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chaoticm0therfvcker · 1 month

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Arrogant Whelp (CRK modern AU)

Tags: modern au, purecacao fluff and angst, my oc, clotted cream being a dick, lots of swearing, my oc beats up clotted cream but there isn’t a ton of gore

Summary: a modern take on the big reveal from cookie odyssey, taking place in Caffeines bar.

It was just after sundown, and Dark Cacao, Hollyberry, and Pure Vanilla were hanging out in Caffeine’s bar, Night and Day Cafe. It was a coffee shop by day, and a bar at night, and the three found themselves there often. Cacao would often get himself a coffee before work and pick up a tea for Vanilla, and Hollyberry had spent countless nights there drinking “berry juice” and talking with Caffeine about their current adventures. Unfortunately, despite being close friends, it had been forever since they had been able to hang out together just the three of them. They would have invited White Lily and Golden Cheese as well, but Lily was still recovering from her several year long coma and Golden decided that with a little kid in the house, it would be best that they do something during the day so she could introduce the gang to Fettuccine. So here they were, Hollyberry having her usual drink while Dark Cacao and Pure Vanilla treated themselves to cocktails they didn’t drink very often. They were chatting, catching up on major life events, joking around about the relationship between Crunchy Chip and Wildberry, and even getting Caffeine involved in the conversation whenever the topic switched to travel plans or some sort of crazy event they felt she would be interested in. And of course, Cacao and Vanilla teasing her slightly whenever she got flustered from Hollyberry’s responses.

Then, as any lovely outing among friends would face, it was ruined by a rather arrogant eavesdropper, more specifically, a regular at Night and Day that Caffeine did not get good vibes from.

His name was Clotted Cream.

“Well, hello there,” he started, glancing at the three from across the bar while swirling his drink, “fancy seeing you here.”

Dark Cacao stifled a groan. He knew Clotted Cream, as well as just how annoying he was. He would constantly try to get between Vanilla and Cacao, making comments on their parenting skills, trying to reveal lies (even though they were almost always just surprise anniversary gifts), and even outing Vanilla as bisexual to Dark Cacao, as if he didn’t already know that. He was constantly trying to get between them, get under their skin, do whatever he could to trigger any sort of drama for his own personal entertainment. He didn’t even have a crush on one of them, although he did try fake confessing to Pure Vanilla a few times. He just enjoyed the drama, and seemed so defeated every time his stupid tactics didn’t work. It was pathetic, really, and even Caffeine had jumped in and shut him up a few times. However, this time he took it too far.

“What do you want, Clotted?” Pure Vanilla asked, “my husband knows I’m bisexual, he knows I don’t love you, he knows that Dark Choco’s angsty teenager phase took a really dark turn, and we both know that we have surprise anniversary gifts for each other that we would like to stay a surprise.”

“It’s almost funny how desperate you are to cause problems between them,” Hollyberry chimed in, “I mean, it’s pathetic, but it’s practically turned into a game where we make bets to see what bullshit you’re going to be trying this time.”

“Oh, I know my last few plans were a bit… unsound, but this time, I actually have no intention of hurting you, just… warning you of something I feel you deserve to know.” He turned to Caffeine, “Does she have to stay here? This is really something that should only be shared among friends.”

“I can stay,” Caffeine replied, “I mean, they come here often enough that I view them as friends, and they include me in their conversations enough, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me listening in. But that’s up to them.”

“She can stay.” Dark Cacao grumbled through gritted teeth, “what are you ‘warning us of’ this time?”

Clotted Cream smirked. “I’m so glad you’re willing to hear me out, because it’s regarding some people rather… close to you. You know that gang that your eldest was part of? The cookies of darkness?”

“Of course,” Pure Vanilla replied, “but he left months ago! We’ve since been reunited and have been living very nicely together, thank you very much.”

“That’s not the point, but I’m glad you know who I am talking about.” Clotted glanced at Dark Cacao, “Although, you wouldn’t happen to know who runs that whole operation, would you?”

“It was Red Velvet’s mother, whoever that is.” Pure Vanilla replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Vanilla.” Clotted snapped, “Dark Cacao, you wouldn’t happen to know the true identity of Red Velvet’s mother, would you?”

“No, I don’t, none of us do,” Cacao replied, glancing around at his friends, “we have a detective looking into it, but as of now we don’t know much.”

Clotted Cream snickered. “Well, what if I were to tell you that I know who it is? As well as the fact that one of your dear ‘friends’ here knows the truth as well?”

“What are you getting at?” Cacao grumbled.

“What I’m getting at, is that the person behind the whole operation, Red Velvet’s mother, the one who took your eldest son away from you and turned him into a monster, is none other than White Lily, also known as Dark Enchantress!” He announced.

Tears started to well in Pure Vanilla’s eyes. “No…” he whimpered, “no, no, no…”

“And, if that wasn’t already enough of a betrayal,” Clotted Cream added, “your darling husband here, Pure Vanilla, has known the truth all along and has been lying to you for months! I’m sure if you ask him he’ll make some excuse that he ‘didn’t wanna hurt your feelings’ but no matter what excuses he makes to try and defend himself, he’s still the monster that just wants to defend his childhood best friend.”

At the sight of Pure Vanilla’s now sobbing state, Dark Cacao saw red, and he attempted to lunge at Clotted Cream.

Seeing Dark Cacao ready to attack, Hollyberry wrapped her arms around him from behind, restraining him before he could do any damage to himself or Clotted Cream.

“Let go of me!” He bellowed, clawing at the air and trying to fight out of Hollyberry’s grasp, “I will end that arrogant whelp!”

“Dark Cacao, come to your senses! This won’t help anything!” Hollyberry replied, tightening her grip.

To Clotted Creams demise, while Dark Cacao was restrained, Caffeine was not, and she took this as the perfect opportunity to punch him square in the nose, causing him to fall out of his chair and slide across the floor quite a bit. Exiting her station behind the counter, she stomped over to Clotted Cream and stepped on his chest, firmly holding him in place.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” She yelled, “all they’re trying to do is have a nice family outing, and you have to come and ruin it all, like the pathetic little dipshit that you are! The White Lily that you claim is Dark Enchantress has been in a coma for years! And even if it was true that Pure Vanilla knew all this and didn’t tell anyone about it, has it ever occurred to you that maybe he’s still grieving the loss of his friend? That maybe the reason he hasn’t told anyone is because he’s still processing it and doesn’t know how to properly say it? No matter what the goddamn situation is, that gives you no right to barge in here like some hotshot celebrity and ruin everyone’s night! That was personal information that you just revealed, and if you know as much about this as you’re letting on, I could easily call the police and claim that you’re withholding evidence! Wouldn’t that just be fucking wonderful for everyone, you behind bars being interrogated while everyone just goes on their merry way and enjoys their peaceful lives!”

“I’m sorry!” Clotted yelled back, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “I just thought they deserved to know before the real villain of this story ruins everyone’s night for real!”

Caffeine chuckled darkly. “Oh, it’s too late for bullshit apologies. You’re the villain in this story, not White Lily. Now get the hell out, and never. Come. Back.”

Caffeine released him from underneath her boot, and he was quick to run out of the bar. She then turned to her friends, who were now sitting quietly.

Hollyberry had let go of Dark Cacao, who was now sitting in his chair, trying to contain his anger while Pure Vanilla quietly sobbed into Cacao’s shoulder. Caffeine returned behind the counter.

“I’m really sorry about that guys,” she apologized, “I should’ve banned him a long time ago, you guys didn’t deserve to have to deal with that.”

“It’s okay, Caff, Hollyberry replied, “trust me, it was bound to happen eventually. I’m just glad it happened here where you’re the only one who witnessed it. You could’ve lightened up on the aggression though.”

“Well, he needed to be put in his place.” Caffeine then turned to Pure Vanilla, “Are you okay? Was any of that stuff he said true? You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re uncomfortable.”

Vanilla sniffled and nodded. “I’m okay, and what he said was true- sort of. After Almond started looking into the case, I started doing my own research as well. From what I’ve gathered, White Lily and Dark Enchantress are sisters, and while White Lily was in a coma, Dark Enchantress stole her identity to try and stay hidden from the police. I’ve given what information I gathered to Almond, though it’s not much. I’m sorry for not telling you guys, I just didn’t know how to.”

Neither of them replied, and Dark Cacao started to get up from his chair to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?” Vanilla asked, “I promise you, I never intended to hurt you, and I wanted to tell you everything!”

Cacao smiled weakly and pressed a soft kiss to Vanilla’s lips. “You did nothing wrong, love. I know you would never hurt any of us, I just need to cool off right now. I’ll see you at home.”

Dark Cacao walked out, and after a couple of minutes, Pure Vanilla left as well, leaving some cash on the counter to pay their tab. Only Hollyberry and Caffeine were left now.

“Do you want a refill?” Caffeine asked.

Hollyberry handed Caffeine her glass and nodded. “Yes please.”

“Coming right up.”

Taglist: @janayuga @c00kietin @katsunemillennium @trustymikh

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookie run oc #crk modern au #hollyberry cookie #dark cacao cookie #purecacao angst #purecacao #pure vanilla cookie #clotted cream cookie #cookie odyssey #white lily cookie #dark enchantress cookie

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theworldinclines · 3 years

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Title: someone here loves you Pairing: Mork and Pi, Mork and Mueang Nan Summary: Pre-series into episode 1 character speculation Ao3 link

Mork likes to think that he’s got a skill in reading people. His talents prove handy in pretty much any situation Mork could find himself in, and after years of relationships avoided that Mork could tell would’ve ended on an unfortunate note (romantic or otherwise), he fancies his skills sharper than most others’. Thanks to him, his younger sister had turned down the date of a boy in her class who’d later ended up trying to steal goods from a local shop; and he’d successfully coached one of his old high school friends on how to end a friendship that he wasn’t happy in. So yes, Mork’s fairly confident.

On the other side of that, whether it be metaphorical or literal, Mork doesn’t like to be under a spotlight. He prefers to be the guy on the sidelines cheering on his friend rather than having to be the poor sucker bombarded by obsessive fans. Mork, in his time as Mueang Nan’s closest friend, has come to see that this isn’t an exaggeration. Mork rarely uploads content on social media, Mueang Nan posts at least one update per day. Mork’s account is private and although he has a lot of followers, he hasn’t reciprocated in kind. Mueang Nan is public and his posts always receive at least 200 comments from strangers, while Mork will get 50 from people he’s spoken to in person.

He doesn’t fault Mueang Nan at all; he grew up in a remote northern village where he hadn’t had a mobile, barely a television, so for Mueang Nan to enjoy social media to the extent he does is totally fair. Even if he hadn’t grown up the way he did, Mork wouldn’t fault Mueang Nan for something as small as liking Instagram or Facebook.

It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day, because his well-honed talent has already told Mork that Mueang Nan is a genuinely good guy. Out of anyone, Ai’Nan actually deserves to be as well-liked as he is, and on Mork’s end he’s content to live on the blurred edges of relative obscurity than be made daily the center of a stampede. He’ll leave Mueang Nan to pseudo-celebrity life and remain virtually invisible by his side. That’s ideal, really.

But a boy nudges his glasses further up his nose, tugging red-bitten lips between his bracketed teeth in a bout of nerves, and within a moment, the fellow first-year knows that if no one else ever knew who Mork was here or anywhere, he’d want this boy to know.

It’s orientation, as cliché as that may be, where Mork first sees Pi. As a fellow first year, Mork hasn’t met Mueang Nan or really anyone that he’d feel inclined to befriend, and so catching sight of Pi in the crowd of anxious freshers lands a hit square into Mork’s chest. He can’t see his name-tag, blocked in as he is by other students, but to see him here in the sciences is proof enough that they’ll at least share one or two classes.

And Mork is so happy to be correct. The dentistry student’s name is Pattawee, commonly Pi, and he’s nothing like any crush Mork’s ever had before. He often spots Pi in conversation with another boy, occasions which generally end in elbows thrown into each other’s chests or Pi dragged down into a headlock. Pi’s raucous laughter imprints upon Mork’s thoughts to prompt unbidden smiles from him, and Mork can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed. The boys are obviously nothing more than friends, so Mork wants to hold onto the hope that Pi is single. He keeps a consistent eye on him both in class and out, and never has he seen Pi spend time with anyone else on campus. Whether or not Mork will ever stop being a loser and talk to him before he is taken by someone else remains to be seen.

Well, they have spoken, per se, though not at any great length. Pi favours the back row in lectures, Mork always sits nearer to the front; and half the time, Pi packs his bag in record speed and is darting from the room before Mork has even closed his notebook. All this adds up to the unfortunate fact that opportunities for Mork to ‘coincidentally’ run into Pi are pretty much nill. The one time he’d managed to run into Pi had been unfortunately literal.

Mork had been glancing at his phone for the time and it was enough of a distraction that he’d stepped out into the hallway and directly onto Pi’s ankles. To Mork’s credit, Pi had paused in front of the door to adjust a stubborn zipper on his backpack and directly blocked Mork’s path (a miracle if Mork’s ever seen one). Rather than the usual meet-cute a romantic might expect, Pi had spun on Mork with an affronted air and hissed, “You can’t see me here?”

“You’re in the middle of the doorway!” Mork had pointed out, his mouth moving faster than his brain. Pi snorted and spun away with a glare as though Mork was the problem here, and there ended Mork’s first and thus far last conversation with his crush. That was four months ago in February.

By the week following Valentine’s Day, Mork begins to suspect that Pi is plotting his murder, as everywhere Mork goes, Pi appears as well. Only at the beginning of this month, Pi’s behaviour would’ve thrilled Mork. But now he recognises Pi’s comments on Mueang Nan’s Instagram, and he can see that Pi’s giddy attention slides right past Mork to Mueang Nan. If he deigns Mork with a look, it’s one of disdain and annoyance, at best. Mork doesn’t have to be a genius people-reader to know that his crush… is crushing on his closest friend.

Mueang Nan doesn’t know, of course. He assumes everyone is just incredibly friendly, so any special treatment he receives tends to go over his head. Pi’s also never spoken to Mueang Nan in real life, likely similar to Mork’s own inability due to general nerves. It’s sort of surprising to Mork, considering Pi doesn’t come across as someone afraid of anything or wont to give in to anyone’s demands. But for as much as he trails after Mueang Nan (and by extension, Mork), Pi hasn’t yet said a word, and neither has Mork about his true feelings.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Mork is just entering the building for a morning class when he hears murmuring from a nearby hallway. He pauses in his steps to look and —

“It doesn’t sound sincere,” Pi complains to himself. “Nan, I know you like choux cream desserts…” The dentistry student is stood there with a box in his hands and talking to the wall. Mork would say that’s the strangest thing he’s seen Pi do, but that’d be a lie.

Their last spoken interaction hadn’t been the greatest and, since then, Pi’s only ever shot daggers via sneer Mork’s way, his certainty that Mork wants to ‘steal’ Mueang Nan of no help on that end. Maybe choosing to sit back silently isn’t helping either. If Pi already dislikes him so vehemently, what’s a little teasing going to hurt?

“I know you like them,” he says near Pi’s ear, “so I stole some for you.”

Mork comes to find within moments that it can go very badly, actually. He ends up alone in the hallway, his handkerchief covered in clotted dessert cream, and asking why luck has screwed him once again. (Probably his attempt at a joke is what screwed him, but he’s going to ignore that for now.)

Pi is insistent that Mork is out to get him, so convinced as he is that Mork’s goal in life is to destroy Pi’s, but Mork knows he can’t let this go. Pi is already thoroughly blinded himself against Mork to the extent that there’s really no way Mork could tell him the truth and be taken with sincerity. Anything he says is seen as a dig, so how can Mork help if Pi doesn’t trust him? He isn’t about to out his best friend, but Mueang Nan isn’t interested in dating or anything of the sort. He’s always kind to Pi because that’s who he is, and he’s never one to decline a new friend, but… this won’t have the happy ending Pi has been hoping for.

If Pi continues down this road, Mork knows he’s only going to be hurt and disappointed until the day he’s honest with Mueang Nan and met with the truth of why. And if Pi’s going to be hurt, which Mork would never want, maybe he can put in some effort to… redirect his affection? It’s sort of self-serving, but Mork will say instead that he’s baking two pies with one oven: make Pi like him and thereby willingly move on from Mueang Nan, never having to be hurt at all.

He recalls Pi’s doe-eyed gaze behind his glasses that morning and thinks that maybe there’s a chance. Once he really knows Mork, maybe he’ll be swayed. Maybe.

Mork has to give thanks to Mueang Nan’s obsession with posting status updates because tonight’s brings about another miracle: Pi comes to the club. Mork knows he’s there for Mueang Nan, but if he intercepts him on the way in, who’s going to call him on that?

He hangs back for a moment as the bouncer gives Pi a quirked, disinterested eyebrow. He can’t blame him entirely when Pi’s wearing his shirt tucked in with worn-out sneakers, but as always, Mork finds Pi’s authentic personality charming. He throws an arm over Pi and revels in the feeling of his classmate brushing his waist, again when he pivots Pi away from an oncoming tray of drinks. And there again are Pi’s wide eyes on him, making Mork almost forget that they’re in a hallway that smells mostly of stale smoke and strangers.

He takes pictures of Mueang Nan and Pi to be helpful and show the latter that he is in support of, not against, Pi’s crush, because that’s the truth even if it isn’t the whole truth. He stands beside Pi at the table; one, because he wants to and two, as further proof that he isn’t the one here with a crush on Mueang Nan. Mork thinks that it’s going perfectly fine until Pi shoots him a look full to the brim with something too close to dejected for Mork’s liking before fleeing the scene.

He finds Pi in a pile of garbage beside the dumpster, and his heart jumps where it hides behind his ribs. How the hell had this happened in the two minutes Pi had been away from them? But when Mork tries to express his sincere sympathy, Pi just snaps, “You convinced Mueang Nan to take pictures with me because you want people to look down on me!” and Mork’s at a loss. That can’t be possible. Who in the world could look down on someone as unapologetically obstinate as Pi?

“People look down on you? Who?” Mork asks, sure that if he had names he’d clear up this misunderstanding. If ‘clearing up’ entails his beating them into the concrete and/or possibly suing for slander, that’s his prerogative.

But Pi just shoves him off and leaves in a cloud of anger, on his face the very hurt that Mork had planned to avoid. Instagram proves Pi’s point to a devastating degree. Pi is seen as pathetic, like he said. Pi. Loud, courageous Pi… who acts out to avoid being confronted as the timid loser everyone sees him as.

Later that night, his washed handkerchief hanging between his fingers, it occurs to Mork that he might not be as good at reading people as he thought.

“I’m sorry, Pi.”

#my writing #futs #fish upon the sky #morkpi #thai bl #fanfics #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfictions #mlm #someone here loves you #bl series #links

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thisonesatellite · 4 years

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i was tagged by the lovely @ohmightydevviepuu, who is living the dream. 😘

real name: stephanie zodiac: scorpio favorite musicians/bands/music: EVERYTHING except Country and Pop. i love all kinds of music, from Led Zeppelin to NIN to Hilltop Hoods to Tori Amos to Kendrick Lamar to Rival Sons to whatever comes my way and strikes a chord. (Yes, i went there.) But i have an eternal soft spot for Grunge and Emo.

favorite sports teams: FC Bayern München and biathlon do i get asks: Sometimes, and they’re all absolutely lovely. do i follow a lot of blogs: i don’t know what constitutes a lot? what am i wearing: Black leggings, an old Heroes t-shirt and a grey sweater that makes me look semi put-together in case i have to answer the door. It’s my last day of vacation. i am NOT making an effort until tomorrow morning. 🤣 dream vacation: A lovely cottage, preferably near the ocean (or a body of water) somewhere not too warm, with a T E R R A C E for writing and tea breaks. dream car: 1965 Aston Martin db5 favorite food: Spaghetti aglio e olio with ALL the parmesan. (Although i have recently developed a serious addiction to clotted cream.) drink of choice: Whisky. (i go from smooth to liquid cigar, depending on my mood.) languages: English & German (both native), and French (conversational) celebrity crush: Keanu Reeves random fact: i dance almost everywhere i hear music i like. Even at work. Even in my car.

Tagging @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @spartanguard @nikkiemms

#thisonesatellite #ask game #asked and answered #tag game

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dragons-bones · 5 years

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FFXIV Write Entry #4: Poor Impulses

Prompt: shifting blame | Master Post | On AO3

“REREHA REHA.”

“Holy fucking shite how did she do that to her voice,” Rereha gasped out between breaths as she ran hell for leather down one of the rickety side streets of Limsa Lominsa. That echoing reverb was the kind of nonsense voidsent pulled.

She really should not have tempted fate by trying to sneak some of the kunafa Aunt Angharad had sent her niece while the box was still in Synnove’s office. Gods all damnit, though, Rereha was a weak woman, and Angharad Greywolfe made her kunafa with clotted cream and rosewater syrup and a heaping pile of crushed pistachios on top. What the fuck was she supposed to do, not eat any?!

(Never mind that it was Synnove’s absolute favorite Ala Mhigan dessert—which was saying something, considering her general weakness for the treats of her childhood—and not even Galette was fool enough to eat without asking, first. Synnove was possessive of her aunt’s sweet treats to an almost frightening degree.

…All right, there was no “almost” about it.)

Rere veered left—and bounced right off Tyr. She swore and tried to scramble back to her feet to continue her attempted escape, but Tyr was faster, and picked her up by the back of her shirt.

“I am gonna diiiiiiiiiiie,” she whined as the giant carbuncle carried her back to Mealvaan’s Gate.

Tyr boofed his agreement. The sound rattled all the teeth in her head.

Rereha slumped and crossed her arms, scowling as Tyr carried her at a sedate trot, down the streets of Limsa Lominsa, through the main entrance of the Arcanists’ Guild (where they got the most stares, from the merchants conducting business with the customs agents), and finally up one of the towers to Synnove’s office. The carbuncle pushed the door open with his shoulder, stepped inside, then closed the door with one of his back legs. He set down Rere in front of Synnove’s desk, and sat back, ears pricked.

Synnove gave him a pat. “Good boy,” she crooned.

Tyr boofed happily.

Then Synnove turned to look at Rereha, and Rereha felt what little remained of her soul shrivel up and die. Holy fuck she was mad.

That was about when she noticed Heron and Alakhai snickering in the corner with Halulu.

Fuck it.

Rereha threw back her head and yelled, “Alakhai ate your baklava!”

“You snitch!” Alakhai hissed, before quailing and trying to hide behind Heron as Synnove turned the force of her displeasure on the Xaela.

“Heron was the one who took three slices of revani when Aunt Angharad sent it last time!”

Heron gasped, outraged, but she didn’t deny it.

“Halulu ate your qatayef!” Rereha pointed to the tonberry, who cowered behind a chair. “Thubyrgeim your tulumba! Greintoum from the aetherochem department the pancove! Thancred stole your rahat! Ivar the halva!” Ivar screeched from the top of one of the bookshelves.

As Synnove started advancing on the others, murder in her eyes, Rereha raised up her arms and shouted, “IF I AM GOING DOWN, I AM TAKING ALL OF YOU WITH ME!”

tagging: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

#ffxivwrite2019 #final fantasy xiv #dt's writing #oc: rereha reha #synnove's carbuncles #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: alakhai noykin #oc: dancing heron #oc: halulu halu #just roaring right back to humor after the last two entries :3

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kappa-tiger · 6 years

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I was tagged by @merryweather0708, thanks ! rules: we’re snooping on your playlist. set your entire library on shuffle and report the first 10 songs that pop up, then choose 10 victims. ♦ Stromae - Papaoutai ♦ Fifth Harmony - Top Down ♦ Imany feat. Filatov & Karas - Don't be so shy ♦ Fleetwood Mac - Big Love ♦ BTS - Mic Drop (Steve Aoki Remix) ♦ Время и Стекло - На Стиле ♦ CL - Hello Bitches ♦ CHVRCHES - Lies ♦ Blackpink - Ddu du ddu du ♦ Jackson Wang - Papillon single or taken: single who are u dating: i TOLD u i'm single but honestly I don't want to date anyone rn full name: hm i don't really like my last name that sounds very very French (ending in -iart) and first name is Clotilde nickname: Clo, Clot, Cloclo... actually no one seems to settle down one nickname haha battery percentage: 40%, charging (yes it's cheating) do you miss ur last relationship: well if i had one i wouldnt miss it cuz i think id have good reasons to break up ex you would take back: hOw mAnY tImEs,,,, jk i would take back tom hardy babe come back to me lmao crush’s name: wouldnt call it a crush but there is a current famous guy that i admire and find handsome, the one and only jackson wang iphone or android: android, apple can suck my ass (obv its a joke) last person i texted: my sister? Or my best friend who wished me a happy birthday ❤️ last song i’ve heard: Snoop Dogg - Sweat (2010s vibes) guy best friend: hm i have three and i cant choose girl best friend: hm i have two and i cant choose biggest fear: toads, failure, insects especially wasps, losing a member of my family unexpectedly.... This started out as really stupid and got dark quickly lmao favorite color: ive always loved green 🍀 favorite movie: im still amazed by inception but thor ragnarok and the winter soldier are close to my heart favorite food: my grandma's flamekuche, bortsch, pasta with cream and salmon, my grandpa's french fry, my uncle's dishes (i like to eat) favorite anime: one piece, black butler favorite animal: honestly i love cats and dogs so much, and i'm still a horse girl at heart height: 1,69 cm (...... Let's say 1,70) birthday: today, 30th of June (cancer power) dream job: honestly i have no fucken idea... Maybe smth linked to international relationships and culture, ideally something to do with Russia, a country im passionate about what mood i’m in now: very weird, im turning 20 and it feels like im an advanced adult, and i dont feel ready for this lmao.... BUT happy bc my holidays are gonna be great and i have amazing friends Thank you for tagging me, i tag @ugh-superheroes, @porgtato, @queenoftheimps, @just-sitting-on-the-shelf, @lxveistheanswer, @buckysbooo, and ive ran out of ideas sorry ab those i forgot !

#thank uuuuu

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maddeleinegrace · 7 years

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tagged by: @beep-beep-gazebos and @captain–americanna 💕

Rules : tag ten of your followers you want to get to know better

Name: Maddie

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: 5’3”

Sexuality: bi-curious

What images do you have set as your desktop/cell wallpaper: My lock screen is a dodgy picture of Jeremy Ray Taylor and my home screen is a picture of Finn Wolfhard and my baby Wyatt Oleff.

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?: Not that I can think of.

What was your last text message: He’s really nice tbh and he likes my puns, apparently we share Bentley cuz his dog died and we’re joint number one and I’m godsent xx

What do you see yourself doing in 10 years: Watching It for the 10003rd time with my future dog.

If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you be?: I’d love to go to Australia, (I have family there).

What was your coolest halloween costume?: My cosplay of female Negan that I’ll wear for Halloween, Lucille is killing it.

What was your favorite 90s show?: I’ve never watched a 90’s show, I feel like I should though.

Who was your last kiss: if my dog counts then him? Other than that, no one.

Have you ever been stood up: Not by a date but by of my friends at least 3 times.

favorite ice cream flavor: Mint-choc-chip (but then there’s Cornish clotted cream).

Have you ever been to Las Vegas?: I can dream?

Favorite pair of shoes: My (only) pair of combats, but the black vans I’ll be getting for Christmas.

Whats your favorite fruit?: Avocados dude.

Whats the stupidest thing you have ever done?: I’ve done too many to count but I guess the time where I broke my ankle whilst walking down the last step at school. Fun.

Whats your favorite book?: The Maze Runner, the only book I’ve ever finished reading (as well as the second and third one).

What loser?: Stan Uris all the way baby, but I ador the rest of them (how can you not?!).

Taglist:

@stensbrough

@victor-criss-bish

@paper-boats-floats

@thefuckingazebos

@please-dont-go–january-embers

@chuckyegg7

@beepbeep-trashmouth

@jaedcnwesley

@smolbeanrichie

@trippytriangless

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takesabath-old-blog · 7 years

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tagged by @stan-dback

Rules: tag ten of your followers you want to get to know better

Name: nora

Gender: ??? female probably

Star Sign: sun sign is sagittarius and moon and rising are libra!

Height: 5'7

Sexuality: honestly idk so i’ll say i’m queer and leave it at that

What images do you have set as your desktop/cell wallpaper:i’ll add these in later HAH

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?: YEAH. my history teacher in year 10. she was really pretty.

What was your last text message: it’s a gif of wyatt running away JSJSJDJ

What do you see yourself doing in 10 years?

i want to be acting but honestly i’ll be more likely to be dead.

If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you be?: LA.. or poland. or home.

What was your coolest halloween costume?: i’ve never been able to dress up before whoops.

What was your favorite 90s show?: uhh idk? i prefer 80s stuff. count duckula was my fave.

Who was your last kiss: i’ve never romantically kissed. otherwise, my mum.

Have you ever been stood up: i’ve never been on a date so no.

Favorite ice cream flavor: either mint, clotted cream, white vanilla or bubblegum.

Have you ever been to Las Vegas?: i dunno, have i? (no. no i haven’t)

Favorite pair of shoes: my knee high black boots. wear ‘em with everything.

Whats your favorite fruit?: mango

Whats the stupidest thing you have ever done?: i glued my hands to a table. that’s pretty much the whole story.

Whats your favorite book?: my favourite non fiction book is probably most evil by steve hodel BUT my current favourite fiction (apart from IT that is) is pigeon english by stephen kelman

Which loser?: i’m honestly a weird mix of richie and stan, but my favourite loser is and always will be stanley uris.

i don’t think i’ll tag anyone - but if you see this, wanna do it and haven’t already consider yourself tagged!

#nora.txt

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serenawsorrell · 7 years

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The Tea Witch

[This piece of original fiction is a bit different. I asked Facebook friends for up to three words (I asked for nouns, but one misread and though verbs). Altogether I got twelve words. From these twelve words I had to make a story. I had a rough outline in two hours, and wrote the story in about four (there was more research involved than I expected). So, please enjoy this madlib-esque writing experiment! At the end of the post I’ll tag on the twelve words.]

The Tea Witch

by S.W. Wildwood (homepage) (facebook) (twitter) (goodreads)

Drinking tea at a quarter past one was an important part of Valentina’s daily routine. Of course, Winifred drank her tea as well, though being a hippopotamus calf, she drank mangrove root tea. After tea time, Valentina would tend to her garden. Oh, it was one of her greatest joys, aside from tea time itself. In her garden grew all kinds of plants in rows she had prepared with very much care. With that chore accomplished it would be time for her botany studies. A plant witch of her tender age had to start learning early in order to know every bloom and bark there could be. After studying, it would be time for tea once again, and dinner, followed by a bath and then bed for Winifred, who used such a large tub. Valentina would stay up a little later to look at the stars. From the roof of her cottage it was quite a sight, then she’d join Winifred in their bed of heather and lavender.

Every day went much the same way and Valentina was glad. She had moved away, far from the bustling cities, with their lights and their noise and their never ending crowds. They frightened Winifred terribly, and Valentina too, had to admit they’d made her uneasy. Life in her valley was more splendid by far. The valley was the place proper a young witch could study in peace, and grow her plants without worry, aside from Winifred’s occasional frolicking. Out in the garden, in their neat, little rows grew, chamomile and mint, roses and lilies, jasmine and peonies, thistle and catnip, nettles and clover, even skullcap and yarrow. All around the garden, like stationed guards, stood trees of all sorts, the tea tree, of course, along with willow, spruce, and birch, and even some red fynbos bushes spread in between. They were all meant for the blending of tea. For nothing relaxed her nerves more and young Valentina, you see, was very experimental.

Her porcelain teacup half-emptied Valentina was just pondering what sort of tea she’d prepare for dinner when there came a great thump! Bump! Galumph! And even a whumph! Winifred scurried from her bowl of mangrove tea, hid under the lacy tablecloth where she shivered like a nervous bride. It was very clear whatever was outside Valentina would have to face it alone. Though a little scared, she didn’t worry terrible much, for she knew all of those living in the (usually) quiet, peaceful valley. Valentina set her teacup down and stood. She straightened her pleats and her plaits and went for the door. The witch took a deep breath and opened the door. She very nearly closed it at once for what she saw on the other side. For all of those who made home in the valley this was a thing, a creature of terrible size, she’d never seen or known.

The doorknob shuddered in her small shaking hand. The thing rampaged on the meadow, not so far from her front gate. It was covered in long white hairs and speckled in black, fuzz grew along its spine and there was no face to discern. Valentina, who had at least some practice with creatures of terror, gave out a small greeting and asked for its name. At this the beast raised up one end, maybe its head, turned for Valentina’s cottage and crashed through her gate. It tore through the roses and tramped over thistles. Well, that did it. Valentina’s fear snapped like the petals and stems. She grabbed up her besom and waved it about hurling curses and plagues to drive it away.

Valentina’s curses bounced off the beast like wet sponges. Her plagues sparked off the white wiry hair and black spots like little fireworks. Well, she had only herself to blame really. Valentina never studied curses and plagues, only plants and all of their uses, primarily tea. Still this creeper and crusher of plants had to go! She raised her willow branch broom again and caught sight of a green eye under all the muck. She stopped and watched. The monster trampled her plants, but it went for the trees. There it rubbed and it scratched as though it itched all over on every bit. Valentina saw a tail, fat and spongy, still a little green not turned that ghastly white. It was– but how!?

Sphag the moss dragon was her dear friend, but he was usually covered from snout to tail tip in plush, squishy moss, most soft. He had shown her this plot, for it’d be best to grow plants, being so near the river. Sphag had flown to gather the saplings she needed. Why, he’d even given her some moss to try to make tea from the back of his horns. Long, thin, white drooping fibers now hung from his horns. The stuff covered his ears and his eyes, it grow in fluffs from between his toes and scales. Sphag quieted his rampage while he itched all his itches along rough bark and Valentina leaned in. Sphag had a terrible case of mildew it seemed. And, Valentina owed it to him, and her studies, to see that he was cured. Her very self, as a plant witch, was at stake.

Although it unnerved her to see Sphag in such a monstrous state she inched ever closer, over snapped branches and stems, crushed petals and stamens, and tired awfully hard not to cry. Sphag, the infected, lifted his head when she was in reach. Again she saw that green eye, undoubtedly Sphag’s, but ready to rampage all over again. She entreated to Sphag with her usual greeting, a curtsy and wave. It seemed to placate him, perhaps somewhere, under all of the mildew a remnant of the moss dragon remained. The thought gave her hope, even as crepuscular rays filtered through the pollen and debris from the trees. With twilight upon them she’d put Winifred to bed, no bath tonight. She asked Sphag in simple words and a spell to his mind to please wait, only a short while. She’d return in a moment and she cure this dreadful ail. The words and the spell seemed to reach him at last, for he slumped the ground, all energy spent.

Valentina went to work at once. First, there was Winifred who had to be fed and put into bed, she moaned once she realized she’d get no bath that night, but after a kind explanation Winifred went to bed as the brave hippo calf she was, knowing Sphag needed help more than she needed suds. With Winifred tucked away into dreams Valentina scoured her books for some cure. While she read a book she began a kettle of water boiling with the wave of a hand; without even looking she mixed the tea blend Sphag always loved best. Several ideas now floated in her head, there were a few possible reasons which might explain Sphag’s dreadful condition. So she called him inside to her tea service, all beautifully spread. There were buttery crumpets with marmalade made of star snapdragons and, of course, clotted cream for the scones.

Sphag dragged his bulk through the front door she magically enlarged to save her poor walls from crumbling. The end of his snout all covered in white, scraggly hairs sniffed to find the tea. There came a moan from inside the mass, Sphag must recognize the sprig of cinnamon, she gasped in hope. A single black speckled claw touched the delicate teacup’s thin handle and, like a wave, mildew rippled from Sphag to the tea, all of it spoiled, and the cup too, left covered in white hairs and black specks. Valentina did her best not to show her disgust, although she did not take up Sphag’s paw to reassure him she’d make this all right. She declared aloud, instead, she knew it was a curse. And that was a start, somewhere, somehow, at the very least.

Gathering her most prized tea leaves, harvested by the moon rabbits and sent from the stars. This time she gathered water from the river outside, where the moon was reflected, for the best effect. The moon leaves steeped in the moon reflection water for precisely three minutes and thirty-three seconds, not a tick more, and not a tick less. While the tea cooled, for it had to be for its purpose, Valentina searched for her tea-telescope, a personal invention. She unscrewed the lens, making the tealescope look more odd than before. It was long and cylindrical of course, but with none of the segments, for that’d let the tea out. So her work began! With tealescope in one hand and a cup of moon tea in the other Valentina was never more careful. She poured the precious moon tea down the long tapering neck of the tealescope. It was filled to the rim, leaving only a spoonful of moon tea left, she lamented. Sometimes friends were more important than tea, she told herself as she screwed back the lens.

With a quick sip of the last of the moon tea, divine even cool, Valentina lifted the tea-filled telescope and looked not at the sky, but at Sphag instead. Though her classmates and teacher had mocked her tealescope none could deny it was wonderfully useful in finding the nest of a nasty curse. Unblinking, Valentina looked through the porcelain tealescope and through the moon tea from Sphag’s tail to his back, from his throat to his snout, and from– there! In his lungs was the source. And what a terrible curse it was for one of Sphag’s kind: Draco Pulmo Spirare. More simply, dragon’s lung mildew, the more Sphag breathed the farther the mildew grew. Why, his lungs were full of the stuff! Valentina would have to work fast!

Out to the poor garden she ran, basket on arm. She gathered the crushed chamomile heads, valerian and lavender, skullcap and lemon balm. These she crushed up, the tea would taste a bit grassy, but it’d do its job quick. That job, namely, was to put Sphag to sleep. In a blue glass bottle she gathered oil from the tea tree and shoved a handful of fresh peppermint into her pocket. Back inside Valentina took little time to prepare the sleeping draught and Sphag took it without any fight, nice but concerning and no doubt the mildew to blame. Water diluted the tea tree oil and she set the bottle in front of Sphag’s snoring open mouth and popped on an odd cap with a coiled string off the top. Then, mask tied to her face and stuffed with minty leaves, Valentina began to fold herself up, smaller and smaller.

Witches, you see, are by law required to choose two area of study. Valentina had chosen plants, and for her second she chose paper and all the ways to use it, the simplest was folding. Though folding oneself was not nearly as pleasant, she folded as small as she could and grabbed a great toothbrush as a knight wields his sword. Brush in one hand Valentina grabbed the hose she’d attached to the blue bottle and ran into Sphag’s mildewy mouth. Inside on his tongue black spots lined the walls and white hairs grew from the floor, making it difficult to wade through. Yet, still she went on, down and down and down his long throat until at last was a door she could scarcely make out the plaque that read: Left Lung.

Her first battle was freeing the door of all the little roots hairs that held it firmly closed, when working these doors swung free to and fro. Oh, poor Sphag, how difficult it must have been to get this far. She decided at once she’d really forgive him for mussing her garden. At last the door opened with a quick snap and noxious air rushed out to choke Valentina. She was ready! She had come prepared! She flipped the switch on the nozzle and the hose sprayed and Valentina breathed through her mint-filled mask. The inside of Sphag’s lung thoroughly soaked the Draco Pulmo Spirare shriveled and broke, but it wasn’t enough. She’d have to scrub every corner of Sphag’s enormous lungs to make sure neither hair nor spot were left.

And so, she did. Valentina batted strings of the clumpy mildew down from the lung roof overhead. She scrubbed the ceiling first, for it would be most difficult. Once cleared she rinsed it with the hose and washed it clean. Then she trudged through the muck that came up to her knees. She began in the farthest corner and scrubbed hard with the toothbrush. She pulled all the mildew out, sweeping and sloshing through the boggy water until she brushed it all out the Left Lung door and out through Sphag’s snoring mouth. Well, that was half her work done, she admired as she wiped sweat from her brow, but one doesn’t leave a war half won.

Back inside she tromped, right up to the Right Lung door. She began the whole process right over again, all the way from the start. By the time she had scooped and pushed all the mucky water out the right lung and down off Sphag’s tongue the black spots had faded and the white hairs gone. Once outside again Valentina washed her brush with a bit of the water and then decided, just to be safe, she ought to flood his whole system. So, although, no more mildew she saw she rinsed each lung once more. It’d be even more awful, negligent even, if she left any spore to sprout again. Satisfied at last, and overwhelmingly tired, Valentina left Sphag and unfolded herself. She burned the toothbrush over the stove and poured what little water was left down the sink’s drain.

Tired and sore she turned to look at Sphag, still sleeping, but his moss had returned and was lush, soft, springy, and plush. No remnant of the dreadful mildew remained. She had saved her dear friend and the dragon was again healthy and green. Valentina conjured up some paper and scribbled a note. She set the table for two and prepared the tea leaves for hot water and then outside she stumbled.

Sphag woke at half ‘fore nine and drew a deep breath, amazed there was no more pain. He searched the room to thank Valentina, who he knew he could count on to know just how to save him. Instead the table was laid with dandelion jelly and apricot scones, two cups waited with clover tea in their strainers, and a folded note was tucked under the kettle that sat cold. Sphag took out his spectacles for he was very near sighted and read Valentina’s letter, which read:

Dearest Sphag, my dear mossy friend, The mildew is gone. Never fear, I cleaned every corner. As of yet I am very tired from being so small and cleaning so much, so, if you’ll please have tea and breakfast with Winifred. I will be asleep on the roof outside, please don’t wake me until just before noon. All my love, Valentina

So, Sphag turned on the kettle and caught himself in the mirror. True to her word all his moss hung long where it ought, and was short and fuzzy where it should. Winifred came tottering in at precisely nine o’clock and squeaked a happy laugh to see Sphag whom she knew. Sphag in turn did his duty well, preparing tea and scone for the hippopotamus calf. While Winifred ate Sphag tried to create a satisfactory story of how he’d been cursed, for Valentina would definitely ask. And though Draco Pulmo Spirare was terrible indeed, if Valentina found out he’d been cursed for cheating at cards with the old warlock in the north caves Valentina would devise something much worse. He had less than three hours to worry and fret, and think of a way to thank the small tea witch.

[Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please follow me somewhere and reblog/share the story. The words I had to use were “calf, valley, unnerve, drive, toothbrush, crepuscular rays, lily, telescope, mildew, moss, placate, and tea service”.]

#madlib fiction #original fairy tale #S.W. Wildwood #fairy tale #original writing #author in progress #dragon #moss #hippopotamus #witch #tea #booklr #readlr #writlr #books #reading #writing #writing challenge

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tebbyclinic11 · 6 years

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“Orange Wine” Is Just a Color, Not a Type of Wine

New Post has been published on https://kitchengadgetsreviews.com/orange-wine-is-just-a-color-not-a-type-of-wine/

“Orange Wine” Is Just a Color, Not a Type of Wine

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Based on studies I’ve accidentally conducted by talking with strangers about wine, I have noticed a disturbing new trend. Like red and white and rosé before it, people have begun to use the color orange to define and judge wines. People seem to either love “orange wine” or hate “orange wine” but also don’t seem to understand what “orange wine” is. They know that it’s “natural” and “cool” and apparently that’s what’s important (I guess?). I had a guy recently tell me he “only drinks orange wine” and would love for me to teach him about “orange varieties.” This guy proceeded to laugh in my face when I said that any white-wine grape can be used to make orange wine.

I’m not saying you’d ever be that guy, but I also don’t want you to ever be that guy. That guy is the worst. Not only was he rude and wrong, but why in the world would you ever want to only drink one shade of wine?! “Orange” isn’t a type of grape or winemaking technique. It’s a color! And it’s only one color in the vast style, and color spectrum, of skin-contact wines.

Skin-contact wines are white wines made like red wines. They ferment with the grape skins, which give wine its color. Depending on how long the juice ferments with the skins—anywhere from a few hours to many months—skin-contact wines can range in color from golden-straw yellow to vibrant amber to Tony the Tiger orange. The time with the skins also gives these wines more red wine characteristics, like bigger body and more tannin, while maintaining the acidity of a white wine. The longer the skins hang with the juice, the bigger and bolder the wine. You can end up with lighter skin-contact wines whose taste is reminiscent of the Jura’s oxidative white wines, with notes of bruised apple all the way to dirty bong water–colored bottles that taste almost like a sour beer.

This is why the term “orange wine” as a category needs to die. I know, a bold statement coming from a woman who has a section in a published book with her name on it literally titled “Orange Wines.” Trust me, I’d take it back if I could, along with that trip to Tijuana on ‘shrooms, but the term “orange wine” is limiting you as a wine drinker. It’s locking you into a color, and since skin-contact wines can be made with any white wine grape and use any winemaking technique, orange-hued wines can vary wildly. You may love a bright-orange Trebbiano but find the same colored Pinot Grigio to be overpowering and too tannic. But asking for a “skin-contact wine” opens you up to a world of colors, flavors, and possibilities you may never have otherwise experienced.

I know it’s going to be hard breaking the habit. I catch myself still saying “orange wine” too, and this is a personal campaign I’ve been soapboxing around for months now. But you can get started by hitting the local wine shop and asking about some of my latest favorite skin-contact bottles.

Photo by Marissa A. Ross

For People Who Swear They Hate “Orange Wine”

Clot de l’Origine “l’Original” White Blend, 2015$23, Lou Wine ShopClot de l’Origine’s “l’Original” screams spring in every way. It looks like the late-afternoon sun in March, just barely golden, and smells like a Pinterest-perfect bridal bouquet of white lilies, candied ginger, and sprigs of thyme, tied with an orange-rind bow. “l’Original” starts juicy with layers of spiced cantaloupe and soft apples but finishes dry with lemon zest and limestone minerality. Thirst-quenching but approachable, this blend of 85% Macabeu and 15% Muscat from France’s Languedoc is the perfect entry-level skin-contact wine. Also, it pairs fantastically with pappardelle with kabocha squash cream sauce. Just throwing that out there.

Photo by Marissa A. Ross

For PARTY PEOPLE!!! [Yelled Like Tag Team’s “Whoomp There It Is”]

Sextant “Skin Bull” Aligoté Pétillant Naturel, 2016$27, Domaine LAIf your college drinking years had actually tasted good, they would have tasted like Sextant’s “Skin Bull.” Pale saffron in color, this Pétillant Naturel from Burgundy smells like a cider with stone fruit, dried papaya, and new carpet in an apartment near campus. Fresh, vibrant, and begging to party, “Skin Bull” has a bready beer taste to it and goes down easier than a 40 of High Life you didn’t pay for. Come for the party, and stay for the bright flavors of pineapple, barely ripe pears, wrists dabbed with rose hip, and zero notes of flavored vodka.

Photo by Marissa A. Ross

For People Who Need a Vacation But Will Settle for Wine

Partida Creus “Cart Ver” Cartoixa Vermell, 2016$30, Domaine LAPartida Creus’ “Cart Ver” is atomic tangerine in color and so delicious it’s trouble. Well integrated with lots of acidity, it smells like an Orange Crush and a strawberry michelada and tastes like strawberry ocean water (that’s right, two variations on a strawberry theme). There’s some nutmeg dusted in there, with rose petals and tangelo. Be careful not to finish the whole bottle yourself (or do, I sure did).

Photo by Marissa A. Ross

For People Who Usually Choose Beer Over Wine

Denavolo “Dinavolo” Vino Bianco, 2010$34, Lou Wine ShopThe copper-toned “Dinavolo” smells like orange rinds withering in the sun on a wet clay tennis court, with splashes of pineapple and mango. It tastes like eating tangerines and kumquats, with sips of a sour raspberry beer (preferably from the Rare Barrel, if I must say so myself). The blend of 25% Malvasia di Candia, 25% Marsanne, 25% Ortugo, and 25% mystery varietals is melodic and fluid but gritty and gripping with a warm and citrusy tannic finish.

Photo by Marissa A. Ross

For People Who Are Like, “Screw You, I Love Orange Wine!”

La Stoppa “Ageno” Blend 2012$40, Domaine LADespite my agenda to stop using “orange” to describe skin contact as a style, there is no other word to describe the color of La Stoppa’s “Ageno.” It is orange, pretty damn close to Nacho Cheese Doritos orange. Fortunately, its color is the only thing that will remind you of Taco Bell’s Fourth Meal. On the nose, this Malvasia di Candia blend from Emilia-Romagna smells like driving into Palm Springs from Highway 111 with the windows down—an intoxicating breeze of squishy peaches, lemon, hot asphalt, and freshly watered lawns.

Sipping on “Ageno” tastes similarly warm, with notes of apricot, navel oranges, leather, and sweat you accidentally licked off your own face. It’s bold but with balanced acidity and finishes with sandy tannins that feel just swept off a dune. (Not gonna lie, I love the 2010 vintage of this wine, but I couldn’t track one down. Keep your orange eyes peeled for either!)

Once more all together now, repeat after me: SKIN-CONTACT WINES. You’ve got it. Now go drink them.

Marissa A. Ross is the author of Wine. All the Time. Pick it up on Amazon for $13 and disregard that chapter called “Orange Wines” 😉.

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