#my steamed lobster man

[pierregazly]

a thousand words ꨄ charles leclerc

charles leclerc x reader

warnings: fluff, charles love language is touch (99% of it is kissing) [1.1k words]

request: 🫶🏻 could i request prompt 25 with charles? tysm 🥰🥰 [forehead kisses. cheek kisses, knuckle kisses]

note: this is literally just 3 times charles used kisses to show his feelings 🤭 this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said. - Pablo Neruda 

When you first knew he loved you.

The joy on his face was so raw, so palpable. The absolute adoration that crossed his beautiful features prompted the searing of your heart, the extra beat in your chest. He had looked at you in so many ways, but never like this. Never like a man so hopelessly in love, he couldn’t even express it in words.

Charles Leclerc was in love.

Every time he walked past you, he always went out of his way to press a kiss to the top of your head, to the swell of your cheeks, or the bare skin of your shoulder exposed by an old and tattered shirt of his you wore at his apartment. It was the one thing he knew he was the best at, being able to convey his love for you by the actions of a simple kiss.

He first knew he loved you on a yacht, the sunny skies of Monaco shining down on the two of you, his body half on yours while he shielded you from the sun; but scarred you with the warmth and sweat emitting from his body.

It was the way you smiled at him when he pressed a kiss to the tip of your heated nose, swatting at him when he remarked how burnt you were going to be. 

Your only response?

“Not as burnt as you, Charlie. I’m going to be rubbing aloe vera on you for days, my little lobster,” you practically cooed the words out at him, brushing your own lips over his red-tinted cheeks.

He really couldn’t help himself. He pressed his lips softly to yours, moulding the two like they were always meant to be. He didn’t know how to convey how much it meant to him that you were already pre-planning how to sooth his self-induced suffering, didn’t know how to convey how much he loved you for it, really. A kiss meant a thousand words, and he’d prove that. Time and time again.

2. When he says good morning.

Soft kisses littered your face, small brushes of lips against your nose, your closed eye-lids, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, anywhere they could linger across; they were felt. 

You could smell the fresh mint wafting from his mouth as he littered your face in tiny pecks, whispering words in French with every new kiss causing your heart to soar, to beat a second quicker; eager to open your eyes and get on with your day, when you had someone so wonderful to spend it with.

Greeted with the soft smile of an early-morning riser, Charles held his lips against your cheek for a second longer than the rest of his bombardment of kisses, three consecutive times. Three kisses on the cheek for good morning. Three kisses on the forehead for goodnight. Three kisses to the knuckles simply when he wanted to see your reaction, when he wanted to see the adoration in your eyes. He couldn’t put a number on the amount of times he wanted to press his lips to yours though, every second of every day sounded adequate to him. 

Finishing off with a peck to your lips, he finally pulled back from your face before pulling a steaming mug from the side table that he must’ve put down before beginning his morning escapades.

“A perfect cup, to start the morning. I have scheduled breakfast for an hour from now at our favourite place, time to get up, ma jolie fleur,” he said.

Holding in the groan at the knowledge you had to leave the warm and cozy safe haven beneath you, your only response was a hand jutting out towards him, grabbing towards the warm mug in his hands. He laughed, handing you the cup as you sat up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he pushed himself off the bed.

“Don’t make me come back in here, mon amour.”

“What are you going to do Charlie? Kiss me some more?”

3. When he says his vows.

Charles Leclerc was a man of many words when the moment called for it.

This moment, right now, should’ve been the moment that called for it the most. Called for a description so heavenly, so full of soliloquies and poetry that it made the crowd around him weep. But he was too busy staring at you in all your beauty, fresh tears having gathered in his eyes just moments before. 

There you stood, his hand in yours, while the whole world around stopped. The Pastor continued his words, affirming to the whole Church how the two people before him were here to join in Holy Matrimony; here to begin their lives as a married couple, to have and to hold, for all eternity.

But he knew his part was coming up soon, where he would be asked if he had any vows to say, if he had been able to convey into a few short paragraphs, how much you meant to him. He had written it out, erased it, written it again, threw the paper out, and repeat, more times than he would care to admit.

Nothing seemed perfect enough to describe the way in which he loved you. Until the memories flooded in, the way he showed how much he loved you would be exactly how he would describe it in his vows. And he would end it off the same way he always did.

He felt his nerves heighten as the crowd was informed that the two of you had written your own vows, forgoing the pre-written ones for your own promises and affirmations to one another.

Charles was to go first.

“Everyday I’m with you, I greet you with three kisses. Every night we spend together, I send you off with three more. I’ve never been one to express myself in words, always actions. In my career, my actions win me races, they win me trophies, and championships. In my family, my actions help my family succeed, they bring pride to our name. With you, my actions demonstrate everything I wish I could put into words. With every kiss, from today, until forever, I promise they will mean a thousand words, a thousand things I wish I could properly say. I swear to everything above, I will love you until my lips cannot press against yours, anymore.”

And promise he did, with a brush of his lips across your knuckles.

this is genuinely my favourite thing i've ever written. i can't explain why, but i'm so very in love with it. i hope you all are too!! 🫶🏻

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 blurb #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #pierregazly’s 1.5k celebration #writing #blurb #love blurb

[mayiwritesomething]

Don’t Change (One-Shot)

Wordcount: 600 words

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

A/N: just a small one-shot fluff i wrote after listening to INXS haha

It fits a while after chapter 9 from the main series, but can be read as it’s own

> MASTERLIST

——-

“What you wanna eat?” You asked as you emerged from your room’s bathroom, the steam trailing behind you like a scene from a retro sci-fi movie.

“Well…” Pedro said, lounging on your bed with a mischievous smile. “You,” he quipped, causing you to roll your eyes as he chuckled at catching you off guard. “Okay, okay, jokes aside, babe. How about pizza?” You settled onto the bed in a The Clash shirt, and Pedro ran his hands along your legs as you reached for your face serum on the counter.

“We had pizza last time,” you whined, to which he just shrugged in response. “Can we try something different this time? We've already exhausted the hotel menu, by the way,” you pointed out (there was only two more weeks filming) nestling in beside him as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over your skin.

“Are you sure?” He lifted his head to meet your slightly annoyed expression. “Well… Tacos?” he suggested tentatively, apprehensive of your reaction. “Or should we just order something from the hotel for a quicker option?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured thoughtfully. “I'm kind of over the whole lobster, beef Wellington, and all that fancy bland stuff… Gosh, how I miss my spices and my kitchen,” you joked as you stretched your arms. “But tacos sound perfect tonight. It's chilly outside, and I'm starving, so tacos it is!”

"Alright, just give me a few seconds to order the food so we can start our movie. Chicken for you?" You nodded in agreement as he grabbed his phone. While he placed the order, you applied your serum and settled back into your spot. Once he finished, he returned to your side. "I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to eat you," he teased once more.

"Oh shut up, man," you chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you, both of you trying to find a comfortable position in bed. You clicked play on the movie you had chosen.

"Pet Sematary?" he asked within the first five seconds.

"Wow, this was a quick guess," you remarked, giving him a playful look.

"I love how you're all about setting the mood with an '80s horror flick on our date night," he joked.

"Well, we can pick another one if you prefer," you said, feeling a bit foolish about your choice.

"No way, babe! I really like this one," he reassured you. You shot him a skeptical glance. "I'm serious," he insisted.

"Okay, then," you murmured, snuggling into his arm and intertwining your legs with his.

"I really dig your taste in movies, you know?" He complimented, looking at you.

"I know you do,” you laughed. “This one has a killer soundtrack," you explained, eyes fixed on the screen.

"Sometimes I forget I’m dating a fucking awesome composer," he said, cupping your face. You responded with a kiss, which he reciprocated with passion.

"Baby, let's focus on the movie for now. We can pick up where we left off later since you're staying the night," you giggled.

"Yeah, let's do that. Otherwise, it'll be Netflix and chill, but with just the chill part," he joked, as you hugged him and hummed in agreement.

"Babe?" He called out.

"What?" you responded.

"Just promise me you'll never change," he said softly.

"I won't," you assured him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

"Good to know. You're perfect just the way you are," he said, drawing you closer. You didn't know how to respond, so you simply held him tighter beneath the blanket.

"Thank you. I promise I won't change," you murmured as he pulled you in closer.

Don't change for you

Don't change a thing for me

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader

[apocalypticvalraven]

Dungeon Daidokoro- Delicious in Dungeon in The Kitchen #2

(Daidokoro is kitchen in Japanese)

Ok, so the last one got 90-ish notes. Close enough.

I am going to open this one with a request for tips and donations if you like my work. I'm looking at, like, $350 to get my car re-registered because of DMV bullshit that I can't really fix. I have some money, but if people could help with this, I'd be eternally grateful.

So, please, if you can, if you like my work with this, my cashapp is $ValravenApocalypse, my paypal is paypal.me/korbl, my Venmo is @ Valraven. Anything would be a big help.

Man-Eating Plant Tart

In chapter two, Team Laios ventures into the second layer of the dungeon, a large apparently open-air space full of trees and lush foliage. The first meal they eat here is a tart made of man-eating plant fruit.

Which is a difficulty here.

First, there are no man-eating plants. Obviously. Like, we're not even dealing with something like "there aren't giant scorpions (but there are large crustaceans)" or "there aren't walking mushrooms (but there are big mushrooms)." This is just... this thing doesn't exist. There are carnivorous plants, but they're rather small and, to my knowledge, don't really fruit.

There are giant (non-tree) plants, but, to my knowledge, they also don't fruit, and they tend to be in the realm of "pollinated by carrion insects, so they smell like rotten meat." So, even if that giant flower that smells like corpses has fruit, I doubt anyone would want to eat it.

But, let's start by looking at the recipe-

So, to start with, you need some leftover "scorpion hotpot." Which is to say Lobster Portabello Soup, and some Slime Gelatin--which is maybe jellyfish, but I don't think you can really get anything like gelatin from a jellyfish (at least that you'd want to eat), so we're probably looking at agar agar (a gelatin-like substance from seaweed).

Baraselia, Mearauk, Betahn

It's difficult to really figure out similar real fruits to these. In fact, it's not even particularly clear which fruit is which in the manga. But, I did find Ingredients on the wiki, which makes it more clear-

(minor transliteration differences aside)

Baraselia is interesting, its seeds seem similar, broadly, to a pepper's, and led me to initially think it might be basically a bell pepper-

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a bell pepper's flesh wouldn't stand up to heat the way the baraselia's does

On further thought, I think the baraselia is a bit more like a squash. Thinking about it, pumpkin seeds also cling pretty tight to the stem, but I don't think the baraselia is a pumpkin exactly.

I think a Cassabanana is probably pretty close-

And, while I'm completely unfamiliar with this plant, I saw notes online that the unripe fruits can be cooked like a vegetable. So, I think cassabanana is probably a good candidate for "Baraselia."

I think the betan is the chopped fruit that gets mixed in. It's an interesting looking fruit, particularly in the anime-

It has a vaguely chili-like appearance, which it could well be, but I'm also struck by the visual similarity of the inner nodes of jackfruit-

Jackfruit is noted for it's "meaty" texture, and is used in several savory dishes. I think jackfruit is probably a very good candidate for a Betan stand-in.

Which leaves Mereoak/Mearauk-

Honestly, they look a lot like cherries or tomatoes, and tomatoes used in savory tarts are just, like, a thing. I think you could very well use a mix of cherries and cherry tomatoes for mereoak.

"Man-Eating Plant" Fruit Tart

~7 oz Leftover "Scorpion Soup

~3 oz Agar Agar or Gelatin

~1 lb unripe Cassabanana

~10 oz jackfruit, roughly chopped

5-6 cherry tomatoes, 3-4 cherries

Salt to taste

Dash of pepper

Lightly steam the fruits and let cool until you can safely handle them. Cut open the cassabanana and remove the seeds, then the skin from the flesh. Mold the skin into a shell for your tart, outside against the plate.

Mash the cassabana flesh, and add the gelatine and soup, stir until slightly thickened. Taste, adding salt and pepper as needed. Add the chopped jackfruit and the rest of the soup, stir till well combined and pour into tart shell.

Put in oven at 400 degrees. Check for setness at 15 minutes, and give an additional 5 minutes if needed.

Remove once set, let cool slightly, serve.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #Defictionalization #Cooking #Food #Man Eating Plant Tart #Cassabanana #Jackfruit #Tomatoes #Cherries #I actually don't know how well this would work because a lot of the ingredients are things I've not worked with but I *think* it would work #Again if you like this #reblog #like #and consider helping me get my car legal to drive again #*passes around the virtual hat*

[bigtimesinsmallspaces]

Post 7: Springing into Glenwood Springs

The ride into Glenwood Springs was a joy and not just because we were enjoying a great breakfast in the dining car. Utah indeed looked like all the pictures I had ever seen of Utah. Now that sounds like a crazy sentence— but when you’ve seen pictures of something all your life but never seen it for real— it’s almost overwhelming when it looks just as you had imagined— only better. So there we are barreling toward Glenwood Springs and watching Utah roll by. As we crossed into Colorado the train ran parallel to the Colorado River.

Having fully enjoyed 24 hours of Part One Zephyr, featuring the high life of sleeper sleeping and diner car dining, we were nonetheless happy to de-board, say a fond goodbye to LaShonda and other Zephyr Part One friends, and hop off the train.

We were excited to visit Glenwood Springs, a resort town in the Rocky Mountains featuring the “world’s largest hot spring pool”. Folks, we are talking about untreated therapeutic water. After sleeping several nights sitting up (or on a 2 inch mattress), just who doesn’t dream of geothermal soaking in 125 degree healing water or strolling into vapor filled underground caverns breathing in air featuring 34 minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium?

We walked directly from the station to the Yampah Spa Vapor Caves. Quoting from the Yampah brochure:

“Enter a realm where the ancient whispers of Mother Earth cradle you in warm, mineral rich vapors . . . and invite you to surrender to the ethereal dance of steam that detoxifies your body and caresses your senses, leaving you in a state of peaceful abandonment.”

Now that I have waxed poetic about this amazing experience (and amazing it was) I will now describe this experience in its reality— that is—what it feels like to be 68, asthmatic, admittedly high anxiety, and asked to lower yourself in 125 degree water that smells like rotten eggs? No worries— there is no bad ending here— just some thoughts to ponder. If you read about 125 degree water you will see it is not recommended. But if people have been doing this for hundreds of years, what makes me special?Upon energing after the full thirty minutes looking suspiciously like a Maine lobster I can vouche that my muscle aches had fully dissipated in the face of my newly acquired third degree burns. What could top that? Only the opportunity to descend about 90 dimly lit rock stairs into a maize of vapor filled 110 degree 100 percent humidity cave like dark rooms (not “cave like” it WAS a cave) for the opportunity to breathe “forty two minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium.” Now this is the SPA life. And I will mention that PG was indeed having the time of her life while I was holding on for dear life. Fortunately for me I met a woman who was having a rather full blown panic attack and I am here to tell you there is nothing as healing as helping your fellow man. As I talked her through her panic, advising ice on her face, I suddenly began experiencing a lightness in breathing and it became obvious that the “forty two minerals and trace elements of sulfate, nitrate, zinc, and potassium” were effectively healing my asthmatic lungs. And that was good because the magnificent in every way (including its collection of dust since 1893) Hotel Colorado was next up for its “historic charm in the heart of the Rockies”.

Perhaps you have never wondered where the world’s most irresistible toy, the Teddy Bear, originated . But in case you have it’s your lucky day reading this train blog. The story goes that it was at this very hotel that maids presented Theodore Roosevelt with a small stuffed bear in an effort to cheer him up after an unsuccessful hunting trip. His daughter named it “Teddy” and thus— the Teddy Bear is born at Hotel Colorado. The hotel, modeled after an Italian Renaissance castle, became known as the Grand Dame of the Rockies and served as a restorative mountain retreat for the 19th century elite. Even on this day in 2024 we were treated to a parade of ladies from the Daughters of the American Revolution wearing garden party attire and hats fit for the Kentucky Derby. While the hotel is lovely and well maintained, it nonetheless bears that dusty, rather dark motif and creaking stairways, that I always associate with old hotels.

You might think at this point we are in line for one of those fine fancy old hotel dinners. But we had had enough of spas and milliner wear, and headed out to find the local dive bar. I would not say that Glenwood Springs features dive bars, but we were fortunate to find two, and one was all we needed. Suffice it to say the train was bereft of dive bar burgers so here at Doc Holliday’s Saloon we were in burger heaven and fully experiencing that state of peaceful abandonment promised in the brochures, which incidentally everyone we ran into seemed to be experiencing in this Colorado town, for one reason or another if you get what I mean.

It was a perfect walk back to the sparkling hotel and our evening did not feature any ghosts, but rather a peaceful glorious night of horizontal sleep. We woke up refreshed and ready to experience ZephyrPart Two.

Pictures below: Going through Utah, the Colorado River, goodbye to LaShonda and friends at the station, Yampah Vapor Cave, Hotel Colorado and the the Teddy Bears, the Glenwood Springs Hot Springs Pool, PG in downtown with wings, and the sparkling magical Hotel Colorado,

#amtrak #california zephyr #trains #train #empire builder

[crispylilworm]

Top 5 Video Game Foods

The recent Watcher Top 5 Beatdown had me racking my brain and googling lots of pixel food images, love the different aesthetic, experience, and curiosity factors that went in to their lists. Though I'd share my own & would love to hear yours!

5. Sweetroll (Skyrim)

4. Lantern Fruit (Subnautica)

3. Creamy Heart Soup (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

2. Peach Pie (Animal Crossing: New Horizons)

1. Brewster's Coffee (Animal Crossing: Wild World)

Reasoning & honorable mentions below ^.^

5. I got into Skyrim late to the game, but my first character started as a Jean Valjean-inspired petty thief in the pursuit bread and cheese. Nothing looked quite as appetizing as those little sweetrolls. One of the many delightful discoveries I came across going in blind to an iconic game.

4. Red, plump, slightly bioluminescent - super versatile as either a food source or bioreactor fuel, but most of all a gorgeous addition to any base. Returning to base and taking a bite of a fresh lantern fruit was more just for roleplay than anything lol, but man do I want to have a taste in real life.

3. Figuring out recipes was one of my favorite parts of the unlimited exploration in the open-world Breath of the Wild, and nothing seemed tastier than the Creamy Heart Soup. I can just imagine how revitalizing it would be to slurp it down mid-battle. Something about video games making imaginary fruits just looks so tantalizing, and I'm always a slut for a good soup.

2. The craftable food update in New Horizons is what kept me around for nearly a 1,000-hour island. Something about how they would steam after you cooked and placed them just looked so good. The cute aesthetics of the food items could warrant its own top-10 list for me, and the Peach Pie was as good as it got. I got the Switch game in 2022 well after the pandemic peak. Neither me nor my friends had peaches on their islands, and I was not about to pay to trade with someone - I never actually attained this beauty. My island had lined fields of crops and a farmers market with baked breads and jarred goods, she would have been my star centerpiece.

1. This is mainly an experience-based choice for me, but I imagine the taste would be phenomenal as well. 10-year-old me was unaware of changing DS settings to play different dates, so the once-per-day cup of coffee was a cherished moment. At the time I did not even know what coffee tasted like lol. The thought of drinking a scalding hot beverage scared me but I did not want to disappoint Brewster by letting it cool past its peak flavor. And Saturday nights when KK Slider was there?? Highlight of my week. Honestly that whole atmosphere of having a tasty little drink and watching a local live performance is exactly the vibe a look for as 28-year-old still. I wish I could go back and see how many hours I put into Wild World, I literally COMPLETED that game before I had access to the internet to look up how to find things - it was my cozy place.

I had too much fun putting this together lol honorable mentions has no cap idc, also no proofreading we die like men!

Honorable mentions: Yeto's Soup (Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess) - it took so long to make it must be the heartiest soup ever, Rare Candy (Pokemon) - if it can make my pokemon level up imagine ME, Lobster Thermador (Sims 2) - max level cooking meal I didn't think was real lol, Goopy Carbonara (Sims 3) - what's so goopy about it?, Crab and Egg Chinese Style (Cooking Mama) - a food I want to try and cook myself, Dubious Food (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) - what flavor is 'dubious' exactly?, Cheesy Meat Bowl (Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom) - food that could instantly cure a hangover, Golden Apple (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) - does it even taste different?, Perfect Cherry (Animal Crossing: New Horizons) - I am allergic to cherries but I would risk it, Pink Cake (Stardew Valley) - so cute I NEED a taste, Light Faerie Sundae (Neopets) - faerie food looked tasty af the light sundae looked the best, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (HP & The Chamber of Secrets PS2) - Harry seemed so excited to find those beans I need to know why, 'Johnny Silverhand' Cocktail (Cyberpunk 2077) - beer + chili + tequila sounds awful I want a taste, Big Bang Burger (Persona 5 Royal) - I want to taste of Okumura's finest, NukaCola (Fallout) - if it doesn't taste like Diet Coke nuclear apocalypse isn't worth it, Klawf al Ajillo & Pickled Toedscool (Pokeomon Scarlet/Violet) - I want to taste the forbidden meat o.O

#watcher #top 5 beatdown #skyrim #animal crossing #subnautica #legend of zelda #this was probably the first beatdown i had strong opinions #always respect the list but mine is better sorry

[ventricide]

♡: diminish sentence starters .01

quotes from the "soup of the day” segments of the unfiction platforming game, diminish! reposted to feature more quotes. feel free to adjust context, pronouns, and wording as needed.

˚₊· GAZPACHO.

❝ The current Soup Of The Day is… Gazpacho! ❞

❝ I tried gazpacho exactly once. Wasn’t my thing. I’m sure it’s lovely for those who are into it. ❞

❝ But I just… among other things, the whole ‘cold soup’ deal just wasn’t for me. ❞

❝ I eat soup to be warmed. Honestly, it’s the only reason I've ever craved soup. ❞

❝ When I think of cold soup, my mind only sees warmth that should have been there. ❞

❝ It might sound cheesy and awful, but I’m feeling a lot like cold soup today. Soup that definitely wasn’t meant to be cold. ❞

❝ I’m dripping away. I can feel it. My container is broken, and I'm leaking out. ❞

❝ I try so hard not to look at it, the seepage. The wax deforming, melting away, where a candle used to be. ❞

❝ I can’t even tell the difference. I don’t know if I'm the feeble candle or the leaky, useless soup cup. ❞

❝ Either way, I am cold. Some part of me is wet as it leaves. Leaving me vulnerable to the wind. ❞

❝ It’s not supposed to chill quite like this. ❞

❝ So today, I am best served cold. ❞

˚₊· LOBSTER BISQUE.

❝ The current Soup Of The Day is… Lobster Bisque! ❞

❝ I was never into seafood at all. But LOBSTER…❞

❝ I won’t forget a single one of those evenings, when lobster was being cooked for dinner. ❞

❝ Some of those nights, all it took was one look at the steam, and I couldn’t bear to stay in the house. ❞

❝ Other nights, I was taken by some masochistic compulsion to enter the kitchen and watch them all roast alive. ❞

❝ Or maybe it was something different. A wavelength I was picking up on. The pure, primal energy emitted by the beings on the stove; their spiritual death screams. ❞

❝ There’s something about seeing creatures spending their final moments on earth burning in hell. Something that paralyzes you. Demands that you not look away. Demands that you be a witness. ❞

❝ I don’t know what I learned from those nights. I don’t know if there was anything to learn. ❞

❝ Not like that’d matter for much longer, anyway. Because I'm the one on the stove now. ❞

❝ Right now, I’m screaming with every fiber of my fucking being. And I really do hope someone is there to hear it. ❞

˚₊· TOMATO SOUP.

❝ The current Soup Of The Day is… Tomato Soup! ❞

❝ I don’t know why I’m choosing only soups that aren’t my cup of (soup) tea. ❞

❝ Tomato soup is totally fine, but totally not for me. I never found much appeal in a soup that is basically just varying qualities of ‘liquid tomato.’ ❞

❝ Personally, I don’t wake up in the morning and think ‘Man, I sure wanna drink a tomato.’ ❞

❝ I can hear you right now, [ name ]. I KNOW. I get it. That’s not all it is. Good for you, bud. ❞

❝ But you know me. I prefer my food to be really dynamic; to have a lot of different things going on. ❞

❝ I’ve been thinking about people who base their entire personalities, their entire lives, around one thing. ❞

❝ It’s the reason I completely left social media. People on the internet are great at raising each other to die over and over on one hill. Dragging other strangers, unsolicited, onto their peaks and executing them there. ❞

❝ It seems like every single day, the average person has to meet their quota of execution and suicide. ❞

❝ Doesn’t matter the political side. The venue. The fandom. The issue. The importance. ❞

❝ Everything is some sort of holy war, and not one person can truly agree what the holy cause it. ❞

❝ They’re often utterly oblivious that they’re even doing it. They have no fucking clue what is happening because of them. ❞

❝ But it might be even worse when it’s calculated; when it’s part of some self-assigned mission. ❞

❝ People on each side of the battle only believe it’s harmful when the other side is doing it. Not a single one of them realizes that they’re a fucking idiot. That THEY are capable of great harm. ❞

❝ Great harm is WAY easier to cause then true good. Not a single person is immune to that. Not one. But they all believe they are, like some god on earth. ❞

❝ As the walls get nearer and nearer each day, I think very often about my hill. ❞

❝ I have no idea what the repercussions of my life are. What they will be. ❞

❝ I was only ever the sweet one; the encouraging one. The enabler. I based my whole personality around being The Nice Girl. ❞

❝ What is the runoff of that, when I perish on this hill? ❞

˚₊· HOT AND SOUR SOUP.

❝ The current Soup Of The Day is… Hot And Sour Soup! ❞

❝ Finally, we come upon a soup that I don’t mind at all. ❞

❝ Hot And Sour Soup is one of those things that delights me through its unabashed robustness. At least, that’s the case when it’s made properly. Plenty of times, a cook will hold back, unwilling to commit to a food that is supposed to make you cringe a little. ❞

❝ That happened way too often; the fear of allowing something to be what it is. It made me sad every time. ❞

❝ Because, again, it’s all too reminiscent of the way people tend to tick in general. ❞

❝ It’s amazing how our culture treats the idea of ‘cringe’ like it’s a fate worse than death. ❞

❝ I cannot begin to imagine what it’s like inside the mind of that sort of person. The person who sees anything that slightly deviates from their exact perception of what is natural, and their ‘kind’ solution is to call it ‘cringe.’ ❞

❝ And the terrifying thing is, somehow, this manages to influence the wider cultural perception of things at an alarming rate. ❞

❝ On this night in particular, I spend my disintegration thinking of these people and their victims. The people that anger at the sight of a person having a passion that isn’t theirs. The people who retaliate at the sight of a person showing ‘too much passion.’ ❞

❝ I’m reliving what they did to you in eighth grade. I’m 13 again, watching your colorful, unique imagination murdered in broad daylight every single day. I’m watching them rip apart the sonic dolls you took to school to help with your anxiety. ❞

❝ I’m listening to all of the cliques whisper about how you should never be treated seriously ever again, because you dipped carrots in peanut butter at lunch. ❞

❝ I’m coming home every night, watching your interest in everything you enjoyed wither away. ❞

❝ I’m feeling all of the exact things I felt then. But things are different now. Back then, I had a better outlet. ❞

❝ I’m pretty sure the reason I was so dominant at states is because if I hadn’t put all those hours in the pool, I would’ve been in juvie, or worse. ❞

❝ But in doing so, I abandoned you at your weakest point. I left you to bleed out alone. ❞

❝ In the average person’s ideal world, the person you wanted to be does not exist. And they were so insistent, so single-mindedly determined, you had no choice but to believe them. ❞

❝ I watched my brother get turned into a zombie, just like the rest of them. ❞

❝ Suddenly, I am guaranteed to die without having the time to leave an influence of my own. ❞

❝ I will leave behind a world that is no less inclined to witch-hunt sources of ‘cringe’... and heroically mangle any truly challenging, inspired passion that stands in their way. ❞

❝ I will die knowing that every day, some kid out there will continue to be led to the same fate as you. ❞

❝ The weirdos will be muscled into a form that everyone else desires, and their song will die out. ❞

❝ I wonder just how many of them will end up like [ name ], when they realize society will always make it a constant, miserable war to exist as themselves. ❞

❝ I miss [ name ] each and every day. I recall that night I convinced you not to follow in their lead. ❞

❝ And I try to remember simply how important it is that you are alive. ❞

❝ I think about how your death would’ve made absolutely no impact at all on how the cringers treat life. ❞

❝ But hey, at least you stopped eating carrots with peanut butter. Society at its finest. Justice truly prevailed. ❞

❝ … I want you to do something for your stupid dead sister, alright? ❞

❝ Get a carrot and dip it into some peanut butter. And take a bite. ❞

❝ You don’t have to enjoy it as much as you used to. You don’t have to finish it. ❞

❝ I just want to fall asleep tonight pretending you won that battle. ❞

❝ I want to imagine, for just a moment, that people tried desperately to destroy you over something you ate at lunch… and they failed. ❞

˚₊· POTATO SOUP.

❝ Today’s Soup Of The Day is… Potato Soup! ❞

❝ I’m so sorry, [ name ]. You don’t have to read this one. ❞

❝ I welcome it. It’s okay. At least I wrote it out. ❞

❝ As we know, thick, creamy soups in general were never a pastime of mine. ❞

❝ Few things ruin a healthy diet faster than a ferociously creamy sauce or broth. ❞

❝ Of course the taste is decadent; the result of a lavish blend of many deeply flavorful things. ❞

❝ But after my body was meticulously programmed into being a Sports Machine, foods like Potato Soup were rejected, like incompatible fuel. ❞

❝ The day I realized I could no longer eat creamy burritos without quickly being overcome by nausea was a dimly depressing day. ❞

❝ Yet it never bothered me TOO much, because it was just proof that the training was paying off, and I was truly getting fit. ❞

❝ In the moment, I didn’t actually notice all the sacrifices I was making. ❞

❝ I was so obsessed, none of that entered my mind. ❞

❝ I was able to dismiss things like potato soup as overstuffed; even irresponsible. The food choices of lesser people. ❞

❝ I sat upon my throne at the dining tables, with my carefully constructed meals, judging the contents of everyone else’s plates. Now and then, I remember a time when my plates were like theirs. ❞

❝ I thought to myself that maybe someday, once my Gold Medal Days were done, I’d go for some of those dishes again. ❞

❝ Those days didn’t end the way I’d imagined. ❞

❝ And now I am starkly, perpetually aware that there is no reason left for me to avoid unhealthy foods. ❞

❝ And yet, the mere thought of gorging myself on delicacies on the pretense of ‘it doesn’t matter now’... just might be the most depressing thought that has entered my mind during this entire experience of dying. ❞

❝ The moment I dig into an ice cream sundae, or a double-decker burger… that would be the moment the dream actually dies in my heart. ❞

❝ So I cling dissonantly to that throne at the dining table, like the most self-absorbed of royalty. ❞

❝ God knows how much I would kill to bathe in the taste of a great pizza again, before the end. ❞

❝ God knows that my stupid motherfucking brain will not allow me to enjoy that, even if I tried. ❞

❝ This exact experience is SO perfectly engineered to be my hell before death, it’s almost hilarious. ❞

❝ You know what’s even more stupid and hilarious, though? My response, my big answer. ❞

❝ Which is… making this piece of shit game. Making this piece of shit torture device, that I just forced my best friend to suffer first-hand in some perverse, sadistic pact. ❞

❝ Making the worse, most unhealthy Potato Soup of all time out of my fucking corpse, and maniacally shoving the toxic, never-ending goop down your throat. ❞

❝ All the while, your body is rejecting the poison, but out of devotion, you refuse to regurgitate it. ❞

❝ And that is the legacy I have chosen for myself. I guess it’s no different from the way I lived. ❞

❝ I’m sorry. I’m really hungry. I’m craving pizza really bad. ❞

❝ I’m going to die soon. ❞

❝ I don’t think the pizza would help anything. ❞

❝ This didn’t really help either. ❞

❝ And as usual, I get the feeling I can’t maintain a cohesive logic between ANY parts of this game. ❞

❝ If all I’m doing is getting MORE confused, what was the point to any of this? ❞

❝ Time is running out, and i’m seeing less and less of a point to anything at all. ❞

❝ But you don’t have to listen to any of this. You still have time. You can still enjoy things simply for what they are. ❞

❝ I’ll try to focus on that. Even if it’s not true. ❞

❝ It’s all I really have left. ❞

˚₊· BEAN AND BACON SOUP.

❝ Today’s Soup Of The Day is… Bean And Bacon Soup! ❞

❝ This is actually a soup I’ve never tried. It’s the favorite of [ name ]’s, though. [ name ]’s a foodie. ❞

❝ A pastime he enjoys, when things are slow and dreary, is asking people to guess his favorite soup. It always takes people about an hour to guess, and in the meantime, everybody has a nice moment talking about good soup. ❞

❝ It happens pretty often, with tons of different patients and families and supporters cycling through. ❞

❝ For a little while, everyone forgets how anxious they are. Somehow it hasn’t gotten old yet. ❞

❝ Some people just have a natural way of making others comfortable. I find that this sort of person is so much rarer than is often romanticized. ❞

❝ I think a ton of people fancy themselves as being that sort of person. I don’t think that’s expressly their fault. ❞

❝ We’re taught as members of society that a lack of engagement equals death. But it leads to every public space being inevitably occupied by people who think they’re the lifebringers.❞

❝ It doesn’t have to boil down to that. I think a lot of people just have to talk all the time to survive. ❞

❝ But it really strikes me these days, how rarely someone’s voice isn’t poisonous. ❞

❝ Most times, all you need is one look at someone, and you immediately can tell that they would interpret a preference for privacy and quietude as degeneracy and inferior upbringing. ❞

❝ There’s a fine line between sociableness and narcissism. ❞

❝ It’s unfortunate how rarely sociableness coexists with introspection. ❞

❝ When someone’s so busy talking, they don’t have the time to listen to what they’re saying, let alone contemplate why they’re saying it. That second part’s the real kicker. ❞

❝ I don’t think a lot of people have ever faced hard questions about themselves, and made the decision to not try talking their way around it. ❞

❝ The human brain is a marvel of science, but it’s also actually magical. It can conjure any facts it wants; any reality. On any whim. It will break any rule of the universe more effortlessly than moving a finger. ❞

❝ That’s the roulette gun we’re all given, being born with our brains that have this power. The ability to perceive reality in its raw state, and turn it into whatever we want. ❞

❝ It’s so funny that we were seemingly designed to be social beings when we cannot decide on the same reality. ❞

❝ In that way, I think the people who seek discussion the loudest are the ones who are the most alone. ❞

❝ They will never exist in a reality with anyone else but themselves. ❞

❝ But that makes people like [ name ] some of the most incredible marvels of our species. He talks because he listens. He can enter any room, with people both quietly reflecting and loudly ignoring, and for just a little while, he gets everyone on the same page. ❞

˚₊· CHICKEN BROTH.

❝ Today’s Soup Of The Day is… Chicken Broth! ❞

❝ They say that if broth is served, it is then official promoted. To treat broth as a meal is to automatically graduate it into souphood. ❞

❝ Lately, my appetite has changed a bit. ❞

❝ Suddenly, foods as light as broth often sound like they’ll hit the spot. And today, it seems as though even my thought trains run on the lightest of fuel. ❞

❝ Funnily, to me, chicken broth has never tasted ‘like chicken’. Chicken broth, or chicken stock, have always tasted like themselves. ❞

❝ It’s as if, when the essence of the chicken is absorbed into the surrounding water, something slightly different is created instead. And yeah. That’s literally the definition of broth. It’s something created from something else. ❞

❝ But somehow, that feels special when you actually think about it. ❞

❝ Because broth is about as fundamental, about as boring, as a food can get. And it’s generally associated, at least in societies like ours, with illness. Something to eat when you can’t really eat. ❞

❝ And it’s funny, though maybe not surprising, that my fading body wants it more often. ❞

❝ You know, Soup Of The Day was just a random thought. I didn’t actually have some grand plan behind it. ❞

❝ But maybe, subconsciously, some part of me knew exactly what my endgame looked like. ❞

❝ Imagining ourselves dying is like trying to imagine a brand new color. Like trying to correctly visualize the fifth dimension. But death is also one of the most basic things about us. ❞

❝ It’s very weird, [ name ]. I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round in a fever dream. ❞

❝ My brain is in chaos, but it’s looking for order more than ever. ❞

❝ … Remember [ name ]? That was the first time I really, truly recognized the five stages of grief. ❞

❝ As he deteriorated, we both had to learn how to survive death. ❞

❝ There was one thing I clung to, in that instinctive survival mechanism. ❞

❝ They say that animals, and cats especially, are better at knowing how to die. And cats need to be able to do it on their own, usually. Given space, they’ll go when they’re ready. ❞

❝ It was weird to be freed by that. And I don’t think It’s because I BELIEVED it. ❞

❝ In a way, it helped me realize how much I really loved him. Because after knowing him my whole life, I trusted him completely. ❞

❝ When he finally passed away on the living room table, I was so proud of him. ❞

❝ I wish I could feel as free, now that it’s me. ❞

❝ I wish I had a simpler brain, which didn’t notice every single bit of strength I’m losing. ❞

❝ I wish I weren’t thinking endlessly of all the things I suddenly will never do, ever again. ❞

❝ And most of all, I wish I weren’t suddenly reliving [ name ]’s last couple of weeks. ❞

❝ Because I will never know if he actually WAS okay with it happening to him. ❞

❝ Death makes it so, so hard to appreciate life. It makes it so, so easy to lose sight of the good memories. ❞

❝ Death is so powerful. It transcends. It is a black hole. And our instincts, as living beings, are programmed to fight death in every possible way… Except when our bodies are really freakin’ stupid and, like, make cancer cells or something. ❞

❝ But in some way, despite it seemingly like we’re not actually designed to die, when necessity strikes, our bodies scramble to whip up their own blueprints for it. ❞

❝ So when I notice the fact that my body doesn’t feel like thinking about food stronger than broth, somehow, my body just takes the little tinge of comfort and allows a small smile. ❞

❝ Maybe, by the time I die, I won’t have managed to make a huge difference in the world. But maybe my essence will seep out into the water. ❞

❝ My dreams die with me. I will never fulfill my bucket list. But the amount of time that exists after I die is, hopefully, a lot longer than my lifespan. ❞

❝ Maybe I’ll be served to others. And that’ll complete me. ❞

❝ Maybe I’ll graduate into souphood yet. ❞

#sentence starters #rp meme #rp prompt #ask meme #ask prompt #dialogue meme #roleplay meme #inbox meme #♡: mine.

[triumvirate-of-terror]

Ok now here are some questions.

What music do you like?

What is your favorite food?

Do you have pets?

What do you do in your free time?

Do the other villains know you have this blog?(If they know, what do they think of this blog?)

What can you tell us about the other villains?

And i really sorry for all of these questions but i am really curious!

“While I tend to play classical songs during my many heists and riddle-escapades, I actually quite enjoy some more modern music. Broadway musicals, themed bands, some recently released songs… My favorites happen to be Steam Powered Giraffe and the musical Beetlejuice!”

“I tend to keep a balanced diet, but my favorite meal is actually surf and turf- a good steak with a side of lobster or scallops (possibly bacon-wrapped) was one of the first things I ate in Gotham after my first paycheck came in. It’s been my favorite meal ever since!”

“I have this lovely and adorable little creature named Quizzle! She’s the greatest cat in all of Gotham- and the cleverest too!”

“Oh, this and that- construct little castles for Quizzle, hang out with Echo and Query, work on my many puzzle boxes and machines for future schemes… A good puzzle really relaxes me too.”

“Ugh. Them. I’m very thankful they have no idea whatsoever that this blog even exists. They’d try to come in and try to steal my audience away, as they tend to do already. I can tell you that the Scarecrow is obsessed with his army of crows, and the Mad Hatter is a pathetic little man. Who hides snacks in his hat.”

“Finally- don’t apologize, my dear. I’m the one with an open ask box, and I thoroughly enjoy answering questions.~”

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #8 - Tepid

AO3 LINK HERE

NSFW. nerowol, fingering, intercrural bathtime shenanigans.

fill under the cut.

---------------------------------

"I can't believe this is how you like the bath."

"What? It's perfect."

"Perfectly cold."

"Some of us prefer not to cook ourselves like lobsters," she retorted. "It's not cold, it's lukewarm. And it's my bath, not yours."

Beneath the surface of the water, Aurelia flexed her legs and stretched like a cat, then sank down until she was submerged to her shoulders with a soft and contented sigh. Not cold but not too warm, just the way she liked it. She crumbled in the last of the soap cake, and it wasn't long before the fragrance wafted into her nose through the steam.

"Soaking oneself in barely heated dishwater defeats the entire purpose of bathing. I for one enjoy a good scalding."

"Not a touch of hypothermia while you're at it? I note you don't mention the cold."

"Should I? We're Garleans, sweetling. Standing in a stiff breeze until the frostbite takes the edge off is our national pastime." There was a small series of splashes at her right side, small droplets striking her cheek. She hid her smile as best she could manage; it seemed that he'd decided to join her in the bath after all. "It builds character."

Aurelia gave him a good-natured scoff but closed the distance with a slow lean until her cheek listed against his ribcage.

"As I have built more than my share of character in the last seven years, I will continue to bask in well-earned comforts while soaking in my dishwater, if it please you." His arm draped about her slender frame but it didn't remain stationary; after a pause his hand drifted downward until it had settled about her waist. Like a counterpoint to the gurgle of moving water she could hear the beat of his heart, a strong and steady thump in her ear. "And I thought you said the water wasn't warm enough for your liking."

"A man can endure many things when the company is pleasant." He placed a slow and thoughtful kiss against her brow just over her third eye. She felt the stretch of his lips; he was smiling. "And I find the present company very much to my liking."

Aurelia sat up, ignoring the relative chill of the room as it struck her shoulders, and pressed her own lips - parted just the slightest hint - against his neck. As her palm slipped from his ribcage and traversed the plane of flesh just above his navel she could feel the clench of tightening muscle. The long fingers splayed at her waist twitched.

"I don't suppose that's all you find to your liking," she said.

His next breath was less an inhalation than a shudder. That hand slid down her hip to ghost over the top of her thigh and she felt in herself the rush of heat that followed close behind.

It took a moment to free her hand so she could tug on his shoulder and pull him down to meet her for a kiss. He obliged, she brushed her mouth gently against his, and it was all the invitation he needed.

Nero lifted her from her seat as his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth; Aurelia found herself straddling his lean hips almost before she could circle her arms about his neck and brace her knees against the bench, and it was not until the muscles in her thighs began to tremble that he broke away to take in a sip of air. Her heartbeat was a loud throbbing in her ears and her lungs ached as if she'd been underwater and stripped of her blessing.

"You didn't have to go that far just for a kiss.”

"Yes, I did," Nero growled between heavy breaths. His grip on her was sure, long fingers pressing into the soft curves of her rear. "You and Garlond, you're both too bloody short."

"I can't reach your cock and kiss you at the same time." Idly Aurelia curled her fingers against his nape, teasing the flaxen tendrils that had curled in the steam of the bath with a gentle drag of her nails against his skin. "Not my fault you're a dhalmel."

One of his hands slipped between her legs. "Not my fault you're short."

"I am-" her words cut short in an audible gasp; his fingers spread her folds to massage the swollen bud tucked within, "I am a-a perfectly... respectable six fulms."

"Five-ten."

"Close enough."

Her retort sounded rather less indignant than she had intended, more like a whimper, really- not that she could bring herself to care. She buried her face against his neck and rolled her hips into his hand, grinding into the circular motions he made, slow and firm, chasing fire and pressure as it began to coil-

The hand between her thighs slowed and stilled and overhead she heard her lover muttering a string of curses.

"What?" Aurelia panted. All of her self-control channeled itself into biting back a frustrated whine. "What is it?"

Nero kissed her squarely on her third eye. His hot breath, ragged and shallow, fanned the sensitive flesh about its rim and another levinbolt fired its way down her spine. " 'Not in the bath, Scaeva.' "

Oh seven hells. She had said that, and just now it was so tempting to tell him to disregard it - all she could think about was her release, the better part of discretion be damned - but some errant scrap of warning gave her pause, the chirurgeon's rationale reasserted itself, and the moment passed.

Chagrined beyond measure, she was about to suggest they simply abandon the bath when he said: "Stand up."

Aurelia slid her legs backward from their folded position and set her feet onto the planks below, head swimming and cramping legs burning a faint protest, and took a wobbling step backward to give him space to stand in turn. The warm bathwater that reached the swell of her hips hit its highest mark between his knees and thighs. Scented water shed down his lanky frame in small rivers, fine droplets catching on the light layer of hair upon arms and legs and chest.

His hands fell on her shoulders to turn her about until she faced the door on the far side of the room, then nudged her towards the edge of the tub until her shins met carved spruce, and then there was a waft of warm breath against her neck, gooseflesh rippling along her shoulders and her breasts and the backs of her legs.

A whisper, paired with a warm kiss pressed to her ear:

"On your knees, sweetling."

Aurelia felt a sharp jolt when her knees struck the bench. Her hands grasped the lip of the tub as she leaned forward, and alongside one leg she felt his thigh - not wedged within to nudge her legs apart, but braced without - press against her flank.

His cock nudged for a bare moment at her entrance but he made no move to hilt himself as she had half-expected; there was the brush of his knuckles against the back of her leg as Nero adjusted himself. Before she could gather enough of her wits about her to ask what he planned to do next, his hands were on her again, guiding her hips back and up until he made a soft and satisfied hum and held her still.

An anticipatory shiver wracked her spine; she could feel him throbbing against her own heat from tip to base, curved shaft nestled snugly between her thighs.

"Do I-"

"Keep them shut."

She did, though the muscles in her thighs burned and trembled.

And then he began to move and her discomfort faded, shunted itself onto the far edge of her periphery. It felt like moving with a tide, that forward and backward surge, the wet slap of skin only just muffled by the splash and swirl of the bathwater cresting over and out of the inset tub with each thrust.

Water splashed over her fingers, dripped down the steps onto the floor, and she noticed none of it. All her focus lay upon the friction his cock created where it slid against her lower lips, painted his girth with her slick, dragged the wide and flushed head back and forth over her swollen and aching clit with every stroke, and before very long she found herself gripping the tub's edge for dear life with her hands knotted into fists and her own breathless moans ringing in her ears.

It wasn't quite as sharp and immediate a pleasure as his hands, but it was more than enough.

Lust stirred back to life like a bare spark fanned to flames, and she felt that building tightness once more: the sensation of a thin wire winnowing down and down until there was naught left for it to do save snap. White fire swept a path down her clenched thighs, a burning so intense she cried out without thought or form, and she heard a hissed epithet fall from Nero's lips in the moment before her climax took her.

"Don't stop," she reached to her back and grasped weakly at his moving hips, "don't stop," and he must have been close himself for the hips pounding against hers no longer moved in a steady rhythm; it was swift and erratic as the breaths against her hair-- and then cogent thought was lost to her, swept up in the crest of a second orgasm. Her mouth went slack and every muscle in her body went rigid and she felt more than heard the frantic keening sound she made even as the thrusts at her back slowed, became more forceful, hands digging into her hips almost hard enough to bruise.

She was still trembling in aftershocks when Nero's hands left her hips, his arms wrapped tight about her, and he cried out something unintelligible against the nape of her neck - something buried under the steady hiss of pouring water - before his movements stilled and he shuddered against her with a deep groan.

Perhaps a brace of beats later, his grip finally slackened enough for Aurelia to let herself relax. She sagged forward against the wall of the tub, arms draped over the side, warmth still pulsing softly within her core. She didn’t even flinch at the loud and sudden splash when Nero's leg dropped back into the water, and he didn't so much sit down next to her as he let his weight fall back against the bench with a gusty sigh.

His hand caught her wrist and pulled her into his arms once more, a lazy and partially submerged embrace. Aurelia sat very still, chest heaving and heart fluttering like a trapped bird against the confines of her ribcage. Only when her ears had stopped ringing did she open her eyes at last.

"Scaeva," she managed.

"Mm."

"You do realize that this defeats the entire purpose of bathing."

One of his eyes cracked open. She saw lavender-blue, a sliver of pale periwinkle beneath a fringe of tawny gold lashes, crowning the rosy flush that radiated from cheekbones to clavicle and dusted his very lightly tanned shoulders for good measure. As his eyes narrowed in slow realization, Aurelia held up a sodden washcloth.

"I suppose this means you'll just have to put up with my dishwater a bit longer," she reached for the water spigot and set the temperature back to the lukewarm center, "but I'll get your back if you get mine."

"I'll get something of yours, you little witch."

She offered him the sweetest smile in her arsenal.

"Not in the bath, you won't."

#ffxivwrite2022 #aurelia laskaris #nero scaeva #very firm lemony business #y'all know what i am #nerowol #nero x wol #prompt 8: tepid

[longclawislightbringer]

Happy WIP Wednesday y’all!

I am at my grandparent’s house with very spotty internet, so no picture until I get home tomorrow.

I started drafting Chapter Two of Hey There Demons and am making good progress. Very excited to get this done and hopefully start sharing while the final season of Nancy Drew is on the air.

Chapter One will be undergoing extensive rewrites before then, but here’s a snippet from it anyway:

“Morning,” Nancy nodded as a PA handed her a steaming takeaway cup of coffee stamped with a red lobster claw. “Man, they really like their lobster up here.”

“It’s Maine, “ Bess shrugged, as if that explained everything.

#wip wednesday #nace #nace fic #current wip #nancy drew cw #when will I finish Hey There Demons? #nancy drew #ace [redacted] #bess marvin

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 3 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 2-3 English Translation

WARNING: The last section of this chapter contains a scene in which Marie attempts to force herself on a minor. As in the previous LN, I’ve placed asterisk lines (*****) around the scene for those who’d like to avoid that sort of thing.

The layout of the steam train turned murder scene was as such:

The engine room took up the front of the locomotive, followed by the cargo hold and conductor’s compartment. Behind those were the deluxe and first-class carriages, containing the A and B rooms, respectively. Next came the dining and lounge cars, the latter of which contained a bathroom, and then two second-class carriages. The rear of the train was taken up by a carriage for the crew.

Owl started by heading for the lounge, where Marie was.

“I was in the dining car at that time, you impudent detective.”

When asked for her alibi, Marie answered with dignified confidence.

“Can anyone prove that?” asked Owl.

“Oh, several people. There’s the cook, the waiter, this dreadfully gloomy man.” Marie vaguely pointed to the person with her, peering closely at Owl with her head tilted.

She had already made some snide remarks during the interrogation – she’d at one point bent over the table, showing off her considerable chest, and it had repulsed the detective enough to irritate her – but by now her good humor had seemingly been restored. Either that, or she’d asked the police herself and decided it was best to cooperate with the investigation. No matter the reason, her friendlier demeanor was certainly making the conversation smoother. Owl pulled a notebook from his chest pocket and opened it, preparing to take some notes, but he was interrupted.

“I didn’t see it before, boy, but your eyes are violet, aren’t they? How lovely.” The woman extended a pale hand and caressed Owl’s cheek. “It’s rare to see something with such a brilliant shade. I wonder if I ought to add you to my boyfriend collection.”

Her other hand joined the first, pinching and pulling at his cheeks. Despite the light manhandling, Owl replied clearly, “Collection?”

“Oh, yes. I like to line everyone up by their eye colors. They’re absolutely lovely to look at like that. Much prettier than butterfly specimens, in my opinion.”

As she continued her inspection, Owl silently reflected… maybe being so friendly actually hindered conversation. His thought process was swiftly derailed when her fingertips grazed the backs of his ears.

“How adorable,” she cooed. “I absolutely adore younger men. Their skin is still as clear as a woman’s, their hair isn’t thick… I end up wanting to touch them forever.”

Owl’s expression valiantly didn’t so much as twitch. “Thank you for the compliment,” he deadpanned, subtly shoving her hands away. Once he’d gotten her detached from him, he checked the passenger list he’d stuck in his notebook and turned his attention to the “gloomy man” with Marie. “You would be Low, correct?” he checked. “Mr. Low Steward?”

“That’s right.” Low’s eyebrows plainly rose, jealousy burning in the depths of his gaze. By the looks of it, he was having trouble stomaching Marie’s interest in the detective.

“You two were together in the dining room,” Owl said.

“That’s what we’ve been saying,” was Low’s sharp reply.

This was going to be tough. Owl forcefully swallowed the “pain in my ass” that tried to bubble out of his throat. He kept his voice deliberately level as he continued his questioning. “Did you stay in the dining car for long?”

His question was for Low, but Marie answered instead, “We did. We arrived a little after five, I believe, and we were there until around seven. It’s a principle of mine to always leisurely enjoy a good meal. Gourmet food is a highlight of traveling.”

“I agree,” hummed Owl. “The cakes were quite delicious.”

“The full-course meal was also superb,” gushed Marie. “One spoon of salmon and lobster for the amuse-bouche, gibier carpaccio as the hors d’ouevre, a sorbet for the granité, and veal stew as the main course. Oh, right, and I had them switch the sauce on my carpaccio from mustard to vinegar, and the sorbet from lime to raspberry. You can ask the steward, I had him speak to the head chef. My alibi is perfect.”

Owl carefully noted down every word she said. “Is that so? Thank you for your detailed explanation. You have a very good memory.”

“You’re quite welcome. I’m an excellent study – my job is in hospital management, you see.”

Owl kept a close eye on her expressions as he continued to scribble away. She didn’t look all that down, considering her husband was missing.

“Am I being suspected, by chance? My husband… he’s truly dead, then, is he?”

Rather, she was overflowing with curiosity, trying to sneak a peek at Owl’s notebook.

“In all likelihood, yes, he’s probably dead,” answered Owl. “But please don’t mind any doubt being cast your way – everyone on this train is a potential suspect.”

“But the most suspicion would naturally land on me, being his wife. I’ve read about it before in gossip rags. ‘A Marriage Turned Sour’ and whatnot! I love those stories!” Marie was in high spirits over the whole thing. She didn’t even seem to mind that she was at the center of this particular potential scandal. “But unfortunately for you, I had no reason to want my husband dead. You know, right, that most murders are motivated by some sort of money trouble or jealousy or the like? Well, I had nothing like that. The hospital I manage was inherited from my parents, so money is no object to me, and in terms of love, well, we both agreed that we wanted lovers. So you see, I want for nothing. He was a splendid business partner.”

“Business partner?” repeated Owl.

“Oh, yes, he was quite capable. He worked hard at my hospital.” A hint of dejection finally emerged on her face. “It really is quite a shame if he’s truly dead – I’ll have to find a new doctor to replace him, and that means I’ll have less time to attend my parties.”

Low spoke up then. “I will help out wherever I can,” he promised.

Marie sniffed and turned away, disappointment overshadowed by utter disinterest. “You’re a good-for-nothing who’s completely incapable of any kind of office work,” she huffed over her shoulder. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from that gentleman from before. He works for the government, you know, and at such a young age, too! Good head on his shoulders, refined tastes, mild-mannered, he’s quite wonderful….” She let out a small, distracted sigh, her mind clearly wandered off somewhere else for the moment.

Owl’s thoughts flashed to the man he’d seen in the dining car earlier. “Would this man be… Mr. Mastema?”

Marie jolted out of her thoughts. “Yes, that’s him! Are you familiar? He’s come by our hospital many times for his philanthropic work. I was rather surprised to run into him here! We had some wine together in the lounge, such a lovely time… I’d wanted to take the opportunity to bring him to bed, but we had a rather strange interruption….”

While Marie dreamily recounted her time with Mastema, Low’s expression darkened. His fists were clenched on his thighs and were ever so slightly trembling. Owl observed both of their reactions, then leafed through his notebook and said, “One final question. Have you seen or heard any suspicious people or events since you boarded the train?”

“Suspicious people? Let me see….” Marie elegantly tilted her head, then lowered it carefully to rest on her hand rather pretentiously. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘suspicious,’ but I was rather put off by the conductor’s unsociable behavior. He passed by me in the dining car, but he didn’t even give me so much as a hello. Other than that….” Suddenly, Marie’s face darkened with malicious intent. “Well, my husband’s secretary comes to mind.”

“You mean Miss Michelle?”

“Oh, yes. She’s very suspicious. If you’re going to point fingers at anyone, start with her.”

Low interjected here, surprise coloring his tone. “That person is incapable of taking another person’s life,” he stated.

“Oh, you think so? But you know, it’s impossible to tell what meek little women like here are really thinking,” Marie countered.

Low scrambled for a rebuttal. “B-But when we were coming back from the dining car, we saw her leaving the lounge, didn’t we? That means she went through the dining car and was in the lounge before us.”

“Whose side are you on, mine or hers?” snapped Marie.

“Of course I’m on Lady Marie’s side… but….” Low was hesitating, his next words stuck in his throat.

“You’ve said enough. Be quiet.” Marie threw him a single sharp glare, and his mouth clicked shut. She turned back to Owl and leaned forward again. “You know, detective, there’s one thing that’s absolutely vital to any murder case.”

“And that would be?” prompted Owl.

Her shoulders squirmed obscenely. “Why, a lover,” she whispered, then popped her lips in a kiss.

■■■■■■■■■■

“I am his secretary, not his lover,” insisted Michelle.

After talking to Marie, Owl’s next stop was room B-1 in the first-class carriage, where Michelle was staying. She’d agreed to speak with him and directed him to a chair as soon as he’d arrived, but irritation and caution were both plain in her voice.

Owl paused with his hand halfway in his coat, just before he took his notebook out. “… I didn’t say anything yet…?” he mumbled, trying to play dumb.

“You didn’t have to.” Perched on the bed opposite Owl, Michelle gently ran her fingers through the hair hanging over her shoulders, mouth curled in an unpleasant frown. “The madam most likely already told you that I was the master’s lover or some such nonsense. And besides, I know you’re not a doctor-in-training. You shouldn’t lie like that.”

Owl dipped his head. “My apologies. It wasn’t a complete lie, though. There was a time where I studied to be a doctor.”

“So why become a detective, then?”

“Everyone is suited for different things.”

“Did your parents disagree with you choosing such a dangerous profession?”

“I have no parents to speak of. As far back as I can remember, I was in an orphanage.”

“Ah….” The flames of rage building in Michelle’s heart died out the instant she registered what Owl had said. Her gaze wavered and fell to the side. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, downcast, her fingers trembling.

“You needn’t apologize,” assured Owl. “My foster parent raised me comfortably, so I don’t feel I have anything to be upset about. Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No….”

“Then now it’s my turn.” Owl opened his notebook and pulled out a fountain pen. “Where were you around six pm?”

“I was in the lounge. I had a book I’d been wanting to read.” She pointed behind Owl. Unlike the second-class room Owl and Clemens shared, which had beds against both walls, the first-class rooms like Michelle’s only had one bed, with the other side taken up by a desk table, along with a simple closet. Her finger was aimed at a single volume of poetry lying on the desk. “It’s Wordsworth. Are you familiar?”

“I know the name, but I’m not much for poetry. I prefer reading chemical formulas, if anything.”

“I see. A shame, that.”

“I ought to introduce you to the priest I was traveling with at some point,” mused Owl. “He’s probably familiar with most poets. He’s a bit of a Don Juan, but….”

As Owl continued, Michelle toyed with the ends of her hair, glancing away. “I can’t imagine a father making advances on an old woman like me,” she chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Owl unconsciously glanced at her face at that comment. He knew it would be rude to say it, but he couldn’t help but agree upon seeing the state of her skin. Her voluminous brown hair was still glossy and youthful, yes, and looking at her delicate figure, you almost couldn’t help but want to protect her… at first glance, she looked to be somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties at most, but she was actually at least ten years older than that. Owl didn’t want to offend her by asking for her true age, so he put that particular question aside and instead asked, “Did you head straight for the lounge after you boarded the train?”

Michelle shook her head. “I helped the master with his work for a while first, but eventually he said he wanted to take a short nap before supper, so I returned to my room… this would have been a little after five. It wasn’t long after that that I moved to the lounge with my book, and around seven I moved again to the dining car, since I had grown rather thirsty. As I recall, you saw me in there, did you not?”

“Yes, I did, and thank you for recalling everything so accurately. Was there anyone in the lounge who could confirm your presence there?”

“… I spoke to the conductor.”

“The conductor?” Owl’s hand paused during its notetaking. Marie had also said she’d seen the conductor, but she hadn’t said that Michelle had come to the dining car while she’d been there, so Michelle must’ve been in the lounge before that. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing in particular… we just exchanged pleasantries, really. Comments about the weather and whatnot.” Michelle thought for a second. “Ahh, right, and when I was going from the lounge to the dining car, I saw the madam and Mr. Low leaving for the first-class car.”

“Besides that, did you see or hear anyone or anything suspicious?”

“No. Just a pretty mister and a cute little girl.”

“Is that so…? Then thank you for your valuable input. If you think of anything else, please let me know.” Owl stood and turned to leave, but before he made it out the door he paused. “Actually, one more thing – did you happen to see a knife anywhere?”

“… A knife?”

“Yes.” He turned back. “We believe it was used as the murder weapon, and that it was a personal possession of Mr. Johnny’s.”

Michelle shook her head. “I’m afraid I didn’t. Is it missing? It’s possible it’s simply lost amid all the documents.”

“No, we searched for it, but we didn’t find it.”

“Then the killer must have stolen it. It was decorated with a pretty jewel, so….”

“A jewel?”

“Yes. I believe it was a ruby. The master treasured it.” Michelle’s shoulder sadly slumped as her head dipped low, her fingers tightly grasping at her braid.

“Ruby… a red gem….” Owl shook his head as a thought occurred to him. “Surely not,” he murmured to himself.

■■■■■■■■■■

“I was in the dining car around six having dinner. I was there until seven, after which I returned to my room, but I soon left again to have some wine in the lounge.”

The next stop was room A-4 in the deluxe carriage to visit Mastema. He hadn’t expected to be able to meet with such a highly ranked government official so casually, but Mastema seemed to remember Owl from the auction case and was answering his questions so amiably that it almost felt anticlimactic.

“Is that so? Did you happen to meet anyone there?” asked Owl.

“Yes, I did, a young… mm, I probably shouldn’t say she was ‘sexy,’ that would start some unsavory rumors… let’s say a glamorous woman. I spoke with her for a bit, but it was only talk, you understand. She had another man with her as well – an attendant, I believe – so I would appreciate it if you would refrain from any unnecessary gossip.”

“I’m not a reporter,” assured Owl. “I have no interest in gossip or scandals, and I don’t intend to ask you anything untoward.”

“Thank you for your discretion.” Mastema pressed a single finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “Younger politicians like myself need to procure more sponsors around this time. It’s quite the hassle.” Some might think of all politicians as arrogant, but Mastema was actually rather approachable.

“Did you see anyone suspicious or hear anything strange?”

“Mm…?” Mastema thought for a moment. “Good question. I don’t believe I noticed anything out of the ordinary… the only thing that comes to mind would be the conductor. He passed in front of my room at one point.”

“The conductor?” Again with the mysterious conductor. Owl made a note of it.

“Indeed. While I was having my meal in the dining car, I realized I’d forgotten to bring the newspaper, so I returned to my room for a spell. That’s when I saw him passing by, heading toward the dining car.” Mastema pointed to the display window set into the wall on the corridor side. The window was small and round, with a cover designed to slide over it when it wasn’t being used. At the moment, it was uncovered. “I saw the conductor’s blue cap through there.”

“His cap?”

“Yes.”

Owl peered through the window, then briefly stepped outside to look through from the other side. The glass was frosted, so it was impossible to really see much of anything through it, but it was possible to distinguish colors, at least.

He stood before the window, and after a moment’s thought muttered to himself, “It’s kind of low, huh? I’m around 5’9”, so….” The window was roughly level with his face. He bent down a bit, trying to gauge its exact height… but he was thrown out of his musings by a clamorous banging and clacking from elsewhere in the car. Owl reflexively glanced in that direction, watching the door two doors down burst open and a single man come flying out. A jolt of shock rolled through his system as he registered who the man was.

“You are a remarkably lovely woman, but I am a priest – I have sown an oath to not fall into temptation.”

“My, how lovely! Sin is the most delectable spice of them all!”

“If I may be so bold, would it not also be lovely to keep your desires safely hidden in your dress?”

“Oh, no, I won’t let you go. Not when we’ll have to part ways in the morning.”

A woman came out with the man, the two virtually entangled. It was room A-2 that the pair had stumbled out of, meaning the woman was Marie. Clad only in obscene underwear, she had her arms wrapped tightly around the taller shoulders of her partner. Owl was struck dumb by her appearance, but the more surprising – the more shocking – part was that it was Clemens she was clinging to.

“I’m so nervous without my husband around,” Marie continued. “If I’m left all on my own, I just know I’m going to cry!” She tried to pull Clemens back inside like some kind of seductive, demonic spider, but Clemens kept lightly sidestepping her moves and trying to nudge her back in by herself. They almost looked like they were dancing.

Mastema looked at what was happening, murmured to himself, “Oh, this is too much for me. I should run before I’m caught in her web,” and shut the door to his room. He really wasn’t keen on getting involved in a scandal, it seemed. At least he was consistent.

This left Owl alone in the corridor to stare blankly at the struggling pair. It took him a moment to return to his senses. When he did, though, the first thing he did was call out to Clemens with furrowed brows, “Should I ask for roast goose or bistecca for keeping my mouth shut?”

“Oh, Owl!” Clemens finally noticed Owl standing there. He whispered to Marie, “It appears our fun time together is up,” finally succeeded in pushing her back into her room, and shut the door on her before she could escape again. He proceeded to ignore her frustrated muffled complaints from within and walked toward Owl.

Owl, however, was having none of it. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone, and turned on his heel to head for the neighboring car. As he strode away from the priest, he called over his shoulder, “By the way, you’re fired as Ellie’s tutor. Seems like you’re bad for her education.”

“Please don’t misunderstand.” Clemens hurried after Owl. “I wasn’t doing anything untoward.”

Owl scoffed. “Misunderstand? It’s an unmistakable fact that you came out a woman’s room, and the woman was stripped down to her undergarments. You’re guilty. Now repent.”

“I did not strip her. When I was returning from the engine room, she stopped me and said that there was something weird in her room and she wanted me to take a look.”

“You didn’t seem to have any trouble stripping me of my gilet earlier. You could’ve called for me before you went into her room.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary at the time. But then she said, ‘This room sure is hot,’ and suddenly started taking off her dress, and I naturally started panicking.”

“You have too much appeal. It’s bad for Ellie’s education. What would happen if she turned out like that spider?”

“I wouldn’t turn her into a spider.”

“I wonder about that.” Owl finally glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes flinty and cold. He nodded to Clemens’ cheeks. “You’re sweating pretty hard.”

Clemens scrabbled to say something, anything to clear the confusion. “This sweat is from the room, not –” he tried.

Before he could finish, though, the door to the first-class carriage suddenly opened.

“Ah –!”

“Whoa –” Owl stumbled to a halt to avoid running into the person coming through from the other side. The new person staggered and grabbed the door to stop themself. “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

Owl steadied the person by the arm, who turned out to be Low, Marie’s attendant. Face pale, Low answered quietly, “I’m fine.” He glanced up. Then he noticed Clemens standing behind Owl, and his expression soured. He shook his arm free and shoved past them both, heading for Marie’s room. As he passed, he hissed under his breath, “Curse you…!”

As the pair watched the young man knock on Marie’s door and heard her hysterical voice answer from within, Owl idly commented, “Hear that? He cursed you. Pretty sure he hates you. Well, that’s what you get for being careless, I guess.”

“Why am I in the wrong here when she’s the one who dragged me into her web?” Clemens’ tone was derisive, but his expression was aloof.

The door to the first-class carriage opened again. “Low, wait, please listen –!” cried Michelle as she came rushing through. As she bumped into Owl and Clemens, though, her face stiffened and she cast her gaze down before turning around and leaving again without another word, looking rather like she’d bitten into a lemon. It seemed like she and Low were chasing each other around.

“… Well?” asked Owl after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Did you hear anything worthwhile in the engine room?” Either Owl’s ire toward Clemens had been dampened by Low’s own wrath, or he’d simply remembered that this wasn’t the time for squabbling, because he had clearly switched his focus back to the case at hand.

“None of the engineers were behaving oddly during the time of the crime,” replied Clemens. “They were all apparently at their posts. They would have known if anyone was missing – they are the beating heart of the train, so to speak.”

Owl whipped out his notebook and started taking diligent notes. “What about the rest of the crew?”

“No one stood out. The cooks and stewards were all working their shifts. I also spoke to the conductor, but he was chiefly concerned with the politician privately on board tonight and said he didn’t recall much besides that. Remember that bizarre missing persons case? He was frantically running around in circles even though he was checking the manual – he didn’t strike me as a very capable sort.”

“The conductor….” The detective’s hand stopped on the page. “What kind of person is this conductor, anyway?”

“‘What kind,’ you say… didn’t you go to the conductor’s compartment earlier to get a list of the passengers, though?”

“I did, but I didn’t actually meet him. I got the list from a steward instead.”

“Is that so?” hummed Clemens. “Well, I wouldn’t call him a particularly remarkable man – he was utterly normal. I would say he’s around thirty or so, wears glasses.”

“How tall, roughly?”

“Average for a man, I would say. In fact, I would place him around your height.”

“Around mine….” Owl gave that a little thought, then noted that down as well. “Thanks Clemens, that helps,” he said, shoving the notebook back in his pocket.

“I’m honored to have been of assistance.”

Clemens pressed a hand to his chest and gave a cheerful nod, but Owl’s gaze had once more turned ice cold. “But I will have you buy my silence,” he informed Clemens, his tone brooking no argument.

■■■■■■■■■■

“Now it’s your guys’ turn for questioning.”

Onto C-1 in the second-class carriage to speak to Elnora and Ellie. The cabin was set up the same way as Owl and Clemens’, with two sofa beds lined up facing each other. Elnora and Ellie were each perched on one bed. The former was sulkily glaring at Owl, who had taken up a position standing by the door. “You really are suspecting us,” she accused. “That’s just awful! Ellie, you get mad, too! That jerk Owl thinks that a couple of absolute cuties like us are suspects in a murder.”

“… Mad…?” Ellie didn’t seem to really get it, but she took a page from Elnora’s book anyway and jutted her lip out in a pout, her cheeks puffing up.

Elnora pressed a hand to her pounding heart at the sight of Ellie doing her best. “See, Owl! Ellie’s mad, too! Look at her! So cute! So precious! Like a little angel!”

“It probably doesn’t help your case looking cute when you’re trying to be mad,” Owl pointed out. He poked at her cheeks, deflating them like a balloon with a single touch. Ellie’s expression fell. “Being mad… makes me tired…” she whispered, crestfallen. Her eyes turned up to Owl as she continued, “Is it bad that I’m bad at being mad?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be bad to get good at it,” Owl replied, patting her head.

“So what did you want to know?” asked Elnora. “Just so you know, I wouldn’t do something so stupid as killing someone. I couldn’t go shopping if the police caught me.”

“I suppose, yeah” agreed Owl. “Killing someone is a foolish act that robs you of your freedom, and you’re clever, so you wouldn’t do something like that. What I want to ask is whether you saw or heard anyone or anything strange during the time of the murder.”

“Strange? I’m not really sure. Ellie was wandering all over the train around that time having the time of her life.”

“You really don’t remember anything at all?”

“I remember Ellie being adorable frolicking around like that!”

“Besides that.”

“Besides that? What else would be worth remembering besides that? It’s not like I can remember every little thing that happened.” Despite her dismissive words, Elnora tried to think back for a moment, humming under her breath. Presently, she said, “Well, now that I think about it, there was a minute where I lost track of Ellie.”

“You lost track?” Owl repeated incredulously.

“Right, we were passing through the dining car and I got curious about the dinner course so I started reading through the menu and Ellie kept on going without me. I was super surprised! She went all the way through first-class and into the deluxe car!”

Owl’s eyebrows furrowed. “That means that Ellie can be placed on the scene at the time of the crime, you realize?” he growled. “What if she’d run into the murderer? And after I left her in your care because you said you wanted to play….”

“Geez, don’t get so upset,” Elnora sighed. “I’m sorry I lost sight of her, but it was really only for a little while. Five minutes, tops! When I realized she was gone… right, the conductor was just passing by so I asked him if he’d seen a little girl anywhere, and he said he’d seen her around the first-class car and I went right after her.”

Owl stooped down to meet Ellie’s eyes. “Did you get separated from Elnora?” he asked.

Ellie ducked her head. “I’m sorry…” she murmured, despondent. “But… I thought someone was calling me.”

“Calling you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Who was?”

“… Um.”

The girl’s vocabulary was still small, so she didn’t have the words to explain herself. Her hands waved vaguely in front of her chest, vexed by her own inability. Owl tried to prompt her along. “Did you meet someone there?”

Ellie nodded. “I saw someone with a blue hat,” she answered.

“A blue hat…” Owl mused. “Probably the conductor Elnora spoke to. What did you two talk about?”

But Ellie just shook her head at that.

“He wasn’t the talkative type, so maybe he just didn’t want to go out of his way to talk to her,” replied Elnora in Ellie’s stead. “He was real gloomy – didn’t say a word to any of the passengers he walked past. Oh, right, I forgot, and he was carrying a sofa cover, it had the same pattern as the ones in the lounge.”

Owl blinked. “Gloomy? That’s not what Clemens said. He said he was an ‘utterly normal’ guy in glasses. And he spoke with Michelle in the lounge, so it’s not like he was ignoring all the passengers, right?”

“I don’t remember him wearing glasses,” said Elnora.

“Huh?”

“… Hm?” Now Elnora blinked. “Hold on a minute, or was he? I was in a hurry, so I wasn’t looking all that closely at his face. Now that I think of it, his face was kind of vague….”

“‘Vague?’ What do you mean, ‘vague?’” Owl leaned forward.

Elnora’s face twisted into a displeased scowl as she thought back. “Hmm~~, what was it? He had his cap pulled down low, so I was more interested in his clothes than his face. He had a slim figure, but his clothes were huge on him – I thought he might be wearing the wrong size or something.”

“You’ve got a pretty unreliable memory, don’t you?”

“Rude. Hold on, I’m remembering it now. Hmm… it’s just so hazyyy…” Elnora groaned.

While Elnora mumbled to herself, Ellie quietly raised her hand. Owl’s eyes slid back to her, wondering if she’d remembered something. “Yes, Ellie? What is it?”

Ellie gave a single big nod. “I saw it, too,” she said. “The hazy thing.”

“The hazy thing? The conductor’s face, you mean?”

“Nuh-uh, the hazy thing that was in front of the room….”

“In front of the room?” repeated Owl, vaguely confused.

Ellie nodded again. “Around the room where the case happened… around the ceiling, it was all hazy and wavy… that’s what I saw.” As she spoke, she raised her hands up with her palms facing the ceiling and wiggled her fingers around. “… It was really, really hot,” she added.

Her waving fingers started to draw something in midair… something that looked eerily similar to the chemical formulas Owl wrote.

■■■■■■■■■■

“Hey, Owl, why don’t you take a break?”

Back to the deluxe carriage. Owl had returned to Johnny’s suite, to the site of the murder. Clemens stood before the door.

“I’m fine,” mumbled Owl. He vaguely pointed in the direction of A-2 without tearing his eyes away from the ceiling he’d been staring holes into for the past several minutes. “You can go rest, though. I’m sure you’ll be welcomed with open arms over there, don’t you think?”

“I’m surprised that you’re the type to hold a grudge,” Clemens said in the sort of nonchalant tone used when the grudge-worthy incident in question had involved some entirely different third party. “Do you plan on staying up all night?”

“If I can’t wrap this case up by then, then yes,” replied Owl. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to rest. We’ll reach the station by morning.”

“You can leave the rest up to the police when we get there, can’t you?”

“If that happens, then we’re going to end up in a world of trouble for throwing their name around and investigating without their say-so.”

“… ‘We,’ meaning I’m also going to be involved?”

“Did it sound like that to you?” Owl glanced at Clemens out of the corner of his eye. In his eyes, at least, Clemens was absolutely his accomplice.

“… Well, I suppose this is preferable to tedium.”

“Is that so? Thanks.”

“This trip is truly exhausting,” Clemens said as he stepped out to Owl’s side. “I’m still a suspect, though, aren’t I? Is it all right for me to be helping you?”

“No problem. My gilet proves your alibi.”

“… Your gilet?”

“The scorch marks, specifically. The five holes you patched up.”

“And what about them?”

“I noticed those holes myself earlier.”

Clemens side-eyed Owl. “If you knew they were there, why didn’t you say anything sooner? Don’t tell me you were planning on meeting with your client with holes in your clothes.”

“It’s because I didn’t say anything that I can confirm your alibi,” Owl replied. “While I was asleep, you were mending the holes. That’s an indisputable fact. It’s also an indisputable fact that the kind of work you did takes time – I know because every time this happened in the past, the maid would get on my case about it. Fixing five holes would’ve taken you over an hour, I’m guessing, so you couldn’t possibly have committed the crime. Congrats.”

Clemens’ eyebrow twitched. “… You knew that from the start, and you were still treating me like a suspect?”

Owl’s silence spoke volumes.

“You’re in for a sermon later,” said Clemens, sounding so similar to Byron that Owl had to avert his gaze. The detective proceeded further into a room at a brisk pace while the priest called after him, “So what are you looking for? Another bloodstain?”

“No, no need for that anymore.” Owl removed his monocle, wiped the lens on the hem of his gilet, replaced it, and returned his gaze to the ceiling after quickly scanning the room. “I’m looking for the ‘hazy thing.’”

Clemens also turned his gaze upward, but there was nothing there. “The ‘hazy thing’ Ellie was talking about? What on Earth could it be?” he wondered.

“Not sure. That’s why I’m looking into it.” Owl clambered up onto a chair, and from there the desk, bringing his face closer to the wood paneling above. “I thought that maybe it was alchemy.”

“Ah, your field of expertise. Yes, I suppose you would be familiar with haziness yourself, given your tendency to turn your room into a burning hell,” chuckled Clemens.

“Yeah, that’s a phenomenon called a ‘heat haze,’ where differing air densities get mixed together and light refracts through the space and makes it look all warped. It happens in my experiments a lot since I use a lot of heat, and heated air has a different density than regular outside air. So in this case….”

“Heat-based alchemy was also used in here?”

“… I thought so too, at first.” Owl shook his head and gave a discouraged gesture upward. “But it looks like I was wrong. There isn’t a hint of alchemy here.”

“Say what you will, but are ‘hints of alchemy’ something a person can even recognize?” Clemens certainly couldn’t, if his befuddled expression was any indication.

“To be more accurate, there are no traces of any alchemy I can see.” Owl tapped his monocle. “This has a special lens called a ‘fairy cornea’ in the glass. A certain state alchemist created it by studying a Demon’s power.”

“You mean to tell me that if you look through that lens you can analyze alchemical formulas?”

Owl huffed. “If something like that existed every alchemist in the world would retire, though that would be interesting if I could. There are several alchemical systems and there’s just no way I could study them all that easily. All this does is detect residual traces of alchemy… or rather, scraps of formulas left behind. Just being able to see them is plenty useful as it is, though.”

“So, even with that fancy ‘All-chemical Seeing Eye’ or yours, you didn’t find any evidence of alchemy being used,” Clemens summed up.

“Don’t give it a weird name,” grumbled Owl. “But yeah, basically. Wasn’t what I was expecting.” He hopped down from the desk, sending a cascade of envelopes fluttering to the floor in the process.

“Won’t someone get mad at your for disturbing the crime scene like this?” Clemens sighed.

“They won’t find out if we put them back,” Owl replied, bending down the pick them up.

“You’re awfully brash.” Even as appalled as he was by Owl’s uncaring demeanor, Clemens still helped pick up the envelopes that had landed by his feet. As he gathered them up, though, his eyes happened to register the words scrawled on them, and he froze. “… The Black Rose Disease.”

“What?” Owl’s head shot up. “Did you say the Black Rose Disease?”

“That’s what these say.” Clemens held up the envelopes. “These are death certificates meant to be submitted to the church. All of these people have the Black Rose Disease.”

“Let me see.” Owl snatched an envelope from Clemens and tore the seal. Inside was a bundle of medical charts inscribed with the patient’s name and photo, detailing the horrific illness. The very last page in the stack had the word “deceased.” “… These weren’t here the last time I checked in here,” murmured Owl.

“You must have overlooked them. There are a lot of documents here, after all.”

“There’s no way –” He kept leafing through the documents, his expression slowly hardening. A frustrated growl was building in his throat. “… A lot of these patients are young.”

Clemens patted his shoulder comfortingly. “We’ll need further research if we’re to save every patient,” he said, knowing full well what kind of research Owl conducted.

All of the patients listed in these certificates were in their teens and twenties. Owl’s teeth dug into his lip. This was the ugly truth of the matter, laid bare before his eyes. The Black Rose Disease had claimed the lives of many a child.

While Owl was engrossed, Clemens turned back to the desk. “Was Johnny a doctor specializing in the Black Rose Disease…?” He picked up a few other documents left scattered across the surface and scanned through them, head tilted. “This is… a register of names from an orphanage? Infection… planned? Collection amount…? These numbers – what does this mean?”

Owl’s voice suddenly rose. “Clemens! Look at this!”

“Hm?”

“This photo!” He shoved a death certificate at Clemens.

Clemens looked it over. His eyebrows rose. “Well, now, how peculiar – a death certificate for a living person. Perhaps it’s someone else?”

“No, there’s no doubt. It’s him.”

“But the last name is different.”

“It’s the same person. That means this guy is…!” Owl gasped. “The knife… the conductor… these death certificates….”

“Owl?”

But Owl was completely lost in his thoughts. He began pacing the room, mumbling to himself. “Could that person be an alchemist? No, it can’t be them. Then, maybe they had an accomplice…?” He completed two full circuits of the suite before he glanced up. “If I were the accomplice –” and here he pointed at Clemens “—and if you were the culprit –”

“Me?” Clemens pointed to himself as well.

“Right, if you were the culprit, and if I were to help you escape….” Owl grabbed Clemens’ arm and pulled him to the exit. However, he paused in front of the door before they made it out. “No, that wouldn’t work,” he mumbled. “We’d stand out too much. You’d just killed a man, your clothes were probably drenched in blood.”

“For the record, I will remind you that I am not the culprit.”

“I know. Shut up a sec. I’m the accomplice right now.”

Clemens’ mouth pressed into a perfectly straight displeased line, but he didn’t speak.

Owl didn’t notice. He was lost in his own head, simulating the actions of the supposed accomplice. How would he save the culprit? How did he hide the body, how did he create an alibi for the culprit? “The culprit had to change clothes… so the body… was put somewhere else…. They couldn’t through the body out the window on a moving train… so at least… maybe hide it in a different room….”

“But there’s no blood in the hallway,” Clemens interjected, his momentary bout of silence over. “They couldn’t transport the body without leaving traces of blood behind.”

“Right, the hallway’s clean. So how?” Owl glanced around the suite. “They couldn’t hide a body in a cramped room like this.” He once again checked all the places a person could feasibly store something, including under the bed and in the closet, but as before, there was no body to be found.

“It’s interesting that this room doesn’t have a counter,” hummed Clemens as he watched Owl rush about. “Considering the room next door does.”

Owl paused as Clemens’ words sunk in. “… Wait, the room next door has a counter?”

“Yes, a wooden one by the window with a storage space underneath. I saw it when I was dragged in there earlier.”

“Why would there be a storage space like that there but not here?” Owl wondered. “You would think that all of the same-class cabins would be laid out the same way, right?”

“Who knows?” Clemens shrugged. “I’m not a designer, so I wouldn’t know. But the layout between these two rooms is fairly different. There was no desk table in the other room – it had a chest dresser instead. And there was a mirror, certainly made for ladies… ah, right, and the closet had a mirror installed, too.”

“… Made for ladies…?” Owl’s gaze slid over to the closet. “No… it’s not cramped!” he realized. He suddenly dashed out of the room and compared A-1 and A-2 from the corridor. “These are the deluxe suites. There’s no way they’d be so small!” he shouted. He then burst back into A-1, grabbed Clemens by the arm again, and pulled him out into the hall. “Okay, you’re up.”

“Huh?”

“Ask Mrs. Marie.”

“Why?”

“If you got in once, you can do it again.” He dragged Clemens over to stand in front of A-2 and shoved him up to the door. “Go on, give it a knock.”

Clemens was naturally reluctant to follow this particular order. “You do it,” he shot back. “She would love to eat you up as well. You have my approval.”

“You’re really going to make a minor jump into a spider’s web? Some priest you are.”

“I am a clergyman who has taken a pure, solemn oath.”

“That’s a barefaced lie. Just hurry up, I want to see inside her room.”

*****

The two quarreled for a moment in front of the door on who should go in. However, it was a third-party who settled the matter.

“I don’t particularly mind taking you both at the same time, you know?” The door clicked open and Marie appeared. Wearing only a negligee, she reclined against the door seductively, giggles leaking from her lips as she glanced back and forth between the pair, a demon spider beholding her prey. “Let me see,” she purred, “I think I’ll start with the little cherry boy.”

“Uh?”

“Experienced gentlemen are nice, but I like innocent boys, too.” Marie’s hand clamped on Owl’s arm and she yanked him into her room.

“Wait – I…!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

She’d dragged him into her web and slammed the door shut before Clemens could even think to save him, leaving the priest standing in a blank stupor staring at the door. From inside he could hear some banging and crashing, but after a moment it faded away, leaving the air as still and silent as the grave.

“… Owl. You were truly a one-of-a-kind human being.” Clemens closed his eyes before the silent room. He could at least pray for a noble death for him… but after a few moments, the door opened again. Clemens unconsciously stood at the ready, but surprisingly it was Owl who appeared in the entryway. “Oh, that was quick,” commented the priest, utterly nonchalant.

*****

Owl glared at Clemens, hissing reproachfully, “Why didn’t you come save me…?”

“I thought this would be good experience for you.”

“I don’t need or want the experience of being eaten by a demon spider! I’m leaving!” Owl stormed out of the room, fuming. As soon as he reached the end of the carriage, though, he stopped, turned around, and came striding back.

“That’s right, your room is the other way. Good on you for noticing.”

“Shut up!” hissed the detective as he brushed past.

“Hey, are you really leaving? Didn’t you want to see inside her room?” called Clemens. He peered through the open doorway to find Marie passed out on top of her bed. Somehow, Owl had put her to sleep.

Owl turned back and yelled, “If you’re talking about the trick, I already figured it out!”

“Congratulations. I guess being caught in her web paid off. So, what was the trick?”

“‘Stitching.’”

“… Stitching? As in, invisible mending?”

“Exactly!”

“What do you mean?” Clemens’ eyes fell to Owl’s gilet, utterly lost.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

#kotonoha project #am I being overly cautious with the cws? maybe #will I stop? most likely not

[rekikiri]

🍜 🎲 😇 📚 (@stabbyfoxandrew) <3<3<3

hi aerie!! thanks for the ask, my dear <3

dish

ooh okay. so not going to mention desserts but some of my favorite dishes are this one specific salmon bowl from red lobster (it’s the soy salmon bowl, it’s amazing), pilly cheesesteak stromboli (or just philly cheesesteaks in general, they’re so tasty), pineapple fried rice w/ tofu, and sushi in general:)) (also LOVE steamed dumplings…)

game

I’m going to answer this with video games but my favorite video games are hollow knight, stardew valley, spiritfarer, and Pokémon (specifically heartgold as my favorite)

blorbo

oh god one of the biggest blorbos in my brain will forever be neil josten, the man that you are…

but if we want to acknowledge the characters that have ~built me~ we have kirishima from my hero, reki from sk8 the infinity, and suga/noya from haikyuu. my username is a mix of the first two, suga is my profile picture, and noya is the pfp for my Twitter <3 ofc there are others but these felt fitting to mention

book

goodness aerie you’re killing me /j

the two stand-alone books would that immediately come to mind as favorites are a far wilder magic by allison saft and under the whispering door by tj klune :)) not gonna even go into series lmao

#aerie <3 #ask thea

[nicetrynicetry]

94

Because I have a fake job with no schedule, I haven’t expressed any kind of TGIF sentiment since school. And perhaps not even then, since the last day of school was the last day of seeing my friends, the teachers. Regardless, give me a week of social complexity in cold weather and I will absolutely be Thanking God That It’s Friday

I bring two posters to a framer nearby, one of an M C Escher drawing and one anatomical rendering of the human spine titled The Amazing Back. A frazzled and rude woman turns me away from the workshop because I don’t have an appointment, calling forth a “don’t you know who I am?” attitude in me that I only really have a right to indulge at these kinds of art-adjacent stores. I keep my indignation to myself, though I do remark that the website does not specify an appointment-only ethos. The woman shrugs and scurries upstairs. Then I walk away, my two ridiculous posters in hand, crying a little and feeling like a terrible amateur. I go home and remove all of my clothes because embarrassment raises my body temperature, then I put them all back on and head to my Raya coffee date, seeing no reason why I won’t be spurned like I was by the picture framers

At St John, people eat bone marrow and lobster legs around us, me and this handsome man from my phone. I no longer know how a first date should go, but this one isn’t horrific. In fact in some ways he’s perfect - gentle and put-together yet a little tortured in the face, a smoker and Jewish. Two items of jewellery - a complex and beautiful ring on his left hand and a small but thick hoop earring. I have more to talk about with an American stranger than with a British one, probably because I make more new friends stateside than at home. I make jokes and he laughs, tell him that Stonehenge is a little underwhelming. He shows me pictures on his phone, adverts made by American XL Bully breeders announcing that two “champions” have successfully mated and promising a new bloodline of puppies. They share a graphic sensibility with rap mixtape covers. Eventually we both make excuses for continuing our days. The walk back home is so cold that I climb directly into a running bath with my fleece still on. I am so determined to make it through the final hours of the week in one piece that it doesn’t occur to me to assess the date itself when N asks for details

By 5pm I am biking in the dark to meet J for a quick pre-dinner coffee. His fiancée is at home sick and so I take him to Shoreditch House, my membership app telling me I haven’t visited a soho house of any kind since 2019. If only we drank, I tell J, it would help me make a dent in the tab. When we are seated he presents me with a metal figurine of a regal figure with a screaming face. “It’s a Queen Baby”, J says, and so it is. I wish all relationships felt as natural as the one I have built with J in just a few months - the ease, the humour, the mutual sobriety. He doesn’t know (because I don’t tell him) that our meeting after such an emotionally taxing couple of days is like coming home. We watch two twenty-something girls play ping pong against an older man who might well be dating both of them. The open kitchen produces steaming artisan pizza as if from nowhere. I nag J about buying some gloves for his winter cycling, and go to meet P for dinner revived, more able to be myself

I deliberately choose Cycene for P and I because it is the only restaurant I can get a table at any time and because its tasting menu format allows for a 4 hour meal without being hurried out the door by an angry waiter. In the end we spend 4 and a half hours talking, punctuated by plates of tiny delicious food being placed in front of us with a brief (and not insufferable) explanation of where the scallop, the pigeon, or the shiso is from. Speaking with P is like jamming 40 novels and 10 documentaries into a juicer and drinking straight from the spout. He asks about my week’s dates, and I decide on a few highlights to relay rather than the whole squalid tale. I am also not nearly as good a story-teller as P, who I guess tells stories about real life events for a living

While I am grateful he profiled Larry this year, because it meant that we met, I can tell from P’s animated explanation of this next lead that he is back in his element. He would be the first to admit that the art world made him depressed, or at least the corner that Gagosian occupies. P, I think, needs to feel like he might be killed for his reporting, and despite the art world’s loose grasp on ethics and its ready access to money, the worst he came across was a cease and desist from Larry’s legal team. P wants to meet with ex-cops at undisclosed locations, uncover truth in its purest journalistic form and get in trouble for it, but crucially not so much trouble that he meets the same fate as the guy who upset the Russian mob two years ago: impaled on a metal railing in Marylebone with police calling it a “suicide”. We gnaw pigeon meat from a leg with its claw attached and P tells me about counterfeit wine, his son’s love of Radiohead and kimchi, and that he lost his Oura ring. Just as my body begins quietly begging me not to ingest any more food, a small quenelle of sorbet arrives. It tastes like Starburst’s short-lived Sour Green Apple line of candy. This is the easiest date of the week, precisely because it isn’t a date

[dontemptyourheart]

SPOILERS AHEAD:

for the disney live action little mermaid

my little mermaid review

🐠

🐟

🦀

🪼

🦈

🐚

🪸

🐙

🐬

likes:

first off this story is so dear to my heart, I was obsessed w Hans Christian Anderson as a kid, like dress up as him and went to school obsessed, so I LOVED that they gave him his flowers at the start

as a pisces (i know) I'm a fucking fan for all the nautical shit, fathoms below, mermaid/siren lore, locations, the little details, really well done

the colors were more saturated than I had given them credit for based on the trailer

the score and arrangements were fabulous no complaint from me

on that note, Halle can sing like nobody's business, sounds v much like Jodi, such a beautiful voice

underwater effects 10/10

also wasn't mad at the glitter nail polish and shiny/scale skin

halle's makeup and hair underwater, trash. but on land sooo good. could this not have been restored with...effects of some kind my brother in christ?

pretty cool the additional songs they added to get not only Eric's but Ariel's inner monologue as well, something I didn't know I was missing and so happy to have

the actress who played Vanessa ATE that roll UP, she mothered, and acted tf out of her scenes my god

sebastian looked so realistic I wanted to steam him and eat his claws the whole time

the cherry on top? JODI FUCKING BENSON EVERYONE😍😍😍🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵 as a kid watching her walk around that lil rocky sand island singing part of ur world at the end of the vhs tape was always my fav part, so happy she's alive to see this and be included

dislikes:

no Triton's daughters song? sebastian's musical career is central to his character but ok. don't really know why the sisters needed a name change either, but hey

riddle me this, why do only scuttle, flounder, and sebastian speak? because they're big actors getting paid? make it make sense, please. I wanted the fish to sing in Under the Sea, and the eels, but only certain creatures have sentience ? Also they're all just cool w scuttle eating a fish 👁👄👁

and for under the sea, yeah jellyfish, starfish, and sea slugs are sick as hell.....but WHAT ABOUT FISH!?

part of me wishes Ursula's tentacles were purple and the fire cauldron was pink, like in og, but I understand they wanted to do a whole complementary blue/orange thing so I can let it slide

WHY WAS ARIEL IN THAT ONE BLUE DRESS ALL THE TIME, NO PJS?? CASUAL WEAR??? WEDDING DRESS??? the people want answers

no transition for her father giving her legs??? no shimmering dress??? -10/10 come on man that's like the best part!

apparently they don't know Eric lore bc he obviously plays the flute, but I digress

when Ursula puts Eric under her spell as Vanessa.....that wasn't really made clear, unless you've watched og. why not add some mist or sparkles or something...

was the amnesia necessary. is that really what was missing from this film. if anything they didn't drive the three sunsets home hard enough

no wedding cruise ship w dolphins, lobsters, and seals causing mayhem </3

it was a little dark bro, like if I saw this as a kid I would be terrified w the skulls and MERMAID SKELETON, blood oath, Ursula's random face gills, and her dad just like basically dying, wtf disney who is the intended audience

i see how they are turning away from colonization narrative by having Eric be adopted, and a curious explorer/academic. however, it felt weird and unnecessary bc I'm pretty sure the og and Anderson's versions take place in Denmark so....why

also the climate change nod, yes of course this is such an important issue, but can I just fucking escape politics and the real world and enjoy a fantastical tale about mermaids??? do I really need to be constantly reminded of humanity's defects I just cant-

and the biggest tragedy and dislike of all REST IN PIECE LE POISSOIN AND CHEF LOUIE 👼🪦😥

I tried to organize this post but Tumblr was being a pain in the ass so here we are, would love to hear other thoughts! not looking for an argument tho!

#little mermaid #disney #disney the little mermaid #halle bailey #live action #spoilers

[idleincrementalgamer]

What I’m Playing This Week

PC: Progress Knight Quest Still on this one of course, on my first dark matter reboot, forgot how much that first run with the dark matter upgrades really does help since it slow down so much later Array Game thought I was done with it, had all the challenges and upgrades and everything and checked the changelog and nope they added 3 more levels (needed a shift+f5 to get the update) so I think I’ll be here for a while yet.  I’ve come around on it a lot more but oof is being back on A level a slog Ordinal Gwarkup it’s a mod of something but I forget what. I’m stuck in the challenges right now, I suck at figuring out if a game wants challenges to be a slog or pretty much auto-complete and I feel like I always guess wrong.

Steam: Increlution My  beloved. I’m into the Nomad city now, felt like I just spent forever balancing catching/cooking lobsters I’m just so happy to finally have them on auto! NGU Idle Mostly doing challenges at this point and trying to max out the mega-man gear, i’m at that really unbalanced point where you have adventure zones unlocked way beyond what you can fight which always drives me nuts.

Android: (not listing everything cause I tend to try a lot of terrible games once and delete them) (no links because I’m posting on pc and finding mobile links is a pain, just search the names in the store) An Unusual Idle Life: Pretty close to done, starting to wonder if I’ll even finish. I’m just trying to finish up the unusual corp stuff and just can’t seem to make enough money to get through it. I’m just doing reboots and pouring all my jelly into job upgrades at this point Ballz Deep: I think I really mishandled this run and went focus on the right too early and now I’m all sunk cost fallacy and doubling down to try and make it playable, but I still love it. CIFI: Another currency creates currency game which I do enjoy. It has really complete theming which I appreciate (even if it’s not a theme I’m into, space ship) and some fun little arcade mini games I am just terrible at. I do feel like it could use a touch more guidance. I was just super frustrated with how slow it was going after 3 days in having almost no progress when I realized I had missed that you can build 2 more ships and an entire tab of upgrades and the pretige tree and all of that. Liking it a lot more now.

[astralwaifu]

HI OMG- ITS NICE TO SEE/TALK TO YOU AGAIN!! I JUST GOT THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD. could you do toji x female reader, where the reader is basically like kobeni? :0 JUST THINK- HOW CUTE IT WOULD BE WITH THS STRONG BULKY MAN WITH THIS SHY FEARFUL GIRL- AAAAAAA >_<

i’m finally answering my asks, i am sorry for keeping you waiting and thank you for being patient 🙏

Toji Fushiguro with Kobeni!reader

genre: headcanons

tw: Toji is a tease 👀 iykyk

-He was annoyed at first, but grew up to be a little intrigued by your shy and fearful demeanour.

-I hc Toji is a menace, so you should be 100% sure that he would fluster you on purpose. All. The. Time.

-Would take off his T-shirt just to see you turn to mush, unable to form a single coherent sentence. And not to mention your red face and almost visible steam coming out your ears. Who could blame you though? Them tiddies huuuge.

-Although your constant complains and cries get to him most of the times, he actually enjoys your presence and finds you cute. Sometimes he cooes at you when you cry in fear of a curse and makes it unnecessarily hot :

“Little y/n… You scared of the big bad curse? Poor baby” he teasingly says to you as he takes your chin in his considerably larger hand. You can only whimper, half coming out of your fear of death and half because this man has you wrapped around his finger.

“That’s alright, i’ll protect you, pretty, just stop crying. It distracts me everytime.” Congratulations, now you’re lobster kind of red.

-He is bulky and well built - well built my ass, he looks like a greek god sculpted by heavens itself -, which makes it perfect for your dynamic. Small softie and … big, buff serial killer….

-Whenever someone tries to pick on you, he slithers behind you towering over you and glaring at that person. And by that I mean he is giving them the death glare. Scary dog privilege.

-Is also the type to stop you from falling or stumbling over your feet, like: he be holding you by the back of your shirts like a cat holds a kitten. It’s actually so cute, because he whispers you to be more careful afterwards.

-Was absolutely shocked when he found out how strong your survival skills are and how you absolutely turn when faced with an extrem situation, where you have nothing to do but act upon it. He didn’t even think you had any self-preservation instincts. But then again, you proved him wrong and now earned his respect. (a round of applause, please)

-Is even more shocked when you refuse to use those skills in the day to day life, but after all, who needs that when you have him. And he is being slowly whipped by you day by day.

-Makes you unironically call him ‘daddy’. You can’t even look him in the eyes afterwards.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #kobeni x you #kobeni x reader #kobeni #csm #chainsaw man #chainsaw man kobeni

[tsaritza-mika]

Random HCs from my Discord chat #2

The dishes/meals that everyone could make perfectly...

Asra He makes the best sandwiches/subs/hoagies/paninis you’ve ever had! There’s a reason why he went looking for that sandwich he left on the counter before he left, and it’s cause it was fabulous as shit! This one knows just what ingredients will match with what type of bread, if it needs to be hot or cold, if it needs a side or is better without. When Asra makes you a sandwich, you don’t just get a tasty meal, you get a fucking experience!

Nadia She doesn’t have to cook her own meals obviously, but the few she decides to are out of this world delicious!! Of course she can handle her favorite Prakran Swordfish when the right ingredients are available, but she can also manage a pretty mean side of couscous with veggies, maybe a carefully seasoned kabob with carefully spiced rice or something like that. Perfect spice is the name of the game for this queen

Julian Okay, so we’ve established that with most things he’s a disaster in the kitchen, but you can’t tell me this man hasn’t gone through the trouble to learn at least one of his staple favs. Things like his favored lobster claws and other seafoods are easy enough when bought fresh, and whenever he does bother, he does it right! He also loves his soups, so he’d likely be able to make a really good lobster bisque or clam/seafood chowder. Gotta pair it with either some tasty steamed veggies or maybe some garlic bread, or maybe both! Stay healthy on those rough seas babes!

Portia COMFORT FOOD QUEEN!!! (my small chat group is american + mixed race, so our ideas of comfort food are limited) Biscuits and Gravy with sausage, hearty soups in home made bread bowls, layers of delectable lasagna, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, grilled cheese with tomato soup on garlic bread, french toast and pancakes... Any comfort food you can imagine, she’d make it a point to learn to make it perfectly just for you!! Muriel He hates that he’s on par with Julian about cooking up fish, but the poor baby can’t run from the truth XDDD Muriel uses different stuff more often than not though, especially when he learned that lemons+fish= Chef’s Kiss. Pair it with some savory rice and veggies and you got a meal that will crack a smile on our shy mountain man. Fish is a big one on the menu a lot, along with things like venison and rabbit, and other herbs and things he can find in the forest to keep himself strong and healthy.

Lucio Issues with land sharks aside, if the king cooks, it has to be done right and with style! Full Hawaiian style pork roast baby! Digging out the hole, setting up the spit and keeping the meat rotating with pineapples and other regionally found stuff is key! And of course, the right booze can help liven up just about anything if paired right! You think this man doesn’t know that a perfect fish can not only be paired with the right white wine, but also cooked with it for more flavor!? SHAME!! I mean, of course someone else should do all the work. He’s very important and has a lot going on, but if he wants it done right, sometimes he rolls up those sleeves and has to show why he’s not only the boss of everyone, but also the kitchen!

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra alnazar #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #count lucio #montag morgasson #ilya devorak #pasha devorak