#. * ❛ FLORET BUDS; ask.

[ashrifts]

CHOMP — Mr.Taiyaki has been executed with a single bite. Such a shame, so sweet, but far too likely to take liberties with his husband. — but his service shall not be forgotten in drawing secrets out of Ran as Mikey raises himself to press a kiss where the fish had been moments before. As if it were not he to initiate the scandal he mutters, "Don't let anyone else kiss you."

ran haitani does not like being treated like a possession. he belongs to himself, wholly and thoroughly, and those foolish enough to try and attempt to put a leash on him have tasted the consequences in their own blood trickling down their mouth. 

...but when mikey says such things, the chuckle transforms into laughter, and the cool silver around his ring finger feels pleasantly warm. 

he likes it when mikey's being possessive, even over silly, silly matters or, rather, especially because of how silly the premise was. there's truly never a boring moment with him around, and a world that had seemed so gray since he could retain memories turns colorful in an instant. ran closes his eyes and relishes the moment.

...but it's not long before mischief lifts the corner of his lips once again, and he drawls out,   ‘ i don't know...  i think i liked mr. taiyaki's kiss better.  why don't you try again?  ’

#THEY'RE SOOOO CRINGE i had to answer this before running to class ran would not leave me in peace #rip mr. taiyaki #sanoism #. * ❛ floret buds; ask. #ran voice oh you'll kill the guys who try to kiss me?? that's so hot -twirls hair-

[emmettland]

Gold and Green AU | Repost #10

Ask Prompt: What if Cassius Blessed Logan? (2023)

CW: explicit NSFW, noncon, dubcon, no prep, no lube, abusive power dynamics

“I’ve never had a Green run off on me before,” Cassius said. His tone was light, as if it were just a joke between them now, but the cold metal around Logan’s wrists was heavy – a precaution, and a punishment. 

Logan’s hands twitched above his head. He turned his head, unable to meet the Golden’s eyes – his Golden’s eyes. He had to accept that.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, knowing there was no excuse for his actions. 

He panicked. He forgot his place, his purpose. He was mislead by a soothing voice from the past, telling him that he didn’t have to do this. He wanted warm golden eyes, not the pale gold that Cassius had. He didn’t want Cassius, and he didn’t want to be Blessed by him. 

But he wasn’t allowed to say any of that.

Cassius stroked his cheek. “I suppose it’s to be expected. You were already rejected once, so you must have thought I would reject you as well.” 

That’s not it, Logan thought. He held his tongue. 

“But your father was right, Logan. There is nothing wrong with you.” 

Then why don’t I want this? 

Cassius’ lips curved. “I’m quite grateful to be your first,” he said, lowering his head to leave feather-light kisses. They started at his collarbone, moved down to his sternum, to his chest – and then Cassius looked up at him under snowy eyelashes, smirking. “And I intend to be your only.” 

Logan wanted to protest. But the kisses turned into a tongue, and that tongue brushed over a rosy bud, and it felt strangely good. Logan gasped at the feeling, and again when Cassius pinched the other one, playing with his body in ways that the Green wasn’t even allowed to think about. 

Your Golden will decide your pleasure, his lessons said. It’s forbidden for Greens to ever pleasure themselves. You do not deserve pleasure unless your Golden says so.

Cassius must think he deserves it. Because one hand was crawling down Logan’s side, eliciting shivers, and the other was creeping between his thighs, thumbing the slit of his member. Logan inhaled sharply at the feeling, and the feeling spread when Cassius’ hand wrapped around it, sliding up and down. 

He bit back a moan. Cassius squeezed and said, “I would prefer if you didn’t stay quiet.” 

I would prefer if you did, Logan thought. It was easier to enjoy the physical sensations without the Golden speaking, reminding him of his situation. Of his damned purpose. 

But he couldn’t really tell a Golden to shut up. 

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. He didn’t stifle his sounds, or try to be modest about his pleasure. Having that part of him touched felt really good, and for the first time in his life, he was able to harden without that torturous ring on, forbidding it. 

His pleasure wasn’t forbidden here. It was expected, and that was really the only good thing about it, knowing that he would get to blossom for the first time. Even if it was with Cassius and not the Golden who still stuck in his troublesome fantasies– 

“Gods,” Cassius breathed, cutting off that thought.

Logan hesitantly opened his eyes, but he felt the Golden’s desire before he saw it, pressing into the inside of his thigh. He squirmed at the feeling, and at Cassius’ next words.

“I will take my time with you later, little floret. You’re too irresistible not to be inside now.” He squeezed the now leaking tip, getting another moan from the Green. “And adorably sensitive,” Cassius added with a grin. 

He pulled Logan up by his arms as he sat back, so the Green knelt over his lap as his manacled wrists were placed behind the Golden’s head. Logan’s eyes went wide as Cassius’ words finally registered.

“I-I’m not prepared yet,” he blurted.

“I know,” Cassius said, reaching down. Logan let out an embarrassing squeak when he felt his hole being spread with two hands. “It’ll just be the head for now.” 

Before he could protest that too, Cassius was pushing his hips down, and there was the unpleasant sensation of something entering him. Logan squeezed his eyes shut, clenching without realizing, which got a breathy moan out of the Golden. 

“Relax,” Cassius urged, stroking his lower back. “It will hurt less if you let it happen.” 

It wasn’t the pain that bothered him. Or even how dry it was, with only precum to wet the way. It was – everything else. Feeling his inner walls stretched farther than they’re used to, combined with the effort to not tighten around the intrusion. Feeling too open, too exposed, and too helpless on the Golden’s lap, trapped by the metal cuffs. Logan considered asking if they could be taken off, since he couldn’t really run anywhere now, but panic was gripping his throat, making it impossible to speak and hard to breathe. 

“See? It’s nothing to be scared of,” Cassius said, either oblivious to his fear or just choosing to ignore it. Logan’s breath hitched as he was pushed down more, stretched open farther, penetrated deeper– 

“Cassius,” he whimpered, hoping he would stop.

But this wasn’t the Golden who rejected him – who cared enough about his feelings to reject him. These eyes weren’t nearly as warm, and this smile was just a polished trophy. A reward for something he couldn’t refuse. 

“You can handle it,” Cassius told him, and for a moment, Logan’s training convinced him it was true, because his Golden said it.

But that moment didn’t last long, and Cassius split him open more, sinking deeper and deeper until there was no space left to fill. Logan didn’t want to handle it. He wanted to escape it. 

Cassius let out a satisfied hiss. “Gods. You’re doing great, Logan. So good for me.”

Right, Logan thought bitterly. Good for you.

my writing x emmettsin x gold and green au x ko-fi

#emmett whumps #whump tag #emmett writes #emmett reposts #Gold and Green AU #Gold and Green AU (writing) #emmett ocs #logan oc #cassius oc #derek oc #logius (ship) #dergan (ship) #emmettsin

[scavengerssuccotash]

Foodie headcanons for Clintasha because my last ask made me hungry!

Clint’s a walking garbage disposal. He will eat literally anything. Liver? No problem. Brussel sprouts? Extra butter please! Pigs foot? Tried it once, didn’t mind it but he wouldn’t actively seek it out. Natasha on the other had is a little weary about strong smelling foods. She’s got a sensitive nose and if it burns her nostrils she’s not touching it.

Natasha’s a wine snob and Clint’s a bit of a coffee snob. He doesn’t own all the fancy machinery but he sure as hell knows about twenty different kinds of coffee beans and their different roasting methods. He knows jack shit about wine though. They all just taste like grape juice to him so he lets Nat order the wine when they go out. She likes her sweet and he likes his dry. Nat jokes that his penchant for scalding hot coffee has burned his taste buds off. Whenever Nat brings up the wines “legs” Clint can’t help but compliment her own. “Don’t know about no wine legs, Princess but I’d like to know more about yours!”

Clint’s actually a pretty good cook when he’s got the time. He’s definitely the home cook kind of type. All comfort food with a midwestern flair. From a hearty chili (with beans! It’s not chili if it doesn’t have beans, Tony!) to pancakes he’s got the good stick to your bones cooking down, but he’s not afraid to break a sweat on some of the fancy shit for Nat. He once made a fantastic Veal Osso Buco that may or may not have made Nat moan out loud upon first bite.

Natasha on the other hand is a fantastic baker! There’s something about the precise measurements that just comes naturally to her. They always have a batch of cookies on hand, and the number of batches increase with the level of stress she’s under. Oh, did I forget to mention that Nat’s a stress baker? Crank the difficulty level of an upcoming mission to eleven and bam, Clint’s happily munching on some macaroons in his perch. Natasha made Tony and Peppers three tier wedding cake. The rest of the team decorated it and Thor’s buttercream florets weren’t perfect but the cake tasted delicious.

#i’m on a roll #soft headcanons #clintasha #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow #domestic avengers will always have my heart #avengers #marvel #personal #fandom

[justletmereadmyfic]

*Spoilers for Season 3 of Mob Psycho 100 - Just the MP100 parts. There is no Justice League in MB100 S3*

The sudden emergence of a 1,000 ft. tall broccoli in the center of Seasoning City, Japan—which the locals are calling The Divine Tree and attribute to an act of a new god—does not go unnoticed by the Justice League.

The Flash goes to check it out first, but in deference to his speedster metabolism after running to the opposite side of the planet, decides to indulge in some of the Divine Tree-inspired snacks they are selling outside. I'm mean, it's just a publicity stunt for tourism, right? What's the harm in playing the tourist?

He comes back a new convert to the Psycho Helmet religion and won't shut up about it.

Hawkgirl cries foul and goes to knock it over because "it's just a vegetable, how tough can it be" but does not return at all after plunging into the florets with her mace swinging.

Meanwhile, Flash has gone on a proselytizing tour.

Shazam probably would have recognized something was off if he'd thought to ask where the candy Flash offered him came from before eating it, but hey! Free candy! (Okay, he sees the cliche, but the Flash isn't a stranger, they're buds.)

While Batman quickly figures out the initial source of the brainwashing (products derived from the divine tree), he did not realize until it was too late that it's also contagious.

Eventually, the only holdouts are the Green Lanterns and their impressive willpower (and also a local kid with alarmingly powerful psychic abilities) to take down the living malevolent tree.

#justice league crossover #mob psycho 100 crossover #fanfiction ideas

[letusburnthestars]

the pile of white roses glistened the river of the moon drunk stars, take a step and try to venture into the depth, let the blinding color of the pale take your breath away, or get pricked by it's thorns.

let me into your heart the way these sun starved flowers withered without the sols presence, because everyday without you is another day i wither darling.

cut my strings when you leave, please? the strings that once belonged to your warm touch now strangled and choked me.

let me shower you with my love the way these sea lived lives strive under the dances of the rain.

i'll hold you forever in my arms, letting the warmth engulf you as a whole and leave you craving for more like i was the finest red wine made to be drowned in.

for my love, drowning isn't easy when the waters are shallow and won't let you.

let me hold your hand the way these touch starved presence held on to the weak whispers of the wind, begging them to be gentle as they send harsh roars against their ways.

just promise to not go this time darling hm? i'm tired of looking for you in a sea of a hundred others.

let me break down your walls the way lovers break the thorns of prickly roses to give to each other. let my fingers cry out blood but let your smile bloom upon your lips.

my heart longs for mercy, but all it pumps out is your love.

let me pluck out the rose petals the same way the radiant florets let joined lovers to, let me rest one upon your nose and then another upon your lips as your perfect face rested on my thighs, then allow me to ask the white bud in my hand a simple "they love me?" "they love me not." while I smirk down at you.

let me bloom a genuine smile upon your face like the soil beneath allows the white pedestrian to spread it's petals, alluring everyone around it.

your smile was worth a hundred white wings.

let me preserve you and never let you go like i took that flower last week.

i promise to keep you safe.

allow me to drown you into the echoes of the melancholy screams of the moon drunk monster, for it was all white and pure.

when is a monster not a monster?

when you love it.

[halftheguilt]

Delicious Beef and Broccoli Noodle Stir-Fry Recipe

The Beef and Broccoli Noodle Stir-Fry is a delightful Asian-inspired dish that combines tender beef, crisp broccoli florets, and flavorful noodles, all cooked in a delicious stir-fry sauce. This recipe offers a perfect balance of taste and nutrition, making it an ideal choice for those looking for a wholesome and satisfying meal.

Recipe Card

Health Benefits of Beef and Broccoli Noodle Stir-Fry

This Beef and Broccoli Noodle Stir-Fry recipe is not only a treat for your taste buds but also offers several health benefits. Here are some key advantages: - Protein-Rich The beef in this recipe provides a significant amount of high-quality protein, which is essential for muscle growth and repair. - Abundant in Nutrients Broccoli, a cruciferous vegetable, is packed with vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants that support overall health and help boost the immune system. - Fiber-Filled Noodles made from whole grains provide dietary fiber, aiding digestion and promoting a feeling of fullness. - Balanced Macronutrients This dish combines carbohydrates from the noodles, protein from the beef, and healthy fats from the stir-fry sauce, offering a well-rounded meal.

Variations

Feel free to customize this recipe to suit your preferences and dietary needs. Here are a few variations you can try: - Vegetarian Option Substitute the beef with tofu or tempeh for a plant-based version of this stir-fry. - Gluten-Free Version Use gluten-free noodles or replace them with zucchini noodles (zoodles) for a low-carb option. - Spicy Twist Add a touch of heat by incorporating red pepper flakes or sriracha sauce to the stir-fry sauce. - Extra Veggies Enhance the nutritional value by adding other colorful vegetables like bell peppers, carrots, or snap peas.

Frequently Asked Questions

Can I use a different type of meat instead of beef?Yes, you can substitute beef with chicken, pork, or even shrimp for a different twist.Can I make this recipe vegetarian?Absolutely! Replace the beef with tofu or tempeh, and use vegetarian stir-fry sauces for a delicious vegetarian version.Can I use frozen broccoli florets?Yes, you can use frozen broccoli florets, but make sure to thaw and drain them before adding them to the stir-fry.Can I use different types of noodles?Certainly! Feel free to use your favorite noodles, such as rice noodles, egg noodles, or even spiralized zucchini noodles.How can I make this recipe spicier?Add more red pepper flakes or incorporate spicy chili sauce to amp up the heat according to your taste.Can I meal prep this stir-fry?Absolutely! Prepare the ingredients in advance and store them separately. When ready to eat, quickly stir-fry and enjoy.Can I make this recipe gluten-free?Yes, simply use gluten-free noodles or replace them with zucchini noodles (zoodles) for a gluten-free option.Can I freeze leftovers?While it's best to consume stir-fry fresh, you can freeze leftovers in an airtight container for up to one month.Can I add other vegetables to this recipe?Of course! Feel free to add colorful vegetables like bell peppers, carrots, or snap peas for extra flavor and nutrients.Is this recipe suitable for a low-carb diet?If you're following a low-carb diet, you can replace the noodles with spiralized zucchini or use shirataki noodles instead. Read the full article

#Asian #AsianBeefNoodleStir-Fry #Asian-inspireddish #beef #BeefandBroccoliLoMein #beefandbroccolinoodlestir-fry #beefstir-fryrecipe #BeefwithBroccoliStir-Fry #broccoli #EasyBeefandBroccoliNoodleStir-Fry #FlavorfulBeefandBroccoliStir-Fry #healthy #healthyrecipe #NoodleStir-FrywithBeefandBroccoli #NoodleStir-FrywithTenderBeefandBroccoli #noodles #nutrient-rich #nutrient-richmeal #Nutrient-richStir-FrywithBeefandBroccoli #QuickAsian-inspiredBeefStir-Fry #recipe #stir-fry #stir-fryrecipe

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers: May 15th Part 1

It’s been longer than usual since our last answer session, so I’m answering a ton of questions today! It’s so big I split it into two parts. Thank you for the patience on getting a response to these.

Thanks for reaching out to us with your questions and kind words ^^!

Sorry if this has been asked before or isn't something you can say but is there anyway for Cove to confess in step 4? I wanted him to confess in step 3 and followed all the steps to make him do it but ended up texting my family instead of Cove at the end.

Yeah, Cove can confess in Step 4!

Hello! I heard that Cove is on the spectrum, albeit undiagnosed. As someone who is ND, this makes me UNBELIEVABLY happy. I literally was brought to tears! Thank you for that!

Out of curiosity, will Cove be diagnosed in Step 4? I have a strong feeling y’all won’t make it a HUGE deal/make it out to be negative, so I’m not worried about that whatsoever! I’m just curious just he’ll off handedly mention it? Or will it just not be touched upon at all (which is ok!)?

Either way is ok, I’m just curious!

I’m happy it made you happy! Admittedly, Cove simply being someone with autism that grew up not being diagnosed was something I included for myself. I didn’t really think anyone would notice or ask about it, aha. But players did start to have questions about his traits, so I started to talk about it outside of the game. It’s great to see it get such a positive response and now I do feel like having it be a non-topic may have been the wrong choice and bringing it up would’ve been good in terms of having positive representation for that. I don’t know if I’ll find a way to mention it in Step 4 now, with how far along the game is, but I am at least thinking about it when originally it wasn’t something I really even considered.

Hey!  Just wanted to say thank you for Our Life.  It's been a bright spot and a needed escape in what's otherwise been a crummy year.  I know you just did a Q&A post but I figured I'd ask anyway.  Was just curious about Step 4.  Will it be similar to the other Steps in that it consists of several different moments or will it just be one long sequence?

Step 4 is shorter than the prior Steps because it’s just an epilogue rather than a full arc of a story. It’ll consist of scenes that all happen in a set row one after the other. There won’t be a collection of Moments to choose from. But it’ll still be very sweet and fun.

¡hola!, you see, first I want to say that I love Our Life! (°◡°♡) and I have 2 important questions, would Cove cry watching titanic? and what is the saddest part according to him? (sorry for my english) 

Titanic would make him cry. He’d probably think the parts showing people who aren’t able to make it to the life boats/are choosing to stay and go down with the ship were the saddest.

Hello, I wanted to ask how much you earn with creating games? Like is it possible to make a living? Thank you >< <3 

How much I earn varies a lot month to month based on Steam sales, Patreon backers, and how many projects are in full production at the time. It’s also hard to say how much I make historically, since that also changes dramatically year by year. But I do earn enough to work on these games full time! I really appreciate all the support that allows me to do that.

Hey!! I was wondering for the 18+ Our Life moment, will there be an emphasis on safety/comfort for all involved? I feel like there  would be just going off of what the rest of the game is like, but I wanted to ask 

Yes! Cove is a nervous boy himself and also super cautious about doing anything the MC doesn’t like, so clear consent from both is absolutely needed for anything to happen. It’s a conversational sexy times Moment with stops/starts so the two can talk about how they’re feeling, rather than a heat of the moment just going for it kind of thing.

Hey!! I was wondering how long the wedding dlc would be? Will it be broken up into moments, or just one big event? 

It’s one long series of scenes all in a row rather than a collection of Moments to pick from. It’s the shortest and the least expensive of all the DLCs. It’s not super crucial to get and those who aren’t into big weddings can totally skip it without worry.

HELLO AMAZING DEVS 👋 i am hopelessly in love with the worst guy ever (jeremy king) and because of this i have a really stupid question: does he really hate people who are nice to him? TvT he’s too cute to be mean to istg it’s a miracle JB held the urge to be consistently nice to him bc just look at his FACE he is so cute! thank you for jeremy’s route it’s so lovely (and awful bc he’s scum 11/10) it gave me so much laughs LMAO i hope you guys have a good day!! 

Haha, thank you. He doesn’t hate them but he’s certainly not pleased with them. Jeremy is either uncomfortable with or annoyed by people being sweet on him, depending on how they approach it. He’s far more comfortable with jerkiness. It lets him relax and he can be himself without it being a problem, since he’s also a jerk. He feels a level of guilt being such a little punk to kind people, not enough to be a better person but still.

Has Cove dated or been interested in someone other than MC? 

Nope! He stays single over the course of the game if he’s not with the MC.

Is Step 4 more mature? Or it's gonna be set in similar atmosphere as Step 3? 

Step 4 is a similar atmosphere as Step 3. Though, it’s actually kind of less mature-topic heavy than Step 3 since it’s just a ‘hey, let’s check in on the gang to see what they’re up to’ style epilogue rather than a story arc with serious issues.

will there be new music for now and forever?? or will the old our life music be reused? 

It’s gonna be a brand new soundtrack. We’ll be opening up a job position for that soon.

Hi, is it okay if we use the assets in Our Life (like the sprites) for fanworks or fan content content, like edits? 

Sure! Just as long as you don’t use the assets made by those artists to make money.

Quick clarification on Step 3 choices: I hope I didn't come off rude (because I LOVE the game, really!!), I was just curious because the intro threw me off at times. For example, you could choose how you felt about Elizabeth in Step 2 (Dinner), but during the Step 3 intro, it says that you got closer to Liz and I didn't get a choice in it. 

For the example, it can’t be helped that you’re closer to Liz in Step 3 than you were in Step 2 because she’s inherently closer to the MC regardless of whether you liked her or not in Step 2. Her feelings are out of your control and the game isn’t so dramatic that you can push her affection away and not let her bond with you, haha. But ‘being closer’ can still be relative. For some people maybe that means you’re best buds now and for others it might just mean you’re not fighting all the time any more. If there’s other parts you want to mention, feel free to let us know.

Did the illustrator for Our Life change? 

We have many OL artists! The main artists who set the game’s style haven’t changed, but there’s multiple other artists who help finish assets.

So Miranda's type is confident and outgoing, huh? So...does that mean Terri's her type?? 👀 

Haha, sorry for the late reply on this. As you might’ve seen in our post yesterday- yeah that is her type.

Hey! First, I just want to say I've really enjoyed how detailed OL got with gender identity and sexuality and how respectful the topics were handled! It's been so wonderful to play since the experiences could be close to my own (I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up at parts). Second, I was wondering, would future games explore the topic of polyamory? I'd love to see more visual novels allow room for that and I saw you've explored the topic before.

Keep up the amazing work! ♡

Thank you! We do want to include polyamory in at least some of our future projects. Floret Bond, which might be what you’re referring to when mentioning how we’ve explored the topic before, is on hold unfortunately. So right now I’m not sure when something might release or what will be the first game of ours to come out with poly relationships (we might do something else before FB is done). We’ll have see how things ends up coming together.

Hey um. I feel like im not allowed to ask this on the private discord cuz people will yell at me but why is there so much focus on OL2 and not finishing OL1 stuff? I like the new people but i kind of want to finish cove's story and get derek and baxter stuff first. didn't people pay for it? 

I’m sorry, I don’t understand entirely what’s making that situation a concern. There’s a channel in the discord for critique where no one is allowed to comment back. People can voice things they’re worried about without any way for others to push back on it. And the two teams working on the OL games are different. We try to post pretty often about how we’re hiring brand new people to start on Our Life: Now & Forever. The OL1 team is all still working on OL1 like normal. There’s only more updates on the Patreon for OL2 because the expansions to the first game are mostly script-based at this point while OL2 is just starting to get all its art, which means there’s a lot more to show off as previews.

Also, there was a Kickstarter for the first Our Life, if that’s what you mean by people paying for it. But one of the stretch goals was to start Our Life 2 early, before fully completing Our Life 1, so that the new game could be out sooner. It wouldn’t make sense to stop doing OL2 work because that would be going against what backers were promised. Maybe you didn’t get the full story before and hopefully this clears it up!

Hello! I know it's up to every player but.. What is your recommendation for playing order? Did you ever had any timeline  events planned? 

I didn’t make the events with a planned timeline. The events got made simply as I had ideas for them and then I just kind of organized them from left to right on the screen in an order to space out more dramatic ones between more lighthearted ones. Any order the player wants to go with is totally valid!

Hi! It's Step 4 a paid dlc or update? And how long it's planned to be? Ps. Love the game! 

The Step 4 epilogue is free! The Cove Wedding DLC does cost money, though. Those are planned to be shorter than the usual Steps/DLCs.

Will we have options for what sort of job the MC might have by the time step 4 takes place? 

Yeah, you can. It’s not super exact or detailed, but there are options about it.

Is there a pandemic in Our Life world, or is it just in a better timeline with no pestilence? 

Our Life is pandemic-free! That didn’t exist when we began working on the project and it’s not something we’d like to feature in this story now that it has unfortunately come along, aha.

Hi, you said that you can play tic-tac-toe or hangman with Cove in Boating if you're sick/scared but I keep getting tic-tac-toe. Am I doing something wrong?

After being sick/scared you have to continue to be upset/unwell. If you calm down and decide to just chill you’ll end up playing tic-tac-toe.

Hi, GB Patch! Since Lee was initially commissioned to only appear in two Steps does this mean she won't appear in the Wedding DLC? I really like her character so it'll be a little weird to not have our cousin at our wedding, aha.

She is gonna be in Step 4/the wedding DLC after all! We’re still working with her creator to make sure it fits with what they wanted.

Is Sunset Bird based on a real place? Asking for a friend, not trying to move there or anything. 👀

It’s based on small beach towns in So-Cal, but not one specific town you could go see in real life, I’m afraid. It’d be nice if it was real, though.

—– —– —– —–

We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ   Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life: Now & Forever #ask #gb patch #gb patch games #xoxo droplets

[courtlyharlequin]

A Spring Without You

Warning(s): gender neutral reader, reader death mention, suicide mention, angst, grief, post-death scenario

Summary: One year. One year since that fateful day yet Leona Kingscholar finds himself unable to move on from you, his dearly beloved as the snow melts and the buds bloom into blossoms.

A/N: Uwahhh! New blog alert! This is my debut fic hehehehe. Well, on Tumblr anyway. This was a self indulgent fic but I hope you enjoy regardless ! Shoot me a request to help me start up this blog >~<

They say that spring is the season of new beginnings. They say that the colder the winter, the warmer the spring. They say that a life without love is a year without spring. The latter holds true for Leona Kingscholar.

Spring has officially sprung in Twisted Wonderland. The botanical garden is lush with foliage and flowers in full bloom. On any normal day, Leona would have claimed the area as a napping spot. But these days were far from normal. He could not bear to see the sight of the garden— the garden where he met you. Leona could not bear the sight of any viridescent foliage, really. He avoided the greenhouse at all costs. Anything and everything related to the garden painfully reminded him of you.

You who had stepped into his darkness and not only accepted his inner demons, but also made acquaintance with them. You who had shed light into his abyss of ugly emotions. Emotions like jealousy and sadness meant nothing when he was with you. Your naive nature was endearing; it was refreshing compared to from all the things Leona experiences. Your smile was blinding. You who had thawed the winter’s frost in his heart and embraced it with the mellow tenderness of springtime. You were the sun, so pure and full of life. What’s more is that you adore spring for the sole reason of flowers. You loved them. Perhaps more than him— not that he was willing to admit it. But for Leona, he loved you more than anything in the world. He loved you as much as you loved Eastertide— if not more. He loved how you lit up his monochrome world, how flowers were only beautiful if you were dressed in them. He loved your unconditional love. Since when had he received such an endless stream of affection and affirmation? It was a flurry of positive yet unknown emotions. Everytime he was with you, he would feel it. It was as if a surge of flower petals engulfed him in their intoxicatingly sweet scent.

Just like that day. The memory of you frolicing a vast flower field haunts Leona to this day. One year ago, you smiled. You smiled for the last time that day.

Your laughter rings in Leona’s ears every now and then. You were unusually giddy that day, having the gall to drag him through the mirror to an undisturbed meadow tucked away behind a range of rolling hills. His nose was immediately flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with thousands of flower buds, ready to bloom in the next few days. Some had already bloomed. He stood with his mouth agape only to become the subject of your teasing.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  you asked before taking his hands to, quite literally, waltz among the budding florets.

It was surreal. You were a hopeless-beyond-help romantic and Leona would occasionally indulge in your cliche fantasies. Because he found it charming. Because he loved you. Because never wanted his own darling princess to come to anything but a happily ever after. Because being with you was like a fairytale, a daydream that Leona hoped to never wake from. But as they all say, all good things must come to an end.

Those days were gone. The days where you gifted him with dozens of flower crowns, the days where the two of you would dilly dally in the garden, the days where he kissed you slowly to awaken you from your slumber just to make you feel like the love you two shared was true love. They were all ignorant bliss. They had painstakingly passed. Summer’s heat was unbearable, but winter was the worst. The season brought harsh chills along with a sense of numbing anguish. Winter rendered everything he learned and loved about you meaningless. When the snow finally melted, his heart was encased in frost once more. Nowadays, Leona finds himself bedridden and cold without the warmth of his sun yet time still flies, waiting for no one. Spring was coming.

Leona was blind. You- his beloved, his darling, his princess- was just as broken as he was. You were lonely, feeling incompetent as the significant other of prince. He should have picked it up sooner. There was rarely ever the occasion where he asked you if you were alright. Your worst moments were dealt with elsewhere and rarely did you ever dare to trouble him with your own feelings. If he was simply a better partner, if he had put more effort into keeping up with his half of the relationship, then perhaps you would still be here as the person who broke his walls, lit up his world, and ignited so many foreign feelings within his heart. If he had taken one moment, just one, to ask: “how are you?”, would have it been any different? You always asked him. You always listened to him, but he had never done the same.

Was it because he found it to be a hassle? Not quite. Leona certainly did not find your sporadic story times troublesome. He found them amusing. You always get worked up over the silliest of things. You were like a child. Leona could not fathom at the thought of someone so vivacious having their own inner demons. The idea shook him to the core.

He frowned at the thought. Was the reason why he ever asked you: “how are you?” was because he was afraid to face the monsters in your head because he had his own? And that they were larger than his own? Leona grunted in annoyance. The fragments of you left inside his mind were all so vivid. It’s as if you were still there. Still happy.

What were your final moments like before you breathed your last breath in that same flower field that you both waltzed upon? Did you show him that field for him to find your lifeless body on a bed of your favorite flowers days later? Are you truly that cruel? These conclusions gnaw at his head while his own heart throbs with a feeling that can only be known as regret. The heavy weight of guilt keeps Leona forever awake, tired and too tiring. He sprawled across his sheets, sighing pensively. You plague his dreams, claiming his peaceful pastime of napping as your own. There was no joy in the things he enjoyed. Napping was a death wish and not even Cheka was able to raise his spirits.

A tired, sleep deprived Leona is an irritated Leona. Even Ruggie had kept his distance from him. Or is it the other way around? Leona kept to himself these days. Even Idia Shroud leaves his room more than Leona now. Though if one were to ask Ruggie to see Leona, the perfect is miraculously absent from the scene every time.

Today was a grim day with many inconveniences. Everywhere Leona went to escape his visitors reminded him of you. With nowhere to find peace and quiet, as his bedroom is occupied with unwanted visitors and his alternative hiding spots leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth, he sought out the garden. The time felt right. It was spring. You always loved this time of year. Perhaps he would love it this time around too.

As soon as he stepped foot into the greenhouse, his nose was flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with a small patch of flowers. He did not know their genus, but he knew that you would have been all over these twigs by now. His gaze lingers on the tiny field. These blossoms were sickening. Their pungent, poignant perfume was suffocatingly saccharine. Leona crouched before them.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said.

His ears twitched at the sound, turning his neck around at an inhumane speed. A click of his tongue followed shortly in suit.

“What are you doing here?” Leona snapped.

“I-I mean- I tend to the garden occasionally… since y/n would be kind of sad if the flowers wilted…” Epel trailed off, clutching a tray of seedlings closer to his chest.

Sad? You… would...be sad? That’s so typical of you. It humors him. His attention turns to the patch. It looks like Epel had planted daisies. Leona smirked, thinking that this was surely something you would gush to him about for hours. The first day of spring, huh. The season of new beginnings. Was it though? He felt as if he took a thousand steps backwards. He lost it all during the vernal season, the time of year you loved most. He never understood how much he needed you to breathe, to live, to enjoy all the little things in the world. Why did he have to begin without you? A spring without you is unimaginable.

His heart aches, but… you would be sad, wouldn’t you? You would be sad if you saw him in this state then proceed to tell him to cheer up. Maybe drag him to another flower field? Would you cry for his sake once more? He was still mourning but, knowing you, you would want him to move on— not wanting to burden him for any longer.  

With all of these thoughts festering and swelling inside his head, Leona Kingscholar cried for the first time since your death. It was the most gruesome, most anguished, hysterical roar he had ever produced. It echoed throughout the garden.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #debut #angst #tw: death #tw: suicide

[ashrifts]

blob blob blob kisses his cheek with a taiyaki

as far as ran is concerned, sweets should be eaten and not played with, better enjoyed on his tongue on their way down to his stomach as a fulfilling meal rather than in his hands after a quick photo for a pretty social media post.

         yet, the touch of bread fish lips on his cheek invites a chuckle out of him, and he turns his head to face it like one would an aware, conventional conversation partner, the tip of his fingers tracing the phantom touch left behind. 

‘ oh, mr. taiyaki, will you lend me an ear?  ’    he asks, sighing lightly.   ‘ how very sweet you are, but truth be told            i wish my husband would kiss me like that, too. isn't that just so sad?  what do you think i should do?  ’

#I CANT STAND THEM WHAT IS THISS #running to ur inbox rn #sanoism #. * ❛ floret buds; ask.

[jmeelee]

Derek’s not sure what’s more alarming: that he never heard footsteps on the rickety, rusted-out fire escape, or that Stiles Stilinski is lurking in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

His eyes snap open, focusing with pinpoint precision on the intruder, who reaches long, slender fingers toward the vase of drooping daffodils on his nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Derek croaks as Stiles’ hand grazes a soft yellow petal.

He whips the wandering appendage back like he’s been burned, locking startled, bloodshot brown eyes on Derek’s prone form.

“I…” Stiles stops, glances around, eyes falling back to the small, wilting bouquet, the only spot of cheery color in the dark, sparse room. “Really, dude? Flowers? You realize a few blooms won’t cover up the fact that this loft is a shithole?”

Derek sits up, cotton sheet pooling around his waist. Stiles’ eyes rake down his bare chest, a phantom caress leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Did you break in just to insult my apartment?”

“Whoa, rude. Pot, meet kettle.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “Besides, your window was wide open. You’re lucky it was only me.”

Derek scrubs a hand down his face. He may not know Stiles well, but he can tell when he’s stalling. “Stiles, what do you want?”

Stiles continues as if Derek never spoke. “I never pictured you as a flower guy. Did a girlfriend give you these? My mom loved daffodils. There used to be a flower sale when I was in elementary school, right around Mother’s Day, and my dad would give me money to buy her a few. I always used the spare change to buy an extra ice cream at lunch. Hate to break it to you man, but fresh air isn’t going to do these suckers any good. They’re past their prime.”

He flicks a cup-shaped corona, spraying a fine sheen of pollen into the balmy night air, and Derek lets loose a low, menacing growl. Stiles’ outstretched hand trembles slightly with his quickening heartbeat, but one deep breath pulls a blanket of composure over his fear. He turns toward the window, shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t… I… Screw this. I’m leaving.”

A hand snaps out, encircling Stiles’ wrist before he can take a step. “What’s wrong?”

The question Derek should ask is what isn’t wrong. In the past few months they’ve faced off against a darach and a nogitsune. And before that, it was a kanima and a homicidal rouge alpha. They’ve all stared hell in the face, but Derek wagers none more so than Stiles. Weakened after his split from the fox demon, Stiles is a shadow of his former frantic self. Dark circles stain the translucent skin under his eyes, and his already-skinny frame is emaciated.

Stiles’ gaze sticks fast to the vase, steady beat of his heart thumping against the pad of Derek’s thumb. “I can’t sleep. I haven’t been sleeping since…” He looks toward Derek, blinking fast. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see Allison’s face.”

Derek speaks many languages, but they all fail him in the face of Stiles’ pain. So he waits for Stiles to inevitably fill the silence, poorly attempting to convey empathy via his eyebrows. His sisters, both living and dead, always told him the expression made him look constipated, but it’s all he knows.

“I can’t go to Scott with this,” Stiles continues, as Derek knew he would. “I don’t want to hurt him—hurt anyone—more than I already have. Lydia is grieving for Aiden, Danny misses Ethan and Jackson, and Malia is… complicated. My father is worried sick and the last thing I want to do is burden him with a crazy son. Again. I don’t…” He shudders on an inhale. “It was stupid to come here, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Silence stretches between them, woeful and taut. Derek wishes, for the hundredth time in a span of seconds, that he’d inherited his mother’s soft, soothing solace, or his father’s confident gestures of comfort. At the rogue thought of his dad, Derek waves toward the sagging daffodils.  

“My father was a florist.” Yeah, Derek sucks at this.

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Uh. Okay?”

He marches on. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s how he and my mother met. He was a human florist. Ran a shop outside of town. Floriography was his passion, and she’d heard about him, sought him out when her pack needed help with medicinal herbs. They fell in love and she turned him.”

Stiles is soaking up Derek’s tale like a dehydrated man in the desert, so he charges on. “My father had this book my mother gave him called Le Langage des Fleurs.” The French slides off Derek’s tongue like silk. “We used to read it together, but it burned up in the fire.” The with everything and everyone else remains loudly unspoken. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.”

He slips from the bed, sheet falling to the floor. Thank goodness he wore boxers to bed. Gently, he moves aside the yellow flowers to reveal violet and crimson sweet pea. “These mean thankfulness. It’s a bouquet I arranged after Cora returned. There’s a bunch on her nightstand, too.”

Stiles delicately fingers the petals again. “Why are you telling me this?”

Growing up, his father had filled every room in the house with flowers. On the bad nights, when vivid nightmares rip him from sleep, he swears he can still smell petals burning. “Because, despite everything that’s happened, they help me,” Derek explains. “Flowers make me feel closer to my family, let me express what I’m feeling.”

“I have noticed you’re really bad at that, dude.”

Derek glares. “The point is, you’ve got to find what helps you.” Derek realizes he’s still loosely holding Stiles’ wrist, and quickly drops his hand. Luckily, the awkwardness is broken by the sudden loud complaint of Stiles’ empty stomach.

Stiles laughs, and Derek’s heart breaks a little when he realizes it’s been months since he’s heard the sound. He wraps it around himself like a garland. “Food would help,” Stiles declares.

Derek bends down, grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor. Stiles mummers something about underwear models under his breath, and Derek flips him off over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s raid the fridge. Cora just went grocery shopping.”

----------

“Derek. Care to explain why I found Stilinski in our pantry this morning, eating Nutella straight from the jar?” Cora crosses her arms over her chest, menacing despite her striped pajamas and bed head.

Derek scowls, bracing for a fight. “He’s struggling, Cora. He didn’t want to be alone, so I told him he could crash on the couch last night. I’ll buy you a new jar next time I’m at Costco.”

She hums, crossing her ankles on top of the coffee table, painted toes almost touching a vase of stargazer lilies. “This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” Derek nips the insinuation in the bud.

It totally becomes a thing.

———-

Derek stills when he enters his room and finds Stiles sitting cross-legged on his bed. He can feel his hackles instinctively rise at the invasion of his personal space, Stiles’ scent already seeping into the mattress. His gym bag thumps to the hardwood floor.

“What do these mean?” Stiles questions, pointing to the fresh purple and white flowers.

“Lavender has lots of meanings, but it’s a healing plant. People have used it for centuries; it calms you down and helps you sleep.” Derek points first to the purple florets on the long, skinny stem, then to the white flowers on the thick green stalks. “And Heather is for luck, protection and making wishes come true.”

“Heather,” Stiles whispers, small smile quickly overtaken by a frown carving deep lines around his generous mouth. He shakes his head like a wet dog, dislodging whatever morose memories have tried to take hold. “So, want to watch a movie or something?”

Derek whips off his white tank top and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Sure, but I’ve got to shower first. Here,” he chucks his cellphone into Stiles’ lap. “Order us some pizzas, I’m starving.” He heads for the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Get me ham and pineapple.”

“Gross dude!” Stiles yells at his retreating back.

———-

Week three brings horehound and azalea, and a trial run of Claudia Stilinski’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. Derek, Stiles and Cora eat twenty-four cookies between them.

Week four is gardenia, morning glory and blue salvia, and Cora’s thoughtful, “He’s better, more rested. He’s thriving. Don’t you think?”

———

“What was that book called? The one your dad read to you?” Stiles is contemplating camellia, eyebrows drawn.

“Le Langage des Fleurs. The Language of Flowers. He had a first edition from 1819, and handled it like he was holding a newborn.” Derek chuckles, remembering his father’s gentle hands, the memory crisp and sweet as an apple blossom in his mind. “He was ridiculous.”

Two weeks later Derek comes home to hydrangeas, the fading scent of Stiles, and a copy of Le Langage des Fleurs lying on his desk. He picks it up, runs a finger down the spine, and his father bursts into technicolor life before his eyes. It’s not a first edition, but to Derek, it’s priceless.

———

A war rages between Derek’s head and heart, as Stiles peacefully sleeps, belting out an occasional snore and drooling on Derek’s favorite pillow.

It’s your own damn bed. Get in.

You can’t. Not without his permission. Wake him up and tell him to get his ass to the couch.

It’s only sleeping. He won’t mind.

His father might be wondering where he is. Don’t worry the Sheriff or you’ll end up arrested. Again.

“Damnit,” Derek whispers, and crawls into bed, lying down next to Stiles on top of the blankets. As far as truces go, it’s pretty weak.

The movement, though careful, wakes Stiles, and he rolls toward Derek, blinking. “You’re warm,” Stiles mumbles. “Stay.”

Derek does.

_______

“I’m planning on visiting the cemetery Saturday morning,” Derek broaches. “I usually bring some flowers for the graves.” A pregnant pause. “I could gather some for you to take, if you want to come along.”

———

They stop first at Derek’s family plot, and Stiles helps him tend to the zinnias Derek planted around the graves when he first returned to Beacon Hills.

“Ready?” Derek squints in the bright morning light at Stiles’ shadowed face.

A sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Allison’s tombstone is shiny and summer-warm, and Stiles tenderly lays a spray of willow, asphodel lily and wormwood at the base. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Tears track down Stiles’ cheeks, but he doesn’t swipe them away, letting them evaporate in the sun, leaving behind a tang of salt Derek can taste in the air. “I’m so sorry.”

An entirely different Stiles walks back to the Camaro, a familiar one. The effortless, supernatural confidence of the nogitsune and the quiet, sad stillness of grieving are shed with each step, a much-needed abscission. Rosy cheeks replace a pallid parlor, and fidgety fingers dance along the tops of headstones they pass. The return to normalcy rattles loose a content noise from Derek’s chest.

“What is it, big guy?”   

“You’re kind of like a flower, ya know,” Derek replies, before he can internally talk himself out of the confession.

The corners of Stiles’ mouth gradually rise. “If you mean I’m beautiful and smell fantastic, yes, I did know.”

Derek punches him lightly in the arm, and Stiles reels away with a dramatic flailing of limbs. “Some flowers come back year after year, after being buried under snow and ice, and they’re stronger than ever. Take a lotus, for example. It grows in the darkness and mud, but when it reaches the light…” Derek finishes his statement in reverent hush. “It becomes something exquisite.”

“So you’re saying I’m resilient?” Stiles playfully rubs the spot where Derek hit him, but his gaze is shy and tender. Derek refuses to cultivate the seeds that look plants inside his heart, desperately pruning the roots already wrapping around his ribs. “A rose grown in a concrete garden?”

“I’m saying you’re a weed and I can’t get rid of you.”

In slow motion, Stiles reaches out, twines their fingers together like creeping vines, and squeezes once. “I don’t think you want to get rid of me, Derek Hale.”

His mother raised him not to lie, so Derek keeps his mouth shut.

———

He’s roused by the creaking of his bedroom door and Stiles’ shuffling feet. They’d given him a key three weeks ago, when the midnight visits petered off and Stiles started knocking on the front door—in the daylight—like a normal person.

“What time is it?” Derek slurs, fumbling for his phone.

“Three a.m.,” Stiles whispers.

The return to nocturnal visits can’t mean anything good. Derek sits up. “Nightmares?”

Stiles stands at the foot of the bed, worrying the hem of his Lacrosse sweatshirt. “No,” he answers, voice husky. “I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks.”

“Okay. Good.” Stiles shuffles from foot to foot. “Is something… What do you need?” Honeysuckle, wisteria and coriander tickle Derek’s nose.

“You.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate, lifting up the sheets in invitation. “Come on in.”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles shakes his head, eyes bambi-wide. “See, I’m not looking for comfort tonight.”

Derek’s heartbeat trips over itself. He clears his throat, never lowering the blankets. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m shit at comfort anyway.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” Stiles whispers, and climbs into bed. Then, “Oh! Look at that. You’re not wearing any pants.”

———-

The doorbell rings at dinnertime, and Derek yells for Stiles to enter, but he remains planted on the hallway doormat, galloping heartbeat beckoning Derek like a siren song.

Derek slides the loft door along the track. “You can come in. You have a key for god’s s—”

The bouquet is bigger than Stiles’ head, bursting with red tulips and yarrow, jonquil and plumeria. Smack in the center is a monstrous sunflower.

“I read the book—well, an English version—before I gave it to you. I hope I didn’t screw this up.” He holds the flowers out to Derek.

Derek accepts them, cradling them to his chest. He plucks out a butter-yellow jonquil, gently offering it back to Stiles with his right hand.

To an outsider, Stiles’ rampant ramblings and Derek’s severe allergy to words would render them incompatible, but Stiles’ smile is so bright it could sustain an entire garden, and Derek knows they’re finally speaking the same language.

“I’m just as much of a mess as you are, Stiles,” Derek warns. “You need healthy soil to grow, and we’re both still healing. Maybe we’ll always be healing. Trees don’t bear fruit on demand.”

Stiles rubs at the back of his neck. “True. But, think about it. All we can do is create the best possible conditions, feed and water the right seeds. I trust nature to take care of the rest. But the parts we have control over? We’ll work on those together.”

Derek grins, and the future unfurls before them, full of potential. He steps back, and Stiles crosses the threshold.

“Together,” Derek agrees. Together.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterekbingo2019 #sbflowers #sterekbingo

[mrgan]

Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich

Hi, good day to you. I have been eating broccoli breakfast sandwiches for breakfast since 2017, and I’m here to spread the good word to you: broccoli breakfast sandwiches are great.

New York sandwich-shop chef Tyler Kord wrote about a broccoli breakfast sandwich in his extremely good A Super Upsetting Cookbook About Sandwiches and I was intrigued, partly because it was one of the simpler recipes in the book. So I made it, and it was delicious. But why was it so delicious that I keep eating it, morning after morning?

Broccoli is wonderful. I can’t convince you of this any more than I can convince you that the color purple is pretty. Broccoli’s qualities become self-evident to you at some point later in life, when your taste buds are bored with sugar and ham and they crave something that reminds them of Mother Earth. Plus, enjoying broccoli gives you permission to eat a sandwich and feel fine about it, because if you went to a dietician and they asked what one food you think you eat the most and you said “broccoli,” they’d just back up and go “hey man, do whatever you want, I’m out.”

In case it hasn’t been made clear, the primary reasons I eat the Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich are:

It’s tasty;

It makes me feel good.

By now, you should be sitting there going, “alright, alright, give me the damn recipe already.” Here it comes!

Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich

Neven Mrgan’s daily version which differs from Tyler Kord’s version in ways I can’t remember right now

1 head of broccoli

1 slice of cheese (cheddar, sharp cheddar, whatever you like)

1 egg (buy the good eggs for frying, live a little)

1 English muffin, split

mayo (preferably Japanese kewpie brand)

ketchup (optional)

butter, oil, salt, pepper

At some point during the week, roast your broccoli: break/cut it into bite-sized florets, toss with a bit of oil, place on a foil-lined sheet pan, and roast at 450º for about 15 minutes, flipping once if you’re in the kitchen at the time. Let it cool and store it in the fridge for the week. This makes like 4-6 sandwiches. (If you don’t want to pre-roast your broccoli, prep it any other way you like: steam it, boil it, microwave it, whatever gets it to like 80% cooked. But remember that roasting vegetables is the best thing in the world.)

Butter one half of your muffin; put your cheese slice on the other half (folding the cheese corners in like you live on Battlestar Galactica.) Place the halves on a foil-lined sheet pan next to one sandwich’s worth of broccoli. Pop it all about 6″ under your broiler and let it go for 2-3 minutes; you want to see melted cheese, warm broccoli, and a browned muffin half; nothing darker than that. Salt the broccoli when done.

Meanwhile, heat a drop of oil in a teeny little egg pan just big enough for one egg. Crack the egg in and gently pop the yolk, maybe. Hit it with salt and pepper. Let it go for a minute, then deftly flip it with a little spatula; turn off the heat pretty much immediately and you’re done with it. (Since you probably don’t own a one-egg pan yet, you can also fry or scramble the egg any other way you normally do until your cute new pan arrives from Amazon.)

Arrange your broccoli on top of the melted-cheese muffin half, then top with the egg. Spread mayo and/or ketchup on the buttered + toasted muffin half. Combine the two halves and hum a triumphant fanfare tune. You’ve done it. You’ve made the Broccoli Breakfast Sandwich.

I should mention at this point that Tyler Kord’s original sandwich calls for deep-fried broccoli, but I’m not going to deep-fry anything in the morning since I’m not a restaurant. His sandwich is almost certainly even better; try it and let me know!

Which reminds me: I don’t always make the same exact broccoli sandwich. Depending on what’s in the fridge and how sassy I’m feeling, I might drop the ketchup or sub it with hot sauce; I might toast the whole thing in the manner of a grilled-cheese sandwich; I’ve been known to use black bean purée instead of cheese, for a Mexican torta vibe. The English muffin might take the morning off and have its role played by a fluffy burger bun. I used to scramble the eggs, but now I do more of an over-easy thing. All of this tastes good. Life is a journey.

You can also make a Broccoli Burger—if anyone fights you on it, have them call me and I’ll get them to apologize to you. Like, this one here has Russian-ish dressing of mayo, mustard, ketchup, diced pickle, and miso; then there’s diced onions, pickles; roasted broccoli finished in a hot pan with butter; cheddar, caramelized onions (the heavy hitter here), February Tomato™, and a bit more sauce. It’s all on a Franz Bakery burger bun, toasted of course. Does it taste like a beef burger? No. Ground beef doesn’t taste like roasted broccoli either, and it’s beef’s loss. Would I order this if places offered it? Definitely. (But they won’t.)

I didn’t want to junk up the recipe above any more by saying this when it first came up, but pre-roasting vegetables is such a smart move. You’re essentially committing to basing your weeknight dinners around practically-ready vegetables in the fridge, rather than around cold cuts or bread+cheese. So, pick up some broccoli, broccolini, cauliflower, eggplant, or sweet potatoes at the store; bring them home and send them on a hands-off journey in your oven until they’re soft and tasty—but not yet mushy!—and you’ll be the proud owner of such a good filling for sandwiches, burritos, frittatas, rice bowls, or even those fancy plates where you schmear on some tahini or whatever in the manner of a Japanese calligrapher, then top it with your veg. 

Your parents will be so proud of you. That friend of yours who exercises every day and eats salad for lunch will smile warmly. You’ll be a broccoli person.

Like me.

[buzz-london]

Historical reconstruction of what a Devdasi's day might have been in a south Indian temple in 15th Century.'Nrutya Seva of VasantSena' at the ‘Vitthal Mandir’ in Vjayanagar, Hampi, Karnataka, South India (I wrote the essay for the ‘Temple Architeture’ course at OCHS)

Nrutya Seva of VasantSena

“Make way!  Make way!” Thundered a guard of the eastern Gopuram.  Four guards in bright white dhotis, with large Vaishnav tilaks on their foreheads and biceps, held long lances and swords, as they kept a vigilant eye on all passers-by.  

Spotting Vasantsena and her maid coming up the main thoroughfare of the ‘Vitthala Ratha Marg’, he alerted all pilgrims to stand aside to let the ladies through.  “Make way! Make way!”  Without slowing her pace, Vasantsena smiled and exchanged a short bow with the guards as she walked through the beautifully carved, white granite gateway.  Thick torans and garlands of green leaves and fresh flowers framed the gateway two stories tall.  The ladies walked past the thick wooden doors of the shrine, decorated with bronze florets and guarded by iron spikes.  A vermillion covered Gaja-Lakshmi sat atop the doorframe.  Ganesh, Indra and other Gods and Goddesses graced various niches carved on the thick doorframe.  Multiple statues of Vishnu’s dashavatar adorned the soaring levels of the Gopuram above, surrounded by a bevy of celestials and saints.  Their bright colours stood out against the canvas of the sun-burnt blue sky.  

Passage under the tall 5 storied gopuram was cooler and quieter than the busy market place beyond.  Raised platform on either side of the passage led to rooms reserved for guards and guard the footwear of the temple workers.    

Emerging from the under the gateway, both ladies walked past the carved images of pious donors, prostrating full length on the flagstones.  So as to be blessed by the touch of devotees feet as they entered the temple complex for all eternity, donors had their names and images carved on the flagstones below the gopuram.  Though dressed in a simple white saree with red flowers, she her bearing and poise made everyone stand out of her way and admire her as she walked through the courtyard.

Vasantsena poured water of the Tungabhadra from a copper pot in the large, raised bed, of Tulsi plants.  Prayer tray in hand, Vasantsena first bowed at the bali-peeth.  Depositing a few flowers and jaggery on the lotus platform sitting atop a square base.  She silently prayed for the happiness of all creatures.  A group of ants immediately fulfilled her wishes, carting away crumbs of jiggery.  The ladies bowed and touched the tall gilded Dwajasthambha in unison.  They looked up at the golden sheet of the divine flag, inscribed with various insignias of Vishnu.  

It was impossible to tell where the male pilgrims came from.  Regardless of caste and class, all men only wore their dhoti.  Even the brahmins and courtiers forego of their upper garment in the spirit of equality.  Looking at the different style and design of sarees though, you could easily tell where the women came from.  Little children ran around the chariot shrine of Garuda, playing catch, spinning the wheels of the chariot as they ran.  From the dire warnings shouted by their grandmother, they seemed to be from the coastal region of Kokan.  

Smiling at the fearlessness of the children, Vasantsena approached the front of the ‘Chariot shrine’ and offered a delicate garland of jasmine buds to the ‘vahana’ of Vishnu sitting in an elaborate ‘vahana’ of his own.  With due reverence, Vastansena bowed to Shri Vitthala’s Garuda in the front court of the temple.  Rearing horses of glistening white granite pulled the grand chariot.  Sitting on a giant mandala, the stone chariot was decorated with windows, balconies and finely carved celestial beings.  Freshly painted, the chariot looked resplendent in the paved courtyard of the temple.  

A young priest, his head freshly tonsured, was dozing in the doorway.  Jingling of Vasantsena’s anklets and bracelets startled him awake. Intoning sacred verses, he offered the garland to the bronze icon of Garuda and brought back a couple of lotuses as sacrament from the sacred vehicle of Vishnu.  Touching the lotus to their eyes, the ladies took a deep breath to inhale the scent of the pink and white lotuses.

Duly blessed, they proceeded quickly across the burning flagstones to the Mahamandap of the Vijay Vitthal temple.  Ascending a short flight of stairs, decorated by elephants, they entered the cool interior of the main temple.  Sitting atop layers of elephants, warriors, birds and flowers, the Mahamandap comprised of four mandaps, each with its own function and its own decorative style.  A beautiful hall with rearing Yali was used by Brahmin priests to teach the finer points of scriptures to mature students.  Another hall had pillars, 10 feet tall, boldly carved with horses, mounted by brave warriors of Vijayanagar army.  The king and his court used the hall for royal functions and rituals.  At present, half-life size bronze statues of the king and his principle queen stood facing the deities.

Musicians-hall had famous musicians, singers and dancers of yesteryears, immortalised in stone.  Delicately carved musical pillars of this hall were the envy of the country and nations beyond the seven seas.  Seven slender pilasters surrounded each pillar of the Musicians-hall.  Each pilaster gave off seven notes from different instruments – percussion, wind, string etc.  Vastansena had fond memories of attending several musical functions in this wonderful hall.  The Narasimha hall was used for religious rituals to be carried out during major festivals when the inner hall was judged to be too small for large crowds visiting the temple.  

Walking through the Mahamadap, the ladies entered the main audience chamber of the temple.  Carving on the pillars of the Jagmohan was less exuberant, but more serene than the outer halls.  Its square based pillars had Krushna lila and the Dashavatar carved on their plain sides. Painted with red and white, they highlighted the sculptures on the pillars that seemed to disappear into the unseen height of the ceiling above.  Jagmohan was mostly enclosed with only three entrances at the cardinal points. Its fourth, western aperture, led to the anti-chamber of the inner sanctum.  

Excusing herself past other pilgrims, Vasantsena stepped in the small antechamber in front of the inner sanctum.  Reserved for the royal family, honourable court officials and temple workers, this was the exclusive preserve of the privileged few.  Carved and painted lotus sprang and climbed rapidly from elaborate pots on either side of the sacred doorway.  The symmetrical and repetitive form of the ‘kumbha pankjas’ focused the attention of the devotee to the deity in the inner sanctum.  A half lotus step led to a threshold decorated with a kirtimukha, assuring those who passed beyond that Kala, time, had no power over them here.  

Inside the inner sanctum, Shri Vijay Vitthala stood serenely on a rectangular ‘brick’ decorated with a fully blossomed lotus.  His hands on hips, Shri Vitthala had the lotus and the Sudarshan chakra in his beautifully carved hands.  Smooth, polished black schist of the icon was wonderfully framed by a silver arch topped by a giant Kirtimukha.  Smiling softly, life-size murti of Vjaya Vitthala waited patiently for his devotees to come to him.  Shri Vishnu stood on a Vedi carved as an elaborate mandala that reduced and redacted to a circular stem, rising from the floor of the inner-sanctum that was etched with waves of the cosmic ocean.  

“Jai Hari Vitthala”, the maid sung in a musical tone to grab the attention of priests, busy applying sandalwood paste on the torso of the deity to cool him during the hot deccan summer.  A young priest turned, looked and came immediately to receive the offering from Vasantasena.  As he came out, he bumped the doors of the inner-sanctum, making them sing. Sandalwood doors of the inner sanctum were carved as an open lattice with stepped mandala design.  The open fretwork work was decorated with gilded silver bells.  Everytime the doors moved, they sang with a tinkling of 108 bells.

The maid removed the cloth cover from her plate and presented lotus garlands to the priest.  “Am I taking both garlands?” the priest asked.  “Just the long one.” Vasantsena replied with a respectful namaskar.  The young priest unwound the lotus garland from the large Bidari-ware plate and presented it to the high-priest.  Carefully adjusting it, the priests placed it so as to frame the glowing yellow deity in a circle of pink.  Admiring and bowing reverentially to Shri Vitthala, Vasantsena turned left and stepped in to the inner pradakshina marg around the inner sanctum.  Closed and lit only by lamps placed in niches, the pradakshina marg was painted with murals of kings & queens of Vijayanagar, their gurus and ancient sages, offering prayers to the divine for all eternity.  

Finishing her circumbulation, Vasantsena bowed to Vitthala. “Last week’s dance in the Kalyan Mandap was very inspirational.  I was moved by your interpretation of Purandar Das’s verses.” The young priest complemented Vasantsena as he returned her plate of garlands.   “You are most kind.” Vasantsena said with a smile.  “I am but God’s instrument in all this.” “I am looking forward to your interpretation of ‘Parijata Haran.’” The young man continued. “Whatever God inspires me to do, I will carry out for sure.” Vasantsena replied humbly. A discreate cough from the head priest reminded the young man he was still on duty.  Suitably chastised, he returned to assist in the inner sanctum.

As Vasantsena and her maid came out of the inner temple area, a slack jawed pilgrim coughed involuntarily as his wife’s elbow jabbed him in the ribcage. Turning left, the pair left by the northern entrance of the Jagmohan to go and pay their respects at the Devi Temple. Recently enlarged by KrishnaDev Raya, the original shrine of the Panchayatan style layout was now fronted by a brand-new hall.  Square pillars decorated with auspicious signs and strings of pearl torans, sprouted floral motifs as they met the roof above.  Mandap’s large lotus motif on the ceiling was composed of myriad mini lotus motifs.  Offering a lotus garland to Rukshmani Devi, Vasantsena made a mental note of the colours and pattern of her sari.  Like her lord and husband, Devi also stood with her hands on her hips, greeting her devotees with a sweet smile.

Leaving by the northern Gopuram, the ladies entered a short avenue connecting the outer and inner perimeter walls.  Between the two walls, there were several areas reserved for cooking, storing and serving the divine masters of the temple.  Just before coming to the outer northern gate, the ladies passed through a side door that led them a courtyard reserved for the musicians and dancers of the divine couple.  Singers were already practicing their scales and exercising their vocal cords under a covered veranda.  Greeting them with a namaskar, the ladies passed through a thatched doorway to arrive at a collection of rooms around a courtyard supplied with a well.  The maid quickly pulled up a couple of pails of water. Vastantsena bathed and changed into a fresh sari.  Vasantsena made sure the colour and design of her dress did not match or clash with what Rukshmani Devi was wearing today.  It’s never a good idea to be seen to be copying or competing with the presiding goddess.  Just as she finished dressing, other ladies entered the courtyard.  Greeting everyone excitedly, they too bathed quickly and changed into sombre white saris with red and gold borders.  

The ladies came out and joined the musicians to listen to the bhajans and verses they were planning to sing tonight.  They practiced and perfected their hand and body movements to match the pitch and pace of the singers.  Being in synch makes the nada-seva and nrutya-seva a perfect dance-drama, worthy of being offered to the Gods.  An elderly matron soon joined them, supervising and correcting them as needed. As the sun dipped below the western wall, the ladies applied makeup, wove flowers in their hair and put on jewellery for the performance tonight.  Vasantsena stood transformed.  Her silk saree, flawless makeup, glittering jewels, well-groomed hair with jasmin and kadamb flowers made her look like an apsara incarnate.

At the appointed hour, four torch bearers came to fetch and take them to the temple.  The group formed a curious rectangle with the torch bearers at the corners.  The matron carried the wooden block and stick used to keep time for the dancers.  Four novices formed a square around Vasantsena and behind them the musicians formed up in a square of their own.  Cymbals rang out to measure their pace as they left the courtyard.  The matron and the novices swayed like she-elephants while Vasantsena glided like a swan.  Eight guards accompanied them from beyond the inner gate and conveyed them with great pomp and ceremony to the Ranga-Mandapam on the southern side of the main shrine.

Lit with countless lamps and decorated with garlands, the Ranga-Mandapam resembled the celestial court of Indra.  Uttsav Murtis of Shri Vitthala and Rukshmani Devi were already presiding in the inner part of the hall, serenaded by sages singing sacred verses from the scriptures. Resplendent in gem studded jewels, they were weighed down by countless fragrant garlands, artistically arranged around them.  A golden ‘Parijata’ tree, dripping with flowers made of gems, framed the Uttsav murties of Shri Vitthala and his beloved consort from behind.  

 Dancers of the divine court waited patiently outside the hall to be summoned to entertain the deities.  Musicians entered by the side porch and took up positions near the musical pillars.  Each one stood by a pillar carved with the instrument they were playing.  The singers and the matron sat to the left of the deities so they had clear eye contact with the dancers when they were performing.  The Ranga Mandapam was crowded with pilgrims.  Guards kept the flow of pilgrims moving along the central axis of the hall.  Many devotes were sitting and waiting amongst the colonnades to witness the evetning’s nrutya seva (dance as a sacred offering).  They sung hymns and chanted ‘Jai Jai Vitthala, Jai Hari Vitthala’ as they waited.  

As the prayers ended, the high priest signalled to the musicians.  Cymbals rang out and the dancers ascended the stairs in rhythm with a measured gait.  Flowers held in cupped hands, the devdasis of the divine court glided effortlessly between the tall painted pillars of the Ranga Mandapam.  The cymbals ceased to ring as they arrived at the large open space in front of the deities.  Assuming the armandi pose, the dancers held their pose while the invocation mantras were sung.  As the matron started to strike the wooden box, the novices came forward to offer their flowers to the Gods.  Musicians struck the musical pillars to start the preamble of the main piece.  The pillars resounded with music of their chosen instrument, astounding the pilgrims who had gathered in the hall.  Vasantsena performed an elaborate walk around the central dance area before approaching the divine throne and offering her flowers at the feet of Shri Vitthala and Rukshmani Devi.

Almost as soon as she had finished, she rushed backwards, eyes flaring, hands extended as if gripping Vishnu’s Sarang bow!  Novice dancers scattered, flailing, falling, fearful for their lives.  Musicians and the singers chimed in to set the mood of ‘Parijata Haran’.  Novice dancers scattered in all direction as Shri Kurshna defeated the army of demon Narakasur and brought celestial treasures back to Amaravati.  Assuming different roles, the five dancers mesmerised the crowded hall with their wonderful artistry.  Haughty wife of Indra refused to share the flower from the heavenly gardens with Satyabhama, one of Shri Krushna’s wives and Shri Krushna punished the Devas by taking away the Parijata tree.  Just as Vasantsena turned to strike the mighty elephant of Indra with 11 trunks, she stood frozen.  Everyone’s eyes strained to see what had suddenly arrested the flow of the story.

A group of devotees had come in the Rang Mandap and caught the attention of Vasantsena.  Conscious that they had disturbed the dance, a handsome young brahmin stepped forward, and said softly, “I am sorry to have broken your concentration.  Please continue with the Natya-seva.” Vasantsena offered her namaskar to the tall dark scholar and signalled him to come forward and offer his namaskar to the deities.   “I am sorry to have broken your concentration. Please continue with the Natya-seva.” (Ranga bhanga na krutam.)  The brahmin reiterated his apology in a clear resonant voice. “Ranga sabha is blessed to have an acharya of your stature in its midst.  Please come sit near the deities.” Vasantsena insisted. “Thank you, but I am not sure if I deserve such an honour.” The young man said humbly. “When our emperor Krishnadev Raya himself honours you as ‘Akhand Bhumandalacharya’, this is the least we can do.” Vasantsena replied sweetly. “Your debate to establish Suddhadvait philosophy was most interesting.  I am not sure if I agree with you about Maya, but I agree wholeheartedly about Brahman being present everywhere in the universe.” Vasantsena engaged the visitor and demonstrated she knew him and about his recent victory during the month long debate on which philosophy was the best interpretation of the Vedas. “You are most kind.” Blushed the young man.

Having recognised the young man as the recently celebrated scholar of astounding intelligence, the high priest came forward to welcome the 23 year old Vallabhacharya and his family.  With all honours due to a visiting dignitary, they were prevailed upon him to come forward and offer his respects to the deities.  Vasantsena accompanied the high priest in being the perfect hosts on behalf of the temple.  After offering namaskar, flowers, fruits and sari to the deities, Shri Vallabh offered a red velvet purse his wife placed in his hands.  “Here are some gold coins I would like to offer for making Shri Vitthala’s anklets.”  Shri Vallabha said to the high priest.   “I had heard about your generosity.  You gave away thousands of gold coins, given to you by the emperor, to the assembled scholars after your victory.” High priest responded.  “Today I have the honour of seeing your generous spirit in person.”

Priests made space for Shri Vallabh, his wife, mother and uncle’s family to sit at the right of the deity.  Vasantsena bowed to the deities, Shri Vallabh, priests and pilgrims before returning to her dance.

Defeating the Deva-sena, Vasantsena placed the uprooted imaginary Parijata on the back of a novice pretending to be the Garuda.  Flying to Dwarika, Shri Krushna pointed out different cities to Satyabhama, including Vijayanagar.  Shri Krushna planted the tree in Satyabhama’s garden, but its flowers fell in Rukshmani’s garden.  With a flourish of a floral shower on the deities, Vasantsena completed her dance and bowed before the deities.

Everyone held their breath as the dancers regrouped to offer their final prayers. Shouts of ‘Jai ho’ and ‘Vitthala’ rang out in the Ranga Mandapam to congratulate the musicians, singers and dancers.  Priests stood up as palanquin bearers lifted the deities and conveyed them to their bedchamber in a stately procession.  Vasantsena accompanied the priests, torch bearers and deities to their bed chamber. Some devotes followed them, singing and dancing to delight the deities.    

A set of priests greeted the procession at the divine bedchamber.  As they divine couple dressed for the night, Vasantsena sang an enchanting love song.  Everyone felt the calm mood course through their hearts as the song filled the night air.  After the final darshan of the night, pilgrims and priests dispersed, leaving the temple and its residents to rest in peace.  Vasantsena and her companions changed their clothes and jewels before heading home.  Guards secured the various gates in and around the temple as the full moon showered its cool rays upon the divine enclosure of the Vijay Vitthala Temple.  Vasantsena and her friends walked through the deserted market street, past the pushkarni pond to their houses.    

 By Bhagwat Shah

********

Appendix…..

http://vallabhacharya.guru/  1558 – kanakabhishek of Shri Vallabh by emperor KrishnaDev Raya in Vijayanagar.

https://www.slideshare.net/kaash7827/vitthala-temple - slides on different buildings in the Vitthala temple

https://youtu.be/WSTRM01irpY  You can see carved images of prostate pilgrims around 1min mark.

https://www.karnataka.com/hampi/vittala-temple/

#south india #ruins #temple

[textribe]

Plural of Broccoli: Understanding the Linguistic Conundrum

Broccoli, a word as nutritious as its referred vegetable, often stirs up a garden of questions regarding its plural form. This verdant veggie, a staple in kitchens worldwide, is more than just a side dish on dinner plates; it represents a linguistic curiosity that bridges the gap between language and gastronomy. In this comprehensive article, we'll delve into the plural of "broccoli," exploring its singular and plural forms, understanding its etymology and usage, and serving up examples that illustrate its correct application in sentences. We'll also clear up common mistakes and confusions, answering frequently asked questions to ensure you're as confident in discussing broccoli as you are in cooking it. The Singular and Plural of Broccoli Interestingly, "broccoli" is one of those English words borrowed from Italian that retains its Italian plural form in both singular and plural usage in English. Therefore, "broccoli" refers to both a single stalk and multiple stalks of the vegetable. FormWordSingularBroccoliPluralBroccoli Understanding Broccoli Definition of Broccoli: Broccoli, classified under the species Brassica oleracea, is a green vegetable similar to cauliflower but with dense clusters of tight green flower buds. It's known for its nutritional benefits, including high vitamin C and dietary fiber content. Usage of Broccoli: The word "broccoli" comes from the Italian plural of broccolo, meaning "the flowering crest of a cabbage," and has been adopted into English without modification. Its usage transcends culinary contexts, often appearing in discussions about health, diet, and agriculture. Use of Broccoli in Sentences - In a Garden: "I'm amazed at how much broccoli has grown in our garden this year; each plant is thriving. - Nutritional Advice: "Broccoli is a powerhouse of nutrients, packed with vitamin C, vitamin K, and fiber." - Cooking: "For tonight's dinner, I'm roasting broccoli with garlic and lemon to bring out its natural flavors." - Grocery Shopping: "Could you add broccoli to the shopping list? I plan to make a stir-fry this weekend." - Dietary Preferences: "As a vegetarian, I rely on vegetables like broccoli to ensure I'm getting enough protein and vitamins." Common Mistakes and Confusions - Broccolis: A common mistake is adding an "s" to make "broccoli" plural, which is unnecessary since "broccoli" already serves as both singular and plural. - Broccolo: While "broccolo" is the singular form in Italian, using it in English might confuse listeners or readers unfamiliar with the Italian language. - Broccoli vs. Broccolini: People often confuse broccoli with broccolini, the latter being a hybrid of broccoli and Chinese broccoli, known for its longer stalks and smaller florets. Commonly Asked Questions - Is "broccolis" ever correct? No, "broccolis" is not the standard plural form in English; "broccoli" is correct for both singular and plural contexts. - How can I tell if a recipe calls for one broccoli or multiple? Context is key. Usually, a recipe will specify the amount, such as "one head of broccoli" or "two cups of broccoli," to indicate quantity. - Can "broccoli" refer to both the whole plant and its individual florets? Yes, "broccoli" can refer to the entire vegetable, including the stalk and florets, or just the florets, depending on the context. Conclusion The exploration of "broccoli" from its singular to plural form reveals not just a linguistic journey but a cultural and culinary one. Understanding the correct usage of "broccoli" enriches our language and enhances our appreciation for this versatile vegetable. By embracing the simplicity and complexity of words like "broccoli," we cultivate a deeper relationship with language, food, and health. Whether you're penning a recipe, planning a meal, or simply curious about culinary linguistics, remembering the nuances of words like "broccoli" ensures clarity and correctness in communication. FAQ Can 'broccoli' be pluralized? No, 'broccoli' is considered an uncountable noun in English, so it does not have a plural form. What should I say when I want to refer to multiple pieces of broccoli? You can use phrases like 'heads of broccoli' to refer to multiple pieces, as broccoli is typically sold in 'heads' of a certain diameter. What is the etymology of the word 'broccoli'? 'Broccoli' has Italian origins and is derived from the Italian word 'broccolo', which means 'cabbage sprout' or 'head'. Is 'broccolo' the plural form of 'broccoli'? No, 'broccolo' is an older Italian term that refers to a type of cabbage. Is 'broccoli' considered a countable or uncountable noun? 'Broccoli' is considered an uncountable noun in English. Can I say 'one broccoli' or 'two broccolis'? No, numerical quantifiers cannot be used with 'broccoli'. It is always used in the singular form. Read the full article

[qhostqizmo]

Date Night

*pounding fists on table* Let them date!! Let them date!! Let them dATE!!

- - - - - - - - - -

She played the conversation over and over again in her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that everything about the invitation had been rather… intimate.

Maybe Adela and Abe had been right when she’d offhandedly brought it up to them. It sure sounded like Amon had asked her out on a date, as the duo suggested. Just her, and the heir to the Illiad name; no one else, going to dinner and play. No one else had gotten an invitation. No one else had gotten to see his quirky nervous half-smile, and see the color rise in his cheeks, or the joy in his face like she had.

She could make the excuse that because they were Aurumval, everyone else had other plans in mind. Adela had been hitting up the jewelry shops a lot lately. Rava had been joining her, or trying to pester the Master Seeker into further training pranks. Sulhadur was spending much of his time with his idol or practicing alongside Abe; and Abe himself was spending time with either Sul or Pen (when the later was not out looking for a lay). Even Pri’cha had found themselves a hobby in meeting with the local shopkeep at Whitemore’s for conversation and study.

But the fact that the nobleman had asked no other than her was suspicious. He hadn’t made it secret that he’d only come to her, but the word ‘date’ had never entered his vocabulary. She’d thought nothing of his offering, other than eagerness at being able to spend any time with her nobleman.

Staring at the sets of clothes laying out out on the bed, Essätha was at a complete loss with what to do.

“Wear the wine one, it makes the gold of your eyes stand out and goes with your skin tone.”

“But should I really be wearing a gown? Maybe just a shirt and slacks…”

Adela peered up from the necklaces she’d been picking through with an empty expression. “Honey, he’s taking you to the theater in Aurumval and out to dinner. It’s going to be an event. This isn’t a ‘nice blouse and skirt’ occasion. You’re in the capitol. Everything’s going to be expensive taste and fine etiquette.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Essätha folded up the camisoles and pants to put away. She peeked over the dresses left; some more conservative than others. The deep purple one Adela pointed out did have a nice off the shoulder, with a cinched waist, and a flowy bottom. There was a slit on the right side that went a few inches above the knee, though.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” she choked out.

The Tiefling did a sideways glance towards the garment. “Looks fine to me.”

“I like it,” Rava agreed, her hand getting swatted as she reached over to examine a bracelet. She pouted at the jeweler pitifully.

“No touching, you’ll mess up my organization method.”

“What are you even doing with all that jewelry?”

“Trying to find the right hues of gold and amber that fit well with the dress and Essie’s eyes, now shush. Let me concentrate.”

Essätha met the wood-elf’s gaze. The young elf shrugged helplessly. She’d only joined the preparation party as a way to scope out Adela’s gemstones.

Giving an enormous sigh, Essie picked the dark plum dress up off the bed. As though stamped with a life sentence, she sulked with her head low in the direction of the bathroom.

“Wear this with it too,” Adela remarked, pointing at a thin cashmere shawl. It looked like it was made of spun gold, and had a sheen over it.

“Uh… okay?”

“Listen if I can’t go out with my fiance, I’m going to have to live through your date,” the Tiefling explained. “Now go get dressed and let’s talk about some shoes while we get your hair and makeup done.”

“That sounds a bit selfish,” Ravamora remarked, picking up a set of earrings to study. “How much are these?”

Determined to escape the squabbling (and the rogue’s attempt at learning to gauge jewelry value, as if that couldn’t go wrong), Essie discretely slipped into the bathroom and softly closed the door behind her. She thunked her forehead gently to the doorframe to groan with despair.

Which was worse, going over the top to a mediocre event, or going underdressed? And frankly, why did she care?

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she ripped it roughly off her head, musing her bun in the process and scattering her hair pins to the floor in frustration.

She was going to make the best of the damn evening with Amon, regardless.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Essätha, are you ready to go?”

Ready as she was ever going to be.

Smoothing out the front of her gown, Essie opened the door to the restroom to slip nervously out. She clutched her hands nervously in front of herself to avoid messing with the tedious waterfall of braids Rava and Adela had done for her. The one thing she’d managed to push the pair off of was cosmetics. The last thing she wanted was a test run between the pair of them. She went with her usual mostly nude hues, with only a single outrageous change from her comfort zone; adding a shimmering metallic gold eyeshadow that went well with the glittering jewelry.

She didn’t bother to look up, tightly holding her clutch in her hands. “I think I’m ready…”

The gasp that escaped Amon was partially a wheeze, as though someone had struck him in the chest.

Startled, she looked up from the short pumps her eyes were fixated upon to the Briarton Lord. His jacket was a tailcoat was a shade of navy so dark, it could almost qualify as black. The white dress shirt he wore beneath was crisp and freshly pressed beneath his dull gray-blue vest. The only color on his person that stood out in his hands; which were shaking, a single hybrid peachy to red rose.

Her face felt as hot as Amon’s looked; as though someone had dusted his features with a the pink of a setting sun. A wash of humiliation immediately settled over her as he had trouble staring at her for more than a second at a time, twirling the flower in his hands.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “No… No you look… sublime… like perfection.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt even hotter. “You look exceptionally handsome yourself, m’lord.”

His jaw worked, and he swallowed loudly. Essie reached for his hand out of impulse. He looked so distressed, she couldn’t help herself.

He startled beneath her touch, looking from her hand to her face. The tension in his smile was still prevalent as he offered her the bloom sheepishly.

“For you,” he squeaked, voice cracking.

“Oh, thank you.” She accepted the rose, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes looked around the room. Should she leave it here…?

“Um. Well. Here, may I?”

“… S-Sure?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think this through,” he mumbled, accepting the floret back. She stood absolutely still as he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear, through the bouncy twirl of her curls. The brush of the back of his hand skimmed her flush skin and against her cheekbone as she glanced shyly away. He had a tremendously careful touch, adjusting the petals and lightly brushing his fingers along her hairline.

“There… Your beauty accents it well.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

The warmth in Amon’s eyes grew. His smile softened. “No. Your beauty definitely outshines even the most exquisite flower.”

She gave a stiff, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should wear a dress more often, I didn’t realize it made such a difference.”

A pained look of hurt flickered through the nobleman’s eyes. “It’s not the garment that makes you so gorgeous, Essätha.”

“… What?”

“I… I just… You are a very beautiful woman, Essie. You don’t need any of these things to prove that. I was a bit stunned; in a good way, seeing you in something so different, but you are always… breathtaking.”

She could not meet his eyes. She could not look at him any longer, fearing the trembling in her knees and fluttering beneath her ribcage. If he had any idea the way he made her feel; strong yet vulnerable, resolute but shy, spirited and on the other hand calm. She felt a hundred emotions around him; some old, some new and freshly budding that she had never felt before. She wanted things her mind could not comprehend, her lungs could not voice. Things her heart yearned for against the protest of sense.

How was she supposed to keep eye contact with him tonight, when he was so lovely, so sweet, and so charmingly handsome that it made her insides nauseous with want?

He took her hand; the one not holding her handbag, with a gentle grip. It was a safer place to look then to the ocean of his eyes that she would otherwise get lost in.

“May I escort you to our carriage, Miss Essätha?”

Straining on a nervous giggle, she curled her fingers between the spaces between his. She liked this better than simply holding his forearm, even if her palms were a bit sweaty. It was like a security blanket. She knew everything would be okay, if he kept his hand in hers.

“You may; I will grant you that honor.”

“And what an honor it is.”

Gods have mercy, she was going to faint before the evening was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The coach came to a halt outside of what looked like an elite restaurant. Everyone stepping in and out of the building was dressed in finer clothes; though few had attire quite as nice as the two of them. It made Essie’s insides squirm all the more as Amon lead her out by the hand of the chariot. He spoke briefly to the coachman as she anxiously bobbed her weight from one shoe to other, passing him a few shillings and a nod before joining her once more.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just affirming roughly the time he should be back by to pick us up from the theater. It’s only a short block away from here, so I thought we could take a stroll there after we dine in…” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Unless you would rather take the ride-?”

“No, that’s okay. A walk sounds fine.” Gods she hoped her smile didn’t look as dopey as it felt. A walk? Like, a romantic stroll down the boulevard?”

Amon only appeared somewhat relieved by her answer, taking hold of her hand in his once more. His fingers were clammy, and a bit awkward as he fumbled with hers. “Let’s get checked in for our reservation.”

She nodded, stupidifed. Reservation? How long had he been planning this? She hoped it hadn’t been booked days in advance. This seemed far more high-class and over her head then she was used to.

He opened the door for her as they approached the building, as usual. It eased some of her nerves. Some things never changed, just like the bold triumphant lingering in his eyes upon hers. He took her hand again as they stepped inside, sending sparks hurtling through her bloodstream once more. So much for clear-headed. She felt drunk off him all over again; and intoxicated by the aroma of ginger, sage, and tonka bean blended with leather and agarwood on his skin.

Holding on to his hand, Essie’s gaze moved throughout the elegant décor while he spoke to a gentleman up front about their reservation. It was even more dazzling on the inside than the outside. Everything was glowing in shades of amber, illuminated by glass and mirrors that made the candlelight bounce from room to room. Her insides swelled, taking a daring moment to glance at the distracted, chuckling man at her side as he spoke with the doorman.

Definitely even more wonderful on the inside than the outside; which seemed impossible, but true.

“Right this way,” the host acknowledged, nodding to the pair of them as he snapped his booklet shut. Amon passed her a proud but shy smile, following their guide close to her side as they made their way through the establishment. The man stopped at a privately enclosed curtain, adjusting it for them to pass with a murmur for them to enjoy their meal.

The view was spectacular. She held her breath, staring out at the remnants of the setting sun and incoming twilight stars sprinkling the skyline. Her eyes ventured to Amon’s, and the patient but bashful expression he wore.

All of this, for her?

“Here, allow me,” the nobleman rasped, clearing his throat while tearing his gaze away from her. He appeared flustered as he pulled the cushioned chair out from the table.

Brushing the back of her dress flat, Essie gratefully accepted her seat. She looked up, seeing how distant the other end of the table was with a twinge of remorse.

“How much trouble would we be in, if I asked you to move your chair closer?”

Was it possible for the man to have a devilish grin of mischief? It seemed so.

“I’m renting out the space, I think they’ll make an exception.”

She snickered as he picked up his seat to place it adjacent to hers. Her greedy hands sought his to hold as she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, staring out at the last light of the day fading.

“This is nice.”

“I thought you might like this place.”

Biting into her lower lip and smudging the stain of color on her lips just a touch, Essätha tilted her head so her eyes could meet his. They were twinkling with the light of the stars, and the flame of the lanterns throughout the space.

“I… I meant this,” she clarified, her voice small as she squeezed his hand.

There was no mistaking his wide-eyed surprise. The shape of his pupils exploded within his iris.

“I…”

“Good evening, monsieur and misse- oh, m-my apologies-”

The pair of them instantly sat up straight, eyes snapping towards the red-faced waiter stepping through the thin curtains.

“I- I will be back I’m so sorry-”

“N-No that’s okay,” Essie rasped, her fingers still lingering in Amon’s grasp. “You can stay.”

The man’s face went from her, to presumably Amon’s. Too embarrassed to look back, she wondered what the nobleman’s face said to the man. Probably something impassive. He was good at covering his emotions, unlike her.

“Very well,” the gentleman squeaked, slowly approaching to offer out two identical sheets of fine parchment. It had very few items on it to choose from. “Can I get the two of you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc, thank you,” the nobleman requested hoarsely. Essätha’s lips pulled into a frown as she side-eyed the nobleman. He was very flush.

“Excellent choice sir, I’ll be right back,” the server replied, bowing quickly before he disappeared behind the veil.

Lord Amon cleared his throat, taking her hand from beneath the table to hold fondly. He looked mesmerized even through the pinkish blush on his face as he smiled adoringly back at her. “Now then. You were saying how much you enjoyed the view?” he teased.

Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she made a playful swatting motion towards him.

“I do. The atmosphere is… staggering, but I’m glad you’re here to keep me grounded. I’m happiest when you’re with me.”

His smile was downright goofy now. “As am I, when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she breathed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she insisted, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is a stunning location. The view reminds me a bit of a lodge I stayed at once. It was situated at the highest point in the town; made it an easy landmark for people to direct around that way, and it had some of the spectacular sunset horizons above the buildings and treetops…”

“Tell me more.”

She wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him, or her. Equally absorbed with only each other, as the rest of the chatter from the restaurant seemed so distant in their private space.

Beaming from ear to ear, she jumped right in to the story, finding it never easier than that moment to tell anyone about her past in her life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Huffing, Essie pushed aside the plate containing the remains of the chocolate lava cake. “Not another bite.”

“You? Turning down sweets?”

She scowled at the taunting curl of Amon’s smile. “You fed me too much food! If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He adjusted the shawl as it slipped, wrapping it delicately back into place. “Oh, here, let me just…”

She froze, confused as the nobleman lifted his napkin from his lap. She squinted her eyes as he dabbed at the corner of her lip.

“Ganache.”

“Thank you.” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Not nearly as embarrassing as the idea of how she’d wished he’d taken it off though; her face inflamed at the thought.

Amon’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her mouth. His face turned a shade of beet red as he cleared his throat, scooting back his chair from the table and tossing the cloth upon it.

“We had better start walking, I’m afraid. We’ll be late for the play otherwise.”

“Oh… okay.”

Amon dug into his coinpurse, leaving a large handful of extra coins on the table. Before Essie could decide what to do; conflicted, the nobleman slowly drew her chair a bit from the table for her to slide out easier.

“Always a gentleman,” she remarked warmly, stroking his arm. Amon’s gaze followed her touch, and his throat jumped once more.

Timid once more, she drew her hand back to fiddle with her clutch.

As they stepped from behind the drapery, their server hurried over. Amon spoke quietly to the young man as her eyes scanned the main room, now bustling with even more bodies then when they’d entered.

A large, round table of boisterously laughing men near the doors to the kitchen looked their way.

Essätha looked away, but it was too late. Two of them had already gotten out of their chairs, and were headed over.

“Lord Amon? Is that you?”

“Oh… Hello.”

She winced in sympathy to the hollowness in Amon’s voice. Not everyone was aware of his stripped title.

“And who is this scrumptious treat you have here with you?” one of the men inquired, offering a respectful bow. He extended a hand towards her.

“Essätha Meduza, sir.” She placed her hand uncertainly in his. That’s what he wanted, right?

“Essätha? An exceptional name for a fine looking lady.”

As the man lifted her hand respectfully, his lips puckering, she quickly pulled it free of the man’s gentle grip. He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly corrected his composure.

Her eyes slipped towards Amon’s. She hadn’t done so terrible taboo, had she?

His jaw shifted like he was grinding his teeth. He had a narrowed gaze locked upon the man who’d touched her. If he’d known any sort of magic, she’d swear he was preparing to cast an inferno upon the wealthy looking gentleman.

“Found yourself a young lady willing to tolerate your time, aye Bearmaster?” The other man jested, passing a wink to Amon.

He smoothed out much of his expression, but she could still see the frosty annoyance beneath his eyes.

“I do hate to break a reunion short, but we’ve a play to get to-”

“Oh. Oh I- we- apologize, milord. We should get together though, sometime. Maybe a hunt. It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?” He nudged the other man with his eyes still taking in Essie’s face. “Let us leave these two to their night. It was nice to see you Amon, Miss Meduza. Enjoy your show.”

Confused, she inclined her head to the man politely. He grabbed the other by the arm, almost requiring to drag him to get him to take his eyes off her. She ventured her gaze, meanwhile, back towards the nobleman at her side. Amon stiffly tugged on his coat, trying to get it to lay flat again as he unbuttoned and buttoned it. She reached out, brushing her fingertips against his anxious hands.

He turned his eyes back up to her, slowing his movements to a crawl while staring into her eyes.

“Ahem, I…” Swallowing, Amon offered out his hand with a nervous smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Squeezing his hand, Essätha gave a short nod. “With you, m’lord Amon, of course.”

The rigidness in his shoulders relaxed. With a tender regard upon her, he steered them through the restaurant and out to the street. With the darkness settled in on the city like a chilled blanket, Essätha shivered as the night air struck her exposed arms, creating goosebumps.

Popping open the buttons he’d frustratingly just fixed, the nobleman dragged off his tailcoat to drape it across her shoulders as soon as she went to clutch herself, shivering.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the sides around her to block out the breeze with a smile. She stepped closer, sighing gratefully as he tentatively wrapped his arm around her waist. There was an open spot on his shoulder for her to rest her head against gratefully.

“I guess I should have had the caddy pick us up…”

“Don’t feel bad; this is fine.” She breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of his fragrance that was in the coat.

He chuckled quietly after a moment, resting his cheek against the side of her head as they wandered down the cobblestone street.

“Let’s not waste any time though, I don’t want you to get a chill.”

She hummed in vague agreement, too focused on how good it his arm felt against her, and the heat of his jacket that felt like a permanent embrace of him hugging her, encircled all around. She was fine catching chill, and going slow, if it meant stealing a little more time, and a little more him, all to herself for just a while longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon fished their admissions out from his pocket, and slid them across the table to the ticketmaster. With a nod after they examined the stiff pieces of paper, the manager motioned for them to enter into the parlor ahead.

Essie moved to shrug off the jacket and return it to the nobleman, but he shook his head gently. “Keep it a while longer; if you get too warm I’ll take it back.”

That suited her plenty. When he took her hand to guide her inside, she smothered her face discretely into the collar of his coat. The scent of his cologne made her insides feel warm, light, but lonely. It was a weird feeling that made little sense when he was right in front of her.

The venue entry was spectacular. Sofa arrangements were in the middle and around the sides of the room, allowing people to sit and converse during half-times and prior to the plays. Servers were wandering the floor, offering out drinks and small hors d’oeuvre’s. A large chandelier hung high in the middle of the room, with glass dangling off to send the candle flames dancing across the room. Smaller candelabra dotted around the room as well, and the carpeted floor had a fanciful looking golden pattern upon plush red.

Unlike the restaurant, where Essätha felt her clothes were a few tiers higher quality then most of the nice blouses, skirts, and dresses some women were wearing, she felt positively peasant-like here. Women were wearing dresses studded with gemstones, large pearl necklaces, colorful decorations and even a few exotic furs and feathers. Meanwhile she was in a single-tone gown, hiding beneath a coat too large for her that she wished could swallow the rest of her up.

“Would you care for some wine, Essie?”

“I’m okay, thank you m’lord. Help yourself though.”

There was a twinge of concern in the frown that tugged at his lips. As they stepped further into the room, his hand holding to her own, one of the waiters did approach.

“Can I get you two anything?”

“Water, please.”

The server raised their eyebrows, but made no objection. They bowed elegantly from the waist, replying, “Give me a moment, sir and madam, I will return with two glasses at once.”

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for some place less stuffy to stand. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and tobacco through the theater, although no one appeared to be smoking or chewing anything at the moment.

“Would you like to take a seat somewhere?” the Illiad heir inquired, licking his lips anxiously.

“I…” Her eyes moved around the room, pausing awkwardly on a woman staring directly at her. The lady smiled, and before Essie could decide which flight instinct to follow, she was already moving their way, tugging a man along with her.

“Well hello there! Lord Amon, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!”

The nobleman winced slightly, and turned to offer the woman a polite smile. “Lady Darcy, Lord Moreno a pleasure seeing you two as well.”

“Yes yes I know,” Darcy sang, ignoring him completely. She had her thousand watt exuberant smile aimed towards Essie, which was a touch on the overwhelming side.

“Who are you, sweet dear? Awful young to be seen out with an old dull man like this one.”

Amon’s face turned scarlet, and he looked torn between appalled and infuriated by the insult.

Uncomfortable in her own right, Essätha offered a poor courtesy. She refused to loosen her grasp on the coat as she introduced herself quietly, “Essätha Meduza, ma’am.”

“Meduza? I’ve never heard that house name…”

Essie’s smile grew tight. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Mmm. I see. Where are you from, dearie? And what in the God’s name is someone as youthful and with a face as pretty as yours doing with the Bearmaster of all folk? Now I have a nice son-”

“Darcy.”

“Oh but honey I’m only kidding!”

“I’m so sorry Miss,” her husband muttered, joining in on the congregation of blushing and humiliated individuals. “She’s got a poor sense of humor. Love her to death with or without it though. Don’t mind her trying to sell our boy off, she’s always trying to push him on any lass we meet.”

Pawing at her partner as though to silence him, Darcy leaned eagerly towards Essie. “Where did you say you were from, dear?”

“Ahem, Lady Darcy, though I hate to intervene, Essätha and I were going to take a moment to go find where our seats are going to be in the theater. If you don’t mind…”

“Oh, always a bore Amon. Yes, go, run away with her if you must.”

Nodding curtly, he gave the smallest tug on Essie’s hand to draw her attention. She obliged, murmuring a respectful ‘good evening’ as she trailed at Amon’s heels.

“She’s… interesting.”

Amon grunted. “Darcy is a… nice woman. Means well. She gets under people’s skin though.”

“I can see that a bit, yeah.”

The nobleman gave her a thin smile. She twined her fingers in through his, until the nervousness in his expression melted into one more genuine, and sincere.

“I guess we really should go check where our seats are…”

Spotting the server hurrying in their direction briskly, with two goblets, she leaned into the warmth of his side with a grateful sigh.

“I’m okay with that.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she could swear through the hitch of his breath, the noise, the lights, the laughter in the room, she could feel the sound of his pulse acutely against her wrist, jump erratically. It was a steady heartbeat; strong, confident, dare she think almost wishfully… beckoning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the drama unfold on the theater floor; actors shouting, singing, throwing their arms into the body language of their character, it was miraculous. A true character of showmanship. Parts were funny; parts were sad, other things made her question and ponder.

She rested her head on Amon’s shoulder; turned into a parenthesis curling against him. The arm of the chair prevented her from climbing into his lap, but only just. He found his own way to the edge of his seat; his cheek atop her head, his arm around her, rubbing heat into the coat. She wished his hand was beneath it. The thought of him any closer made her shiver; conflicted and yearning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The concession area was even more packed than before as the show cut into half-time. Those who showed up late, or went to seat early, all were huddling into the room for drinks and snacks, or hitting the bathrooms off to the left. There wasn’t enough seating for some, left so squat or shuffle if they didn’t go back to their seats; a lady or two taking up residence on their date’s lap here and there. Essie had to smile, catching two young women huddled in an embrace on the arm of a chair, oblivious to those around them to share quick pecks between words.

Her eyes moved to look up to Amon, and down to their unified hands. Nagging questions nipped at the back of her mind, and the ache in her heart seemed to intensify. She couldn’t put into words the solitude in her bones; the sense of homesickness in her veins when she looked at him. What did she possibly want? What did he have that some part of her needed; something beyond the wonderful friendship they shared?

Among the conversation and quiet chatter they picked up; between each other and some of the other guests, they sipped their glasses. Her own held a sweet dessert wine, while she was pretty sure his red was something dry. It smelled good though, on his breath. It made her curious how it tasted.

If her cheeks weren’t already a bit heated from the drink, they sure would be then from the mortifying thought. He wasn’t likely to share his drink. Shared backwash and all that. She tried to ignore the root of the thought; the true though, buried in the back of her mind. She’d not drank nearly enough to think in such a manner. Warm, soft lips…

“Oh milord, it’s been far too long.”

Essätha’s thoughts shattered, turning her attention to the blonde-haired woman that approached them. Her eyes were like seafoam, and there were pointed tips on her short ears. Half-elf, she’d assume.

Amon straightened against her; his spine going rigid. It made her go tense, too.

“Good to see you, Carmen.”

She offered her hand out. To Essie’s surprise, he tried not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash snapping his head to turn to the nearest server, and take a fresh glass.

The woman’s lips thinned, but she recovered to place her hand against her hip. “You still look quite regal in your outting clothes.”

“Thank you,” he grunted. His grip tightened against her side. Essie looked between them, her confusion only growing.

Carmen’s eyes darted over to her. Essätha could swear she saw the woman’s lip twitch, like someone resisting a sneer before she smiled wonderfully once more, reaching out to stroke Amon’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, casanova. Thought you might try reaching out to me again after a while.” She pouted. “At the very least, see if you needed someone to help you keep that shoulder loose and everything else… stiff.”

Oh. Oh no.

Mortified, she looked between this Carmen woman; her hourglass figure, seductress bedroom eyes, and to Amon, who was grinding his teeth and blushing deeply. She tried to unsee the way the woman looked at him, like she was undressing him with just a glance.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Amon reported in an impassive tone. His eyes darted over to meet hers. He looked nervous? She blinked, and he had shouldered off Carmen’s hand to angle himself more towards her.

“Carmen, this is Essätha.”

The half-elf woman forced a smile over towards her. “Nice to meet you! Are you Amon’s… secretary?”

“She is my friend, and my date for this evening,” Amon jumped in firmly.

“Oh! Oh a friend, I see. Well, we all must have plenty of those lying around, shouldn’t we? Never enough friends in the world.”

Essie’s smile grew less real the more her stomach twisted into knots as she stared back at the woman and her lethal cheeky grin. The woman was vile. She wore her jealousy shamelessly, and spat venom like a cobra.

But why did it hurt so terribly?

She looked off to the side, feeling a rift crack through her. She just wanted to go home.

As Carmen turned her proud smirk back to Amon, Essie glanced up to him, hopefully.

He was still looking at her, concern in his eyes and a soft smile.

She flickered his glance towards his ex-lover, and back to him. He ignored the woman’s ramblings. He seemed to be waiting on something. Or looking for something?

Whatever it was Lord Amon searched for from her expression, he must not have found it. He looked even more worried, and gently took hold of the Carmen’s wrist as she flamboyantly flung her hand in the air. She grew silent. There was fire in her eyes. Victory. Desire that was more than hunger.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmen. Perhaps you should go see if your own escort is looking for you?”

As though she had been slapped, the half-elf recoiled; her cheeks pink. “I…” She snapped her gaze down at Essie. She was livid; and barely managing to conceal it.

Amon overlooked the wounded, angry look in Carmen’s face; jaw hanging open, to pull Essätha closer. He smiled down at her, muscles taut but otherwise, calm. Focused. He kept his composure, and his attention, on her.

“Let’s see if we can’t stop another server; your drink’s getting low.”

“Amon?” Carmen weakly murmured.

He raised his brows questioningly to the woman. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped her.

Essätha looked between the pair of them. He shut her down without hesitation. Turned her away without a second thought. She still wanted something from him; but he wasn’t looking back he was looking… forward.

His puzzled gaze darted over to meet hers.

I choose you.

Now she was certain no drink could ever make her face feel as hot as it did now. She had to be glowing.

Between the women who knew him who knew him how long enough; still hanging on for hope, still flirting with him, teasing him, yearning. He was turning down a woman who clearly held some kind of status that had been hoping to catch his eye again, all these years, to spend his time with her. Her, who came from nothing; escaping herself and a place thousands of miles away, staring at her like she brought out all the stars in the night sky.

He must really think the world of her, to give up an open invitation to spend the remainder of the night with her.

She could almost scoff at herself. And to think, she’d been frightened and intimidated by the woman. Carmen was about as much a threat to their time and happiness together as a fly was; obnoxious, but easily disregarded.

“M’lord Amon,” Essie piped up, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I can get the drink myself, if you’d like to finish your discussion?” She held her head up confidently; pretending that the half-elf’s dagger-eyes were bouncing off metaphorical armor.

“No, we’re already done here, right Carmen?”

The woman faltered. “I-I…”

“Wonderful. Again, charming to see you,” Amon remarked, dipping his head. His arm tightened around Essie’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Essätha passed the woman a smile. It truly said what she could not; that she wished her all the best.

She looked defeated, and dejected.

Her heart pitied the half-elf. She tried to picture being in her shoes, and shuddered. Maybe it would be easier to consider if it was any other man other than Amon shunning her, but that image…

Just to check. Just to verify the fearful stab her soul took, she peeked up at the nobleman.

He was still all warm, enchanted grin and dark eyes unwavering upon her. All her energy felt zapped and gained all at once. She wanted to collapse, but at the same time she never felt taller, braver, and more empowered.

He picked her in that moment. Wearing her most giddy, ridiculous smile, she felt as though she’d won everything she’d ever wanted, or needed. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now, she had it all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving through the corridors of the palace, Essie couldn’t shake the events of the night out of her head. She wrapped up Amon’s tailcoat like a blanket, his arm around her, it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was the liquor talking but it really had felt a lot like a… date. All that careful planning, just the two of them. The special spot for them to dine, the seats close to the front to see the play, the way he stood up for her; held to her most of the date.

As the nobleman opened the door to their bedroom, her brow knitted as she stepped inside. The gears were turning over and over. The rented carriage ride throughout. The walk to the theater, where she could see other’s; couples, making their way in a similar manner to the theater. Even recalling the ride back; how she’d rested, leaning into his chest and his arms around her, the heat of his breath tickling her neck, the steadiness of his hands warming her and their legs tangled.

As Amon stepped into the room, closing the door, she turned to look up at him.

“M’lord, why did you only ask me to go out with you tonight?”

He startled, and staggered. She hoped all that wine wasn’t getting to him, too. Making him see things… feel things…

Scratching the back of his head, he exhaled loudly. “… I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. Did you… not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” she affirmed quickly. “I… I enjoyed myself immensely. I’m just… trying to process. You didn’t ask anyone else, did you?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. What was he acting so shaken up about?

Reaching up, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. She’d forgotten about the waterfall braids; tangling her fingers through some of them. A curse tumbled out of her, and Amon stepped closer. He murmured something; she was too flustered to really hear, and helped her remove her fingers from her hair.

Gods he was close. He looked more than just flush from when they’d left the play. It hadn’t been cold out enough to warrant him looking quite this red. How much had he drank? No more then her, and she was pretty sure she was still mostly clear-headed…

Their fingers were still wrapped around each other, and she was lost in his eyes. She breathed in; breathed out, mumbling, “Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Why only me?”

The demanding note in her voice slurred a bit. His smile crept up further; grew more handsome and made her entire body ache. She wanted that joy more then anything. She wanted his happiness like she wanted air, or water. It was so fulfilling; so beautiful and so perfect. She wanted that for him, always; and she wanted to give it to him.

“I like spending time with you,” he explained sheepishly; the red wine still on his breath. He held her hand close to his chest. “You make every occasion better, and brighter. I like how you make me feel. I like how you make the world feel. I only asked you because… I didn’t want to split my concentration. And I didn’t want you to split yours,” he admitted, almost guilty; shameful.

“So… you wanted me all to yourself?”

His gaze was strangely piercing. “Does that upset you?”

Her heart fluttered. “… No. No I… I like being all yours.”

Amon smiled. It was dangerous. It did things she couldn’t explain inside her.

“I’ll let you use the bathroom to get ready for bed first,” he whispered.

She nodded, numb and aware she was doing so. “Okay.”

There was indecisiveness in his stance. He teetered for a moment in place. The blackness of his pupil was an eclipse, and it was washing over her.

He leaned in, and brushed his lips in a kiss against her cheek she barely felt.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Essätha.”

He was too warm, and too close. The deep, raspy huskiness of his whisper made her knees turn to jelly.

Suddenly afraid she was going to do something stupid and irrational, like throw herself at him, she turned her burning gaze and cherry-red face away. “It was my pleasure, m’lord,” she crooned softly. How her feet found locomotion to move towards the bathroom door, she’d never know. Perhaps she had a bit more power left in her then she thought.

As soon as she was inside the restroom, she closed the door behind herself, and placed her back to it. Sure enough, she slid down; her jelly-legs unable to support her weight until she sagged to sit upon her rear on the bathroom floor.

Placing her face in her hands, Essätha breathed raggedly. The whirlwind in her chest had turned into a hurricane; throwing her world out of balance. An incredible first date; unexpected, denied up until the very end but… She knew what she wanted; what she needed, what her wanton heart longed for.

Him. Every road, every yearning, every happy thought and plan for the future, it all lead back to him. Her nobleman.

She groaned into her palms, grinning so hard it hurt. She was in love with Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.

She wondered if he was in love with her, too.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written

[neraawritesxx]

Clemency

Written for KakaSaku Month - Day 1

pairing: kakashi x sakura; implied obito x rin event prompt: summer // rainstorms additional prompt: you buy an obscene number of flowers, and i’m concerned as to why genre: romance // light angst // slice of life word count: 5,250

summary: The first time Sakura meets him, it’s a week after her roommate has died.

a/n: This is extremely late? Like days upon days late. It took me forever to finish, but I’m happy with the end result. Maybe now I can start my other prompts? Lol. Either way, I hope you all enjoy!

note: This work is unbeta’ed so any mistakes are my own.

“It’s starting to rain,” Ino murmurs nonchalantly.

Sakura gives a noncommittal grunt in response, eyes never straying from the flower arrangement in front of her. Blindly, she sifts through the pile of loose blooms that reside on the countertop next to her, choosing a long-stemmed daisy and a row of baby’s breath.

Slowly, meticulously, she snips both stems with her shears, making sure that the floras are at the right length before placing them in the vase. Sakura watches how they fall with a critical eye, moving them into more favorable positions that accentuate the piece then, repeats the processes with the remaining buds.

The flower shop is quiet for a while after that, both girls distracted by their work, the patter of rainfall echoing against the window display.

It’s Ino who eventually breaks their silence.

“I wonder if your friend is going to stop by today.”

“Don’t you have a wedding centerpiece to put together?” Sakura pointedly inquires, though there is no real hostility behind her tone.

Jade eyes shift to look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall before sliding back to the blonde.

“Besides,” Sakura adds. “Even if he were to make an appearance, I won’t be around to see him. You know what today is. I have to leave in a half hour.”

Ino perks up for a moment, eyes wide as sudden comprehension dawns. The fair-haired woman smiles, a sad, half-hearted curl of her lips that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as cobalt hues settle on the decorative bouquet Sakura is putting together.

Ino hums. “I almost forgot,” she states gently. “I should have realized when you took out all of the daisies we had in stock.”

Sakura releases a soft chuckle, turning back to her project. “It’s alright. Just come over here and help me. I don’t want to be late.”

-o-

The first time Sakura meets him, it’s a week after her roommate has died.

Ino insists that she take more time off from the shop, it’s not their busy season, and her best friend maintains that she is more than capable of covering both of their shifts. Sakura turns her down, however, preferring to hide her misery behind forced smiles and menial conversations with their customers.

It takes her mind off of it, helps her forget the pain. If only for a little while.

The rain is heavy that day, pounding unrelentingly against the sidewalk, leaving vast puddles in its wake and forcing most people indoors.

Sakura doesn’t hear him when he enters the shop. Their air conditioner is broken, and they are forced to battle the pungent, sticky haze caused by the weather by keeping the front door open. There is no breeze, but the air that does trickle into the store is cool, despite the humidity.

He slips in while she is distracted, re-reading old text messages from her dearly departed friend.

Sakura likes to think that scouring through old conversations, recounting memories, helps her cope. It’s enjoyable, for the time being, until she reaches the last messages that were sent in their chat thread.

~

Rin N. (8:24 PM): We’re leaving Obito’s in a minute.

Rin N. (8:25 PM): Promise me that you’ll at least consider going to dinner with Kakashi.

Rin N. (8:25 PM): He’s cute! I know you’ll like him.

~

Sakura H. (8:26 PM): You’re so worried about my love life! Lol. Focus on your own! 

Sakura H. (8:27 PM): But, I will think about it. Okay, Rin?

Sakura H. (8:27 PM): I’ll let you know where my head’s at after I meet him tonight.

Sakura H. (8:28 PM): What’s your ETA?

~

He clears his throat then, startling her and Sakura’s head shoots up to find him standing a few paces back from the counter. He’s tall, lanky, and has a messy mop of silver hair that sticks out at a bunch of awkward, different angles.

She can’t tell much beyond that.

There is a strip of black cloth over the left side of his face and a hospital mask of the same color covering from the middle of his nose, down. The latter doesn’t surprise her all that much. Most customers with unmanageable pollen allergies tend to cover their faces before venturing into the shop.

The other fabric, however, is somewhat daunting.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not looking at her, and it takes Sakura a moment to realize that she has forgone a formal greeting, and instead, has been blatantly staring at him.

“Oh,” she says. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry. It’s just one of those days; I can’t help but find myself distracted. Welcome to Yamanaka Flowers. What can I get for you today?”

The new arrival doesn’t immediately say anything, gazing at a fixed point over Sakura’s right shoulder. Another full minute passes before he brings himself to look at her, and when he does, Sakura can’t help but flinch.

He looks…haggard.

Or, at least, that’s what she can make out from the small patch of skin available for inspection.

His lone eye is sunken in, rimmed with the purplish discoloration that comes from extensive lack of sleep. When she gives him another once over, Sakura also notes that he is wearing far too many layers for the season. Despite inclement weather, it’s still summertime in Konoha. The rain could stop in an hour, giving way to the bright, unforgiving rays of the sun. She doesn’t think someone who is dressed in a baggy, mismatching sweat suit would be comfortable when that time came around.

She doesn’t get to explore his fashion choices or how fatigued he looks any further. He decides to speak then, stating, “Hyacinths.”

His request is a raspy croak, muffled behind the material of his mask, and Sakura has no difficulty trying to make out the word.

She blinks, though, somewhat perplexed.

Was that it?

It wasn’t the first time a customer has come in with a specific request, but it was the first time Sakura has dealt with one so vague.

“Ah, okay.” She steps down from the stool she is perched upon, crossing the room towards the refrigerated display. “Um, do you have a preference for the color? Or the amount? We offer small or large bouquets. We’re actually running a sale right now. If you purchase a full bouquet, you can get another for half th–”

“A purple hyacinth,” He cuts in before she could further explain. “Just one.”

“…Just one?” She parrots, confused.

Odd request indeed.

Against her wishes, Ino’s voice pipes up in the back of Sakura’s head, babbling on about the language of flowers.

A purple hyacinth can say many things.

‘I am sorry.’

‘Please forgive me.’

‘I am filled with sorrow.’

At his curt nod, Sakura pulls her cutting sears from the pocket of her apron and snips at a particularly robust hyacinth in the middle of the display. Pulling the flower free, she sets out to intricately wrap the floret with white wrapping paper, tying everything together with a piece of violet twine.

“Here you go,” she declares, holding the bundle out across the counter.

He takes it carefully, and Sakura becomes immediately aware that he is trying to avoid touching her as he extracts it from her grip, his free hand digging into his pants pocket.

“You total is three dollars and tw–” Sakura doesn’t get to finish her statement. In the time it takes her to punch his order into the register, he has already placed a five-dollar bill on the counter and is halfway out the door.

“Hey! Wait! You’re forgetting your change!”

He either doesn’t hear her or chooses to ignore her, because he doesn’t stop, disappearing right out into the rain.

Sakura sits back with a click of her tongue, eyes flicking between the front door and the money that has been set on the counter. She tries to chalk up the oddity of the entire experience as a one-time deal, something that happens every now and again.

The whole situation doesn’t sit well with her for the rest of the shift and remains at the forefront of her mind well into the next day. When she tells Ino about it, the blonde brushes off it off, citing that he was just a loon of a customer and they were bound to get a few of those now and again.

Despite her friend trying to placate her, Sakura still couldn’t help but wonder, just what had he done to be asking for forgiveness?

-o-

Sakura doesn’t see that strange man again for another month.

It’s raining that day also, but it is more of a sun shower than actual rainfall, a quick drizzle to combat the insufferable heat.

They still haven’t gotten the air conditioner fixed, and Ino moans about how her hair is going to frizz. Sakura doesn’t mind all that much. She likes the feel of the wind when it blows through the open door; relishes in the sights, the smells, and the sounds that it brings along with it.

That day though, Sakura’s lethargic and she cannot bring herself to enjoy much of anything.

Obito visited her earlier that afternoon, Chinese takeout in tow. They talk, exchanging as many pleasantries as two people who have lost someone very dear can. She tries her best to avoid the topic altogether, but Sakura has always been curious, and her inquisitive nature has seemed to have gotten the better of her recently.

The scar covering the right half his face is a messy and daunting reminder, and Sakura can’t help but gaze at it when Obito isn’t paying attention. Or, at least, she thought he hadn’t been paying attention. He catches her staring about halfway through their meal and brushes off her hasty attempts at an apology.

He makes some ambiguous joke about how he and his roommate – a man who she has still yet to meet –  now have matching deformed faces. Something about how they can use it in the future as a pick-up line.

Sakura tries to laugh along with him, but she knows her smile is strained and Obito’s chuckles are empty and lifeless.

They still don’t address the elephant in the room, and it’s not soon after that he takes his leave, promising to visit her sometime in the upcoming week.

Sakura is alone for about an hour, trying to distract herself with tidying up around the shop. This time, she hears him when he enters, but that is only because he nearly trips over terracotta pot she has removed from the front display while cleaning.

“Oh my god!” Sakura exclaims, scrambling to her feet. She pushes the potted plant back into its rightful place, rubbing her dirty hands along her apron, while stating, “I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

He grunts his assent, righting himself, but says nothing.

When he turns to regard her, his breath leaves him in a soft ‘whoosh,’ and there is a strange straightening of his spine. He looks shocked to see her and Sakura can accurately make that deduction because, not only is his lone charcoal eye impossibly wide as he looks at her, but this time, he has foregone the mask, mouth parted in a small, stupefied ‘o.’

“Oh,” she breathes, trying not to be enticed by his strong jawline or the mole that decorates his chin. “It’s you.”

Her comment seems to snap him out of his stupor, and he collects himself, arching one dark brow in silent question. Sakura smiles despite his self-imposed muteness and walks behind the counter.

“I was wondering if you were going to come back,” she says, opening the cash register. Sakura pulls out an envelope from one of the slots in the drawer, holding it out towards him. “You forgot your change the last time you were here.”

He takes a step closer to the countertop, eye flickering between her face and the packet in her hands. The silence that envelopes the store for the next few moments is uncomfortable, and just when Sakura thinks that he isn’t going to take the proffered package, he quickly snatches it from her grasp.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and Sakura can’t help but be distracted by the movement of his mouth, by the deep tenor of his voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The corner of Sakura’s mouth kicks up, and she brushes off his acknowledgment with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s no big deal. We don’t like to overcharge our customers here and with that being said, what can I get for you today?”

His answer is immediate. “White tulips. A dozen.” He hesitates for a second, then adds, “Please.”

Sakura nods, a small smirk playing on her lips, and ventures into the back room where they kept more extensive stock of the commonly purchased flowers.  As she’s putting together the garlands per his request, Sakura can’t help but allow her mind to wander to the meaning behind the blooms he chose.

‘White tulips are used to claim worthiness,’ Ino had said. ‘Or to send a message of forgiveness. Depends on what circumstances you’re buying them for.’

When Sakura returns to the front of the shop, the odd customer is hunched down on the opposite side of the counter, staring at the rather impressive selection of Ino’s imported sword lilies.

“What are these?” he asks, fingers pressed against the glass.

“They’re called Gladiolus. They mean strength and integrity. We got the shipment in this week, just in time for the summer season.”

He nods absentmindedly while standing, reaching into his jeans to extract his wallet. “How much for one of those, along with the rest of them?”

Sakura preens, thinking about how she is going to rub it in Ino’s face that she sold one of her precious flowers before her. It takes Sakura another minute to prepare the additional bud with soft wrappings, but when she’s finished, she places it and the other bouquet on the countertop in front of him.

Quick, deft fingers punch his order into the register and Sakura chirps, “That’ll be fourteen dollars and fifty-three cents.”

Much like their first interaction, by the time the words are out of her mouth, there is money on the counter and he is already out the door.

Unlike their last meeting, however, he leaves Sakura with a twenty-dollar bill and the exotic lily he had purchased last minute.

-o-

It’s three weeks before his next visit.

It’s not raining that day, but the sky is dark with the promise of an impending storm. Sakura is out visiting Sai and Naruto on her lunch break when he comes into the store.

Not only does she get an earful about the ‘really odd, yet totally hot’ customer from Ino when she gets back, but she also finds that he left a single, pink carnation behind.

“It was weird,” Ino states while putting together a bridal shower arraignment. “He bought almost two dozen striped carnations. That caught his eye last minute, and he insisted on buying it, only to leave it here.”

Sakura can’t help but smile for the rest of the day.

-o-

The interval between that visit and his next is extremely short; only five days.

The heavens have opened; lightning streaks across the sky and thunder reverberates throughout the store, leaving Sakura to try and drown out the resonances with soft music from Ino’s stereo.

The welcoming chime of the bell above the door signals his arrival, and as Sakura looks up, she can’t help but grin.

“Long time no see,” she greets.

He’s not looking at her, but she knows he heard her. His one eye is trained on the single, bubblegum pink carnation sitting in a vase next to the register.

“Ino said you left it here,” Sakura finds herself explaining. She doesn’t really know why. “It was already cut, and I didn’t want to see it go to waste. I figured it would be a cute decoration.”

He gives a short bob of his head, and the very corner of his mouth curls up for just a moment. It’s not a smile, it’s more like a simple twitch of movement, but it’s something, and Sakura feels her heart stutter at the sight of it.

“I’m glad it made it into the right hands, then,” he starts, finally looking up at her from under a frame of dark lashes. “Anemones, please. Just two.”

Sakura puts together his order as specified, trying to blame the rising heat in her cheeks on the fact that they still have yet to get the air conditioner repaired.  She can’t help but wonder what’s hidden underneath that strip of black cloth, about what exactly his face looks like without the obscurity.

“I also don’t have your change from last time,” she calls out as she’s wrapping the flowerets in paper that’s a shade darker than her hair. “Ino mucked up the cash one day and used it to break another customer’s bigger bill.”

He shrugs, seemingly nonplussed by the news.

They finish up their transaction quickly after that. This time he gives Sakura the exact amount of money, down to the penny and offers her a small wave as he makes his way out the door.

“See you soon,” he bids in farewell and Sakura can’t help but beam and wave after him.

-o-

He has a funny definition of ‘soon’ because Sakura doesn’t see him again for another four months.

That’s not to say he doesn’t come into the store, because he does, but summer has given way to fall, and school has started again, taking up most of Sakura’s free time and leaving her with only a handful of shifts at the shop.

Ino informs her of his appearances and proceeds to make fun of Sakura as her eyes light up with the new information. He sometimes leaves her a flower, sometimes he forgets his change, and sometimes he does neither, but his visits never cease.

Sakura brushes off Ino’s teasing, citing that it is not a crush. She does not have a crush on a customer. It is intrigue. Despite his noticeably handsome looks, Sakura is more interested in the mystery behind that mask. Ino doesn’t believe her.

Sakura tries to think up different scenarios in her head, formulating a plan to ask him for his name in the least creepy way possible. Ino joins her in plotting, only because he has yet to use a credit card, and the fair-haired woman is damn curious herself. They giggle maniacally as they come up with different ideas, and for the first time in a long while, Sakura finds herself looking forward to something.

When she finally does see him again, though, Sakura is in a horrid mood and asking for his name is the furthest thing from her mind.

Obito called a few minutes prior wanting to discuss a few things about Rin. They had gotten better at talking. More specifically, they had gotten better at talking about her. Obito stopped looking like he about to burst into tears at the mention of Rin’s name, and Sakura, well, she felt a little less hollow.

The friendly formalities didn’t last long because Obito informed her that he wanted to come to the apartment and clean out some of Rin’s things; keep some for himself, put some in storage, and throw out whatever was left.

Sakura vehemently refused.

‘Damn it, Sakura! It’s been months!’ he yells in her ear. ‘I don’t know who is worse, you or Kakashi! I miss her too but clinging to all of her stuff like this is toxic. She’s gone, and as much as it kills me to say it, she is never coming back. We need to get rid of some of it. We need to move on.’

If Obito really missed Rin, he wouldn’t be throwing out her belongings. Sakura tells him as much.

That seems to do the trick because his tone is much quieter when he addresses her again.

‘We’ve been going to grief counseling, Kakashi and I. The therapist says that doing this is a step in the right direction. That things will get better. I…,’ His voice cracks on the other end of the phone. ‘I need to get better. It fucking hurts, and I’m tired of it. You and Kakashi need to stop blaming yourselves. It’s nobody's fault; it was an accident. And we all need to try and move on. I’m doing this, with or without you there.’

Because she is sick of being compared to and roped together with a man she has never met.

Because she doesn’t want to think about how that night was her idea and they would have never gotten into the car if she wasn’t so insistent on them picking her up.

Because she feels physically ill due to their discussion.

And just because she is fucking pissed off that Obito is dropping this on her out of the blue, Sakura hangs up on him.

Obito tries to call her back twice. She lets both calls ring until her voicemail kicks in. He doesn’t try to call her a third time.

Sakura doesn’t turn towards the door when she hears it open, nor does she grant the new customer any attention when she feels their presence draw near the counter.

It is one of the rare occasions that she and Ino are working the same shift, and her best friend – bless her big, goofy heart – heard the entire argument and knew that Sakura is nowhere near capable of talking to anyone at that moment. She interjects with, “Welcome to Yamanaka Flowers. What can I get for you today?”

“Sunflowers,” a very familiar voice demands.

Ino must not have been paying all that much attention to who walked in either, because there is a long, drawn-out silence followed by a sudden shift as Ino scrambles to stand from her stool.

“Hello again,” Sakura hears Ino comment. It sounds more like an excited purr. Ino is laying it on too thick, but Sakura can tell that she is just excited by the prospect of finally getting his name. “Do you want a bouquet or just a specific amount like two or three?”

“I don’t care,” he snaps impatiently. “Just…just give me whatever you can…please.”

The ‘please’ is a last-minute addition that is used to try and take the edge off of his command, but it doesn’t work. Sakura can feel Ino’s irritation from where she is sitting, and when she finally drags her eyes towards the register, the mysterious customer and Ino are glaring each other down.

His expression is thunderous, but Ino’s irritated scowl gives him a run for his money. The young Yamanaka tosses the bundle of flowers on the countertop unceremoniously, uncaring about her lack of social propriety.

He doesn’t even ask for a total, slapping money on the counter without any concern to if it is over or under the correct amount. He takes a step back, quickly glancing in Sakura’s direction before pausing. His gaze feels piercing, like it’s picking her apart from the inside out and looking into her very soul. It carries far too much weight, too much pain and anguish, and it makes Sakura want to squirm in her seat.

In a flurry of movement that neither she nor Ino could follow, he rips one of the sunflowers from its intricate packaging, tosses it onto the counter and turns to the exit, slamming the door as he leaves.

For the next twenty minutes, Sakura half-heartedly listens to Ino gripe and groan about the entire ordeal.

“What a dick,” Ino seethes. “I don’t care if he was in a bad mood, he didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

Sakura hums her agreement, staring at the sunflower in her grasp. She runs her fingers along the stem gently, plucking a single, loose petal free and twirling it between her fingers

The meaning behind them hits her suddenly, like a punch to the gut.

“Loyalty…,” she mumbles under her breath. Her visions blurs as she sighs dejectedly, “…Rin…”

Ino stops, mid-rant, casting Sakura a confused glance. The blonde’s befuddled expression doesn’t last long, her face contorting into a worried frown almost immediately.

“Forehead,” Ino starts, cautiously. “Are you alright?”

It’s only then that Sakura realizes that she’s crying.

-o-

She doesn’t see him again after that and Sakura tries not to dwell on it.

Instead, she throws herself into her work, school, and friends. Focusing all of her attention on bettering herself; on growing, on learning, and on healing. At first, she does it as more of an avoidance tactic, but after an extended visit to Rin’s grave, Sakura comes to terms with the fact that she genuinely isn’t coping as well as she thought.

Something needs to change.

She needs to change.

So, when Obito comes by her apartment later that week to clean out Rin’s things, she joins him.

They spend the better part of the next two days going through all of Rin’s stuff, laughing and crying and reminiscing as they poke and prod through different shelves, piles, and drawers.

After it’s all over, Obito hugs her; a bone-crushing embrace that expresses his sadness and relief and a whole other maelstrom of emotions that Sakura cannot bring herself to try and grasp.

“We’ll be alright,” she hums in his ear, trying to fight off the pinprick of tears in her eyes. He pulls her even closer as she repeats, “We’ll be alright.”

They would be.

-o-

“Are you sure you’re okay with us coming with you?” Naruto asks for the third time that day.

Before Sakura can soothe her friend’s fears, Sasuke answers for her, “Yes, Dobe. Stop asking. Her answer hasn’t changed in the last ten minutes, or are you hard of hearing?”

Naruto shoots Sasuke a dark look but doesn’t rise to the taunt. He instead focuses his attention on the arrangement of daisies in his hand.

“This bouquet is really pretty Sakura-chan,” he compliments with a board grin. “I’m sure Rin would love it.”

“Me too,” Sakura chirps with a smile. She skips on ahead of them, slipping through the iron gates of the cemetery with relative ease.

It’s officially been a year since Rin’s passing and, though, most days it’s still a difficult thing to think about, the wound is no longer fresh. It’s more of a dull ache rather than a festering, scalding burn and Sakura is finding it easier to address openly.

She and Obito have been in contact with one another quite frequently, but her new admission into medical school and his demanding family obligations keep them from meeting as often as they would prefer. That doesn’t stop him from checking in on her at least once a week, and it also helps that he bullied Sasuke and Naruto into looking after her. As smothering as all three of them can sometimes be, Sakura is still warmed by the gesture.

“Will you stop bouncing around?” Sasuke says. “You’re going to give me a headache.”

Sakura sticks her tongue out at him. “I’m excited,” she clarifies. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to visit Rin. Plus, Obito said he is going to meet us there. I haven’t seen him in ages!”

“Leave her alone, Teme. We’re Sakura-chan’s guest today, so lighten up!”

Sasuke grumbles something under his breath that neither of them can catch but says nothing to refute Naruto’s reprimand.

They travel the rest of the way in companionable silence, and it’s not long before the trio is wandering down a familiar isle of gravestones. At the end of the row, standing in front of a large memorial, are two men.

Whatever Obito’s cheerful salutation is, it falls on deaf ears as Sakura attention is honed in on the male standing next to him.

He appears the same; the same hairstyle, same odd, yet seemingly comfortable fashion sense. But, he doesn’t look as tired.

He looks more firm, solid, like he dealt with whatever had been weighing him down.

He also had foregone his usual facial coverings, and for the first time since she met him all those months ago, Sakura gets a full view of his face. He is just as tragically beautiful as she expected him to be, even more so with the large scar dissecting his left eye.  

Obito catches her gaping and chuckles. “I forgot you two still haven’t met. Kakashi, this is Sakura. Sakura this is my best friend slash roomie Kakashi.”

“It’s good to see you again,” her mysterious customer – Kakashi – greets, hand extended.

Sakura smiles, enveloping his outstretched hand with her own. “Likewise.”

The three other men in the crowd blink, casting them varying speculative glances.

Their handshake extends past what could be considered socially acceptable and when he finally pulls away, Kakashi seems hesitant about letting Sakura go, fingers skimming the inside of her palm.

Sakura is sure that Sasuke catches the caress, and is almost positive that Obito does too, because both of their eyes narrow fractionally.

Naruto, ever the bravely uncloth, inquires, “Wait…You two already know each other already?”

-o-

“Did you know?” She asks him sometime later.

After their visit to Rin’s grave is concluded, Naruto suggested grabbing a bite to eat, which everyone, except for Sasuke, readily agreed to.

Kakashi turns to address her, shaking his head. “Not at first,” he says. “Obito came across a picture of you two when he was boxing up some of Rin’s stuff at our apartment. He showed me, but I didn’t put two and two together until after I came to the shop for the second time. Not many girls in Konoha have naturally pink hair.”

Sakura blushes, fingering a wayward cherry strand as she nods slowly. There’s a short pause and then she queries, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer immediately and glances away from her, choosing to instead focus his attention on Obito and Naruto, both of whom were trying to see who could finish their bowl of ramen first. Sasuke watched on with an expression of muted horror.

“I didn’t think it was proper,” Kakashi eventually comments. “I was going through some stuff. We were all going through some stuff. Given the circumstances that they were trying to get us to meet originally, it really didn’t seem right for me to push that on you suddenly.”

It was now Sakura’s turn to be quiet as she processed the new information she was given. Kakashi didn’t seem to mind her silence, focusing on finishing off his meal while she mulled over his words.

“I think you’re right,” she starts a few minutes later. “I wouldn’t have handled it well, not with everything going on since the accident.”

Sakura stops to release a deep breath before continuing. “But, I’d like to think that I’m in a better place now and that’s thanks to things I’ve learned from Obito, from Rin, from you. And I’m not…not sure how’d you feel about it, but maybe…would you maybe want to get coffee sometime?”

Before he can respond to her question, the following words are out of her mouth in a jumbled rush, “It doesn’t have to be anything like that. It just would be nice, you know? To talk and stuff…to get to know someone who was important to Rin.”

He gives her a lazy smile; it’s fuller, bigger than the one that made her heart skip a beat that day in the store.

It steals her breath away.

“I’d like that.”

#KakaSakuMonth2018 #KakaSakuMonth #Week1Day1 #KakaSaku #ObiRin #Kakashi Hatake #Sakura Haruno #Obito Uchiha #Rin Nohara #Kakashi x Sakura #Obito x Rin #Flower Shop AU #Modern Setting #Sakura #Kakashi #Naruto #Sasuke #Romance #Slice of Life #Light Angst #My Fanfiction #my OTP #the otp of all otps #Romantic Fiction #Obito #Rin #Language of Flowers #Growth #Coping #Nera Writes

[acousticloveruk]

It Is What It Is 

Storyboard 

Written by: Isaiah E. January 

Are You with Me  

 Sitting in his manor; throned with a crown on head, he is the ruler of an uninhabited kingdom. Pondering this significance, he swirls his sherry clockwise in a gemmed golden grail just before taking a sip. Now heavily influenced & daunted by thoughts of being ever-alone, he begins to question the existence of his Kingdom and if it were there or merely an unrequited dream.   

  Dream Girl   

 Laying in his royal chambers beside a fair Lady; Isaiah is resting. The ambience still, where the sunshine cast a silhouette through closed white linen curtains. Whilst slumbering he hears a smidgen of restlessness as nine soft pitters sounded on the wooden floor; she had awoken. Suddenly a warm and radiant light caresses his face as a song then breezes its way into his ear. He promptly rises and discerns the Lady pining at the sights of taking on such a beautiful day.   

 Don’t Go  

 After a whirlwind romance and night of divine passion Isaiah begins to contemplate confessions of his undying affection for Lady. She; fixated on the uncertainties of their love’s endeavors, continues an ambiguous wide-eyed stare out the open window of the royal chambers. Her heartbeat synced with each footstep he took as he made his approach and gathered the thoughts of a proposal. Just before his legs reached the frill of her gown which gently fluttered about the breeze Lady abruptly spoke of her dues to the Earth before such arrangements could be made.    

 Red Roses 

Taken back by Lady’s words Isaiah is understanding of her disposition and excuses himself. Making his way through the courtyard onward past the rockery & into the garden he sees his Mother tending to the roses. “Give her one for your love, or perhaps a dozen if you’re keen.” Mother smiled and handed her son a red rose. “Remember the floret shields the bud; ‘til it blossoms will each petal rest beside it, hm?” Lady finishes watching from the window as she then gathers herself to journey out to what’s rumored as the city.   

2 / 6

  What You Need   

Arriving in the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles Lady is awestricken by how the buildings put the depths of the skies into perspective. “City of Angels”, she says as she exits the downtown Union Station. She sets off to explore the city, stopping briefly to ask passerby’s directions. Suddenly she hears a melody; it’s faint yet define enough to follow. Reaching the source of the music a gentleman is center stage playing an acoustic guitar.   

Traveling Man (Pt.1)   

 “I was sitting in my chair, without a worry without a care oh where I wasn’t really there, but I found you staring at me from across the room.” Intrigued by the words that are being soulfully spoken over a rhythmic groove Lady approaches the stage and sits at a table that seemingly was just for her. Entranced by the performance, each song resonated with her travels; depicting her journey as she began to ponder why it was she had come. She knew there had to be some connection between the two of them and so she listened whilst waiting for an opportune moment to speak to the Artist. After a spectacular encore, the unknown artist thanked the audience and slipped backstage where Lady promptly followed. "Took you long enough, if it's an autograph you're after best have a pen ready", his words echoed. The air smelled of marijuana, alcohol, and as she entered she noticed two girls fondling each other on the love-seat. Lady tensed up and immediately began to regret making such a spontaneous decision. "Are you with me or what?" He turned and noticed her expression. "I'm assuming you've never been backstage before, he smiled slyly as he approached her, "My name is Izzy."   

Traveling Man (Pt.2)   

 Rock & roll music played in the background as Izzy extended his hand towards the young woman. "C'mon it's an American custom. Took me only a week to understand this place and it's done with a hand shake", he said with a dubiously charming grin. Reluctant Lady reached out and took Izzy's hand. It's grip decisive, warm, firm, and seemed to answer just about every question she was ready to ask. “This culture and its class is a smidgen forward wouldn’t you say?” Lady gawked over at the two women completely naked on the sofa in their own lustful purgatory of passion. “American custom.” Lady gave an intensely sharp look to Izzy. Taking a moment to breath in the ambiance of the room he understood what that look implied. “This place, it is for lucid living. Seems that the desires of the heart & mind do not coincide with one another, it’s one or the other. The girls were here when I arrived. The owner of the bar hardly gave me a day’s pay and feels as though his spirits are sufficient compensation.” Izzy reached behind his ear; swiftly pulling out a joint and sparking it as he gave it four puffs and exhaled in acquiescence. “This is my only piece of this world. I am merely a traveling man.”  

3 / 6

Who’s to Say 

Taken back by his words Lady stood in contemplative thought. “Not some egotistical hotshot? A traveller? You’re serious?” Lady began to pry. “You seem disappointed”, Izzy chuckled lightly. “Wrapped up in the starlight and being cheered on? Sure! It’s a great time, and is certainly an unbelievable thrill. The other half is the silence after the applause. You’ve given them pieces of you, and the quintessential essence of its construct is interpreted by each listener individually.  

We’ve got to live with that. The thought that someone has consolidated about our existence.” Lady stood, awestricken. “There’s so much to say, but I find that when it comes to how I feel words only get in the way.” Izzy gazed sincerely at Lady who blinked a few times just before saying, “Who’s to say you won’t leave that all behind? Perhaps it’s not what seems fair but remember that the sun is shining through what you may consider closed blinds. Give it a moment. For what it’s worth I found your performance to had been wonderful! I had so many questions, and now as we’re standing here I don’t know exactly how to describe the feeling but I understand you. Mr. Traveling man.” She smiled politely and placed her hand on his shoulder.    

It Is What It Is  

Formalities have been exchanged. Izzy began to load up his gear in his vehicle. “Do you need help with your instrument?” Lady was fairly familiar with an array of musical means, and to have seen an acoustic performance live in the city of Los Angeles she became intrigued for what adventure awaited. “Yeah! Go ahead and head backstage into the venue my guitar is just to the right of the love-seat in a hard-shell casing.” She gave an assuring nod.   

As the two of them who were once unacquainted drove off leaving the venue full & well understanding one another Lady mentions her travel and how her life has been strictly circumstantial.  

Not keen on the idea of grand-orchestration but that there being a generator of divinity; all life and purpose belonged to it and that significance was equivalent to itself. Izzy enjoyed a good conversation. Didn’t matter what so long as whomever was speaking had pieced together their thoughts and either acquiesced with a question or left enough wiggle room for commentary. “So you’re saying your life is what it is?” Pondering the bulk of Lady’s bittersweet disposition Izzy did his best to fathom just how her journey came about. There was so much he wanted to wrap his head around wholeheartedly as to conjure up inspiration and draw from its creative depth.  

4 / 6

Simplicity 

 “Simple is as simple does I suppose.” Izzy always had this way of ending his sentences on a philosophical note. Whether or not the individual truly grasps the wisdom or intended purpose wasn’t exactly anything he paid much nevermind to nor was it intentional. “What does that even mean? You’re always so deep with your words.” Even for Lady, who realms apart had an infinite amount of wisdom bestowed to her couldn’t quite figure out Izzy’s angle or if he even had one for that matter.  

Tension and release; a childish indulgence of tug of war with no true understanding of the objective or what it meant to win is just how the relationship began to shape itself. Neither of the two wanted to make sense of what it meant, just that so long as they continued to talk the world was balanced and all was right, and to be touring about Los Angeles they both seem to agree that nothing about the city was simple.  

The Depths of You  

Having made idle chit-chat throughout the duration of the drive from Downtown Los Angeles Izzy has set out for more booking. Being accompanied by such a fair lady was more than ideal it was fate. At least that is what the both of them continued to believe given the charismatic chemistry between them. “I haven’t a moment to waste, and having to travel about especially now that you’re here, I must assure these performances.  

Having them in the books is top priority.” Izzy let out a sighed laugh followed by a woolly smile. He knew that though his mind was dedicated to his career that his heart was yearning to beat alongside another. The more he had listened to Lady go on about where she was from and her dedication to preserving the Earth, or at least saving the men who had inherited miscellaneously meaningless task to control its population, etc. He knew she was his muse; A fathomless depth of universal truth.   

Not Today 

After speaking with many of venues around and about the Greater Los Angeles area the dynamic duo has spent countless hours expounding on Izzy’s performance catalogue. “Ever hear of a place called Hollywood Bowl?” A puzzled expression crossed Lady’s face. “I’ve heard what’s rumored as the city of Los Angeles and plenty tales of its rags to riches. Hollywood Bowl, it’s used as a symphony hall, right?” Izzy gave a quiet nod. “That’s where we are headed next.” A determined smile; pensive and sure of his place on such a grand stage he looked to Lady as the car whizzed about the eased traffic. Just as they arrived there was a conversation taking place at the ticket counter and from the sounds of it a fairly serious one. 

5 / 6

“My orchestra is paid up upfront. This is non-negotiable! You’ve gotten us all the way out here and expect these musicians to give their pieces for your entitled bowl? They’ll live with the thought of what your audience has made of this performance. You’d be fortunate that you’re paying us and not the lot of them individually!” A stillness gripped the proximity as this gentleman had gotten the last word in, & not only was its tone resonant it was a parallel of the way he had phrased how he’d felt when the thought of a performance crossed his mind. There weren’t many people who truly understood the essence of music and how it constructs itself as composition.  

Lady continued watching diligently for the slightest chance of this encounter being a confrontational matter. That and if talking to management about booking 

at this time would be in Izzy’s best interest. “Perhaps another time would be best?” She gave a lean in towards Izzy as her eyes nervously had shift toward the parking lot suggesting to head back to the car. “Perhaps. .” Izzy agreed, but couldn’t bring himself to leave without an inquire as to who this gentleman is. A conductor? 

 Tomorrow It Gets Better 

Lady’s demeanor had a subtle shift, as the unknown virtuoso and the presumed concert hall management continued their conversation in what now was a speak-easy decibel level. Izzy continued to tune into the conversation; making out just about every other word. He was certain that this well composed man was in fact the conductor of an orchestra. What orchestra was the following question that crossed his mind, and next when would the ensemble be performing. “Aren’t you the least bit intrigued by this happenstance?