, if you know a little bit about me, I am a big fan of horror stories and dark content. (Though I am a scaredy-cat in real life)

This collab idea came to me as I thought about the type of stories I like to read on Tumblr. I also enjoy reading creepy reddit threads like r/Backwoods Creepy and r/creepyencounters. Shoutout to Tallulah ( @antizenin ) for making me get back on Reddit, lol.

So! The theme of this collab is urban legends, myths, fairytales, weird irl encounters; and, fantastical stories (that may or may not be true). Think of Ripley's Believe It or Not and Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction.

How to Join:

🖤Send me a message and tell me a bit about the story that inspires your submission, your chosen fandom(s), and character(s). Joining multiple times is allowed.

🖤Keep in mind that the entire theme of this collab is dark, unsettling, weird, creepy, and horrifying. So 18+ will be required to join.

🖤If you have a real-life experience that inspires you, feel free to use it!

🖤Inspiration may be drawn from existing urban legends and myths (Candyman, Bloody Mary, Creepypasta, etc.) but do not copy them directly! I want to see you make up your own!

🖤Any fandoms are welcome, not just anime.

🖤No submission deadline. Take your time, dearies~

🖤Please tag your posts with appropriate content labels/trigger warnings, and use the 'read more'. Tag me in completed posts and tag #🐦‍⬛fantastic once you're done!

🖤I look forward to reading what you've written!

📜✒️Posts:

🐦‍⬛Haikyuu!!

the abhorrent tale of the scandalous semen six

character(s): seijoh 4 + kuuro tetsurou and kozume kenma

cw: murder, semen in food, kidnapping

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Jujutsu Kaisen

false prophets

character(s): geto suguru

cw: incubus, religious themes, manipulation, coercion, dub-con

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Tokyo Revengers

title tbd

character(s): haruchiyo sanzu

cw: tbd

told by: @ranspuppy

never be a wedding plan for the heartless

character(s): kisaki tetta

cw: mental illness, torture, murder, more tbd

told by: @ksakiswh0re-xo

My Hero Academia 🐦‍⬛

hardest to love

character(s): todoroki touya "dabi"

cw: stalking, voyeurism, self-harm, pyromania, f! masturbation, dubcon, coercion, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!), degradation

told by: @sincerelyzee

🐦‍⬛fantastical myths collab ©bleach-your-panties 2024.

[pocket-lin]

Hey!! 💕 for the fandom ask game, 5, 9 and 20? 🤩

hi!!! thank you for sending me this ask!! once again apologizing if the format for this is all janky, assume I have no clue what I'm doing 80-90% of the time!! also I found out so many of these writer's have tumblrs that I wasn't following so that was exciting!!

please note: this is all about the harry potter fandom so if you don't follow me for that, please look at my pinned post!! tldr is fuck jk and fuck terfs, I won't let her steal our joy!!

5. something I see a lot in fics and love

hmmmm... this is hard to narrow down!! so here's a few things I've been enjoying in hp fics I've read lately!

harry potter who is just so fucking earnestly in love. like, he's tripping over his feet so he can hold the door open for draco and looking at him with big heart eyes from across the pub. harry's got draco's order memorized from that takeout place he loves and he's been pining for draco for years in such an embarrassing way and all his friends are rolling their eyes and placing bets on when harry will finally make a fucking move.

adult ron weasley taking after his mother!! he makes delicious food and makes people scarves and shows his love through his actions!!

draco being absolutely rocked when he finds out that harry is queer! especially when harry is confident and completely unashamed of his sexuality. also throat goat harry

magic being tangible in some way!! like, a strong spell giving off the smell of ozone, being able to feel it in someone's hands, everyone's magic having a unique vibe.

harry as the ultimate dad. like, that dude 100% has so many complicated feelings about family and his kid(s) would be everything to him.

9. a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

I've been dipping into alllll kinds of ships lately. I love to just go look at individual ship tags on a03 and read the stuff with the highest kudos and then some of the most recent fics. I think you gotta do both to understand the ship!! here's some I've been vibing with lately (also realizing how many of these are drarry+someone else hahaha)

harry/draco is my otp BUT harry/ron and harry/ron/hermione are tied for second. that's harry's family!! they were his first friends and the first people to show him love and they literally went through war together. they know each other!! two favorite harry/ron fics of mine are Sun Kissed by @static-abyss and A tangled mess by @orange-peony! two harry/ron/hermione favorites are nineteen years later by wendydarlings and try to fix you by @maesterchill!

snarry - I was sooooo not into this in my early fandom days because so much of the ship stuff I saw was underage teacher/student stuff and that's very much not my thing. the first dip into this ship was actually through @writcraft's harry/draco/severus fic, A Life Worth Remembering, which is almost a complete subversion: Severus gets de-aged to 25 through a potions accident and has to stay with draco and harry, who are middle-aged and in an established relationship. its a gigantic change for everyone involved and the way their all find their way to each other is sooooooo good. from there I read all their snarry stuff. one of their other snarry fics I love is How We Were Warriors. I've actually been back into this ship the past few weeks and have loved On the Deficiencies of Translation Spells and old fires and phantom limbs by @liladiurne, as well as A Turn of the Page and Severus’s Story (or, A Hero’s Tale) by avioleta!

neville/harry and harry/draco/neville - I think about @kittycargo's Love to Give soooooo often. also absolutely love When it Returns by @academicdisasterfic and Touch Your Lips Just So I Know by @saxamophone!!

harry/draco/charlie - everyone go read Licurici by @lou-isfake and tell me you aren't a changed man!!!

ron/draco/harry. I can't even begin to talk about this one because we'd be here for a million years!!

20. your very first fandom!

I started doing irl fandom things for harry potter with my mom and sister when I was a little baby (I learned to read with the harry potter books!!) but my first solo (and almost exclusively online) fandom was the the teen titans!! I was obsessed with the marv wolfman and george perez comics from the 80s and completely lost my shit when they announced the teen titans animated series. that show cancellation still hurts 😭

[gluttonyedits]

self-indulgent: bloom Gold Chicken Shred and Dezhou Chicken renders Do not tag Gold Chicken Shred as kin/ID/me and Dezhou Chicken as F/O.

[madstronaut]

This post by @void-my-warranty gave me much food for thought because first of all, omg activating my 'is the sun some tumblr anon bothering you my queen' mode (tbh it's always latently activated on this hellsite when i see my beloved moots/writers bothered) upon noting voidy's reaction - I've also read that post in question re: "all smut is writers fucking all their readers" and I will agree to disagree with that premise; sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't, but it's definitely more than that imho?

The interesting thing about the meaning of stories is that oft times you start with an author's intention, but when combined with the lens through which a reader chooses to consume it (their heart, their mind, their mood, their past, their joys, their sorrows, what happened to them that day, or last year, or as a child, etc.) something quite curious occurs and the story can alchemize into something new and altogether surprisingly meaningful and wonderfully and cathartically important to both the reader and the writer in a way that wasn't anticipated when the fic was written/posted.

Drawing from personal experience as well as chats with IRL/tumblr moots here - I see smut as a way to explore and express sexuality in a safe space and by extension, fanfic/writing itself is a way to explore and express the entire spectrum of being human and all its crests and troughs. I find it hard to properly express sometimes how I feel about fanfic (cough or do I) and the impact it has had on me but poet Lemn Sissay's answers here in his interview with Natasha Lunn on love summed it up in such a poignant and beautiful way. Apt because well, he's an award-winning poet lol

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

text: Another way of feeling our shared humanity, I've found, is through stories.

Although there are fairy-tale narratives I could blame for my fantasies in relationships, there are also stories that have brought a real form of love into my life. I'm not referring to books or novels about love, specifically, but rather passages of writing that have the power to make you feel a little more alive.

The paragraph that gives you a tingle of recognition. The lines that feel as if they are directly written for a deep, secret part of you, that you weren't necessarily even aware of until it was woken up by words.

Reading such a passage is, I think, a form of love. Like any relationship, that intrinsic recognition is a way of understanding and being understood, of seeing and being seen. The psychiatrist Gordon Livingston said that 'the fundamental requirement for any satisfying relationship is a reciprocal ability to see the world as others see it, to be able to put ourselves in someone else's shoes.'

And that's what a truthful piece of writing does: by allowing us to access another person's reality, it shifts our mind into a higher gear of empathy. This deep clicking into place doesn't happen often. But when it does?

Those passages become a source of love for us to reach back for the next time we feel desperate or alone, like a float thrown out when you've lost the energy to carry on swimming.

This is how I have felt reading Elizabeth Strout's books and watching Kenneth Lonergan's films. It's how I feel every time I read - and speak to - the writer Sarah Hepola too. Her words carry me back to a peaceful place inside myself where I know what really matters. - excerpt from Conversations on Love by Natasha Lunn

I'm not even halfway through the book, but I highly recommend it already.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Riddle, Rook: By Order of the Queen

I wrote this one during a very busy time for me irl so I apologize if I didn’t end off the Platinum Jacket line of imagines strongly 🙇‍♀️

A Tale as Old as Time.

A young girl, an older man, and an odd hare shared the same table. The latter two were sitting upon it, propping their feet on the cloth.

Pots of tea—each of a different design—did not match the cups. A mouse poked its head out of one, curiously staring at the girl. Bent spoons sat beside the saucers, gigantic sugar cubes floating in pools of tea.

Riddle stared at the painting intensely, picking apart the details, the rules being skirted or blatantly violated. The man and the hare are not in chairs, there’s far too much sugar in their drinks, and is there even jam properly smeared on that dormouse?

“Roi des Roses, what about this painting has captured your gaze so?”

He startled at the deep timbre at his ear, jolting back. His shoulders relaxed when he met a familiar face. His heart, still racing, was unable to be wrested under control.

Devious, tumultuous thing, the heart.

Riddle cleared his throat. “A roundabout way of asking for my opinion on this work, Rook-senpai.”

The grin the Pomefiore student wore stretched, reminding Riddle of his childhood days. Cheshire smiles and sugar-coated memories, tasting far sweeter than the hours he toiled at a desk.

“Ah, do forgive me for the sudden request! As an avid fan of art, I love to hear different interpretations of the same piece,” Rook rambled excitedly. “A painting that invokes joy in myself, for example, may bring about despair for you, or vice versa! The wellspring of human emotion, expression, and experience is just that vast.”

With an exasperated expression, Riddle folded his arms. “… Well, I was just thinking that I would never allow for this sort of behavior at an unbirthday party. It would be an affront to the spirit of Heartslabyul.”

And yet…

His chest ached so longing when he looked at the illustration. A taste that remained long after he tried to wash it down. It drew a word out of him, pulled thin.

“However… I must admit, I feel a little envious of their quaint little tea party. It looks…” He grasped for the correct adjective. “… fun.”

Rook’s brows sprung up. “Fun!”

“You disagree? Or does it perhaps surprise you that the rose-red tyrant would make such a remark?”

I know what they say about me. The thought was tinged bitter like medicine as he swallowed.

“Non, non.” Rook wagged a finger, his eyes half-lidded. “You are correct in every way!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Pomefiore vice dorm leader placed a hand on his chest. “My immediate family is quite large and likes to keep busy. Those few precious times when we are able to steal away and sit down for a meal with one another… Those are the most magical of all.”

“We each fall into our seats and—like a match struck, the moment comes alive. Words and laughter flow like fine wine, enhancing the flavor of the food that touches our lips. The weariness of study and work melts away in the dishes and drinks, replaced with good company in a safe, warm haven.

Riddle squinted at his senior. Suspicious. “… What is it that your family does for a living again?” When met with Rook’s still dubious smile, he sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s fine so long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

“Fufufu. Roi des Roses, I see that you’ve considerably lightened your evaluation of the rules.”

Riddle made a pensive sound, not confirming nor denying. “Mmm. Lately I’ve come to a realization.”

“And what might that be?”

He hesitated. “That perhaps the world as I saw it is not as it truly is.”

It feels like waking up from a dream. Tendrils of it still clinging to him as he made to rub them from his eyes.

Rook silently nodded, watching him. Not the huntsman stalking his mark, but a silent observer.

“I wonder for just how long I’ve been living in that false reality. Seeing the tea party and thinking it a disgrace…”

Something slovenly. In need of fixing. Out of line.

Wrong.

“Ah, but—” Rook raised a finger, “what matters now is that the veil has lifted. The line between truth and lies is that much clearer to you. That is the first step to any story: the beginning.”

Then his hand fell and grasped Riddle’s.

“R-Rook-senpai…?!”

The man practically glowed, his grip firm. “Now the decision to stay on the path or to stray from it is yours.”

To renounce the party or to join it, given the invitationz

Riddle pulled himself away with a frown. “Of course, within the limits of what is acceptable,” he lectured. “A minimum level of decorum is expected, even at the most ‘fun’ of festivities. Should anyone cause a disturbance in the peace—”

He raised his arm, slashing at the air once, delivering a strong blow to an invisible victim. Riddle, in his element, brimmed with smugness, arrogant as an unchallenged queen.

“—it will be off with their head!”

Without an ounce of fear, Rook laughed and bowed his head. “As the queen commands, so shall I heed her orders,” he drawled. A tilt of the head, then came a suggestion. “And if I were to drop by an unbirthday party to observe?”

“Because you asked politely, I may consider it—but see to it that you attend as your normal self,” Riddle warned. “That means I expect you to be on time, your behind planted in a seat at the table. There will be no hiding out in the bushes, no watching us from a distance. You are to stay and engage in all manner of merrymaking with us.”

“Oh la la!” Rook feigned surprise, throwing both hands up in an exaggerated act. “Is that a rule?”

“No, but they are orders,” Riddle clarified with an all-knowing smirk. “After all, it would be a shame if you disobeyed and missed out on all the fun we shall have.”

[shubblehearts]

i think it’s already established that q!shubbles theme to her character is fairytales…but just to be clear

she started stream as little read riding hood, you know with the outfit she was wearing irl and all.

when she first logged in, she spawned in a broken down tower which was really in the middle of nowhere where. sound familiar? rapunzel anyone?

as she went exploring, she found a hut with a bear living in it. immediately she started ransacking the place. taking furniture, food, and even sleeping in the bed. similar to what goldie locks does (some might even argue that her skin looks similar to her)

once she found the portal, the hallway had many tasks for her. she baked a cake like hansel and gretal! you could also connect it to many other fairy tales that are similar.

in the next room, she ate a seeming poisoned apple like snow white did.

and in the final room, she welcomed a long slumber and slept like sleeping beauty!!

q!shubble my favourite disney princess fr

[vulpes-ferus]

FFXIV LFRP On Hiatus

Full name: Miyako Akane

Race: Auspice/Yokai

Gender: Genderfluid? Nonbinary? Really, it's whatever they feel like at the moment. Her pronouns depend on the skin she's in at the time: she/they, or he/they. Typically prefers her female presenting form unless her masculine form is more preferable to those she's interacting with.

Sexuality: All of it. Anything.

Marital Status: Single! She's not settling down, she's always on the prowl.

Age: Several centuries old

Profession: She doesn't have one! Though technically they may read your cards or offer a boon...for a price, and she rarely accepts actual currency

Hobbies: Pranking mortals. Preying on mortals. Seducing mortals, people watching... and generally just about anything to do with the forest, or nature.

Hair: Dark orange/white accents

Eyes: Amber

Distinguishing Marks: Typically veiled as a Miqo'te, there is little distinguishing about her person to those unable to see through the magic she uses - although on occasion, one might spot a fluffier tail than she actually seems to have, out of the corner of their eye. To those able to see through this magic... she's quite a bit different than her feline glamour would suggest to the average person. In their feminine presenting forms, she always has red tattoo-markings around her eyes.

RP Hooks

She's still as-yet un-roleplayed, so there's a lot of potential - and there's less impetus for me to want longer storylines on her, so if you just want a few one-off scenes to have your cards read or the like, those are easier on her than on my other characters, though I'm always a sucker for a long plot/storyline that's steeped in character growth! Never be afraid to approach me if you have an idea!

Maybe you want your cards read! I have several tarot decks IRL, and an oracle deck that's well-suited to her too, and I could no doubt use the practice, myself. She essentially makes fey bargains - deals with weird prices that aren't always clear at first.

She may be centuries old, but she was barely over a century when she was imprisoned out in the East, and only escaped her magical prison in the last couple years! (I was, in fact, inspired by JJK and Sukuna for her imprisonment.) She ran from the East and took a new face to pose as, since she was captured and imprisoned in the East, and the people there still respect the old legends... and the Black Shroud is an excellent forest, vibrant with life! ...and unsuspecting mortals.

Speaking of the Black Shroud, there's a lot of ways to interact with her in regard to that! You could randomly run into her. She could do what kitsune do in the old tales, and lure you off the road at night and get you lost. Maybe you've seen something weird in the forest, or heard strange tales from travelers. Maybe you're just really in tune with the elementals and they've mentioned a new entity in the forest...really, I'm open to about anything with some talk about it beforehand!

She feeds on aether! She doesn't have to kill people to do this, though she's certainly not above it - what are morals to an animal, anyways? Food is food. Prey is prey. But sometimes, it's easier to just seduce someone and feed on their aether, before leaving them naked and drained in the forest to have a laugh at their expense.

Given her long imprisonment, much about the world is new to her! Maybe you lure her in by showing her all the nifty new stuff there is, and blowing her mind at how much things have changed in a few hundred years.

You could be an antagonist! Hunt her, if you like! Maybe she hurt you, or someone you care(d) about! Maybe you're from the East and found out her prison was dismantled, and you fear yokai; or you're just a Shroud Dweller who has been wronged, etc.

Romance! While I don't tend to like interactions that are solely focused on seeking out ERP - she is a sensual creature, and physical intimacy is an indulgence and a way to consume aether... though I don't know how she'd feel about genuine romance... last time she indulged in that, it got her caught and imprisoned!

She likes pranks/mischief... and sometimes that mischief can seem cruel if you don't understand the mindset of a creature of the wild. Engage her on her level, and she might find you more 'fun' than 'food'.

Alternately, she carries her soul around in an orb she wears as jewelry, and if someone got their hands on it, it'd be bad news for her!

About anything you can think of and want to brainstorm together! She's an alt that's good for long-term or short-term RP; serious, or not-so-serious moments... there's plenty of potential!

The OOC

Writer is 30+, and I prefer RP partners to be 21+ - I do prefer darker, more mature RP, but that's not all I'm capable of! I just like morally grey explorations - and questions like 'what really drives a person?'

Late nights aren't really something I can do anymore, past 11-12pm my writing isn't any good, though my schedule is open enough to allow earlier starting times. Also I'm CST, and prefer in-game RP. I simply can't stay in character when RP isn't moving in real time, and tend to just forget to respond to out of game stuff, or not feel well enough to write some days, and it ends up taking so long that I can't stay in character. Thus, scheduling in-game scenes ahead of time will always be what works best for me.

No canon characters please, it just really breaks my immersion/my character wouldn't have any reason to interact with canon characters really! Unfortunately, this means WoL OCs as well - their power level is just so intense that I can't really justify my OCs interacting with the WoL: time-traveling slayer of gods at the edges of the universe. (And no shade to canon RPers of any kind - it's just not my cup of tea, is all. Embrace your fun, my friends!) I also don't mind bending lore, but outright ignoring/breaking with it is also not really for me - and again, there's no judgement for how others choose to have fun, but I like to respect the canon.

I prefer plots, and RP with a purpose - contact solely focused on ERP is not welcome. ERP as part of an on-going story doesn't bother me, however.

Don't bring IC into OOC, or vice verse!

Communicate! If the RP isn't working for you, just tell me! I prefer 'organic RP,' but if you want to steer a story (RP) in a certain direction or don't want it steering in a direction, let me know! I much prefer having that conversation, rather than allowing an RP partner to be silently upset or uncomfortable!Follows come from @ooc-miqojak , and my other blogs are @miqojak and @antlers-and-omens!

[sodaliteskull]

Top 5 Things I Enjoy Writing About

I appreciate the tag @byjillianmaria! You can find hers over here!

This one's an open tag, but I'm also hitting up @noblebs, @noveldivergence, and @wintherlywords (no pressure though!)

*Hatsune Miku voice* ~Women~: I know this is the piss on the poor website, so upfront disclaimer about how this is not in reference to actual living, breathing, IRL people (HAVE WE ALL UNDERSTOOD THAT?!?), but I am fucking sick of men! "Male" has been the default gender, the default POV in stories for eons now, and I'm tired of it! Men bore me!!! I want to write about men the way misogynist men write about women - in that there is only one of them (if any at all!!!), and they're only there to advance the female character's story (by being fridged, most likely!!!)! I want to write about WOMEN!!!! I want to write about them being cunning and clever, as badasses and bastards, as both the princess and the knight!!! You know, like how women actually are in real life!!! Decentralize men? Honey, they're not even in my orbit!!! NO BOYS ALLOWED!!!! I'M EXHAUSTED!!!!!

Monsters as metaphors: Tale as old as time here, but I love it when a creature is actually a stand in for something a little more abstract. Vampires as a the fear of foreigners come to despoil our delicate Victorian sensibilities, Godzilla as the spectre of nuclear annihilation, werewolves as the visceral and horrifying changes girls go through when they enter puberty, that's some good shit!!! Any time I have some kind of monster in any of my stories, please know that it actually represents something else!

When a plan comes together: I love when people are in cahoots, when they get up to shenanigans, when games are afoot and capers are carried out! Heists? Delicious. When it looks like the antagonists have thwarted the protagonist's plans, but that was actually accounted for in the plans all along and they've actually fallen even deeper into the protagonist's web?! SUBLIME.

Hashtag Squad Goals: Having people grouped up for whatever arbitrary reason the plot demands is such a neat little way to get to play with a bunch of different dynamics all at once! These two are ride or die, but these two don't see eye to eye, and yet they're all the best of buds! How does that work?! I love getting to show the ins and outs of that!

Ancient Aliens: I don't mean the concept that all historical feats of engineering carried out by non-White™️ cultures were actually done by aliens (THAT concept makes me fucking furious!!!), but instead the theory of panspermia, of life originating elsewhere in the universe and being seeded across the stars. My favourite flavour of THAT is life originating on Earth, but then being brought elsewhere, with humans as basically food stock for some more advanced race! I was digging through my WIP pile the other day, and I realized that concept crops up A LOT for me!