#OVEN YOU DESERVE AN EXECUTION!!!!!

[hauntingblue]

Bege father and husband of the year

[souperbloom]

christmas wrapping. [A.I.]

🎁 boyfriend!Ashton x reader

with a busy year behind you and a new one around the corner, you decide to surprise your boyfriend with the greatest gift of all.

a/n: consider this my gift to you, soup nation. merry christmas and happy holidays from mama soup! this is also just a lil somethin to hold you guys over to the new year— lots of fun things happening!

this was rushed. def not proofread. be gentle with me as i am just a girl.

(this oneshot is a stand alone, but it’s set in the same universe as my fic ‘tangerine, tangerine’)

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut!, bratty!ashton, pet names, oral (m!receiving), bondage, festive innuendos, a sprinkle of christmas cheer, etc.

wordcount: ~4k

⋆❅*𖢔𐂂꙳

Christmas Eve.

Not a very special day, and not any more than the day that comes after it.

It was you and Ashton’s third holiday season together. A season spent buried in work, Ashton’s schedule packed tight with sound mixing and whacking the nights away on his drums.

But Christmas Eve, despite its mundane nature in the shared home with your boyfriend, was kind of special. It was the only day of that entire week where the two of you were able to sit at home and just enjoy each other’s company.

“How many cups of chocolate chips are we talkin’ here? One? Three? Seven?”

Although Christmas wasn’t inherently celebrated in your relationship, both you and Ashton tried your very best to be festive in any way you could. You’d just spent all morning wrapping red and silver garlands around the bannister of the staircase and thumb-tacking ornaments to the wall, while Ashton was on his third batch of cookies. After snickerdoodle and peanut butter, he’d finally made it to chocolate chip.

“Put as many chocolate chips as your heart desires.”

After practically breaking your neck trying to line the top of your living room ceiling with Christmas lights, you’d made the executive decision to take a break on the couch while Ashton slaved away by the oven. He’d been there since noon, it was well past four now, and giving up or taking any sort of break clearly wasn’t in the cards for him.

“I can’t make that decision, baby. You’re the Cookie Monster of this house,” he calls over his shoulder, bending down to make sure the oven was still warm.

“Put two. Call it even. How many cookies are in this batch anyway?”

“Two dozen. That’s what the recipe says.”

You could practically hear him shrug from all the way in the kitchen. But you just smiled, partially watching the digital fireplace that Ashton put on the TV. He claimed the smooth Christmas jazz and crackling of wood would set the mood— but little did he know. You had other plans to set the mood.

Gifts were never expected on you and Ashton’s Christmas morning. Neither was any semblance of Christmas spirit. The two of you always just woke up and carried on your day as if it were any other. But this year in particular was a rough one, and you figured your favorite boy deserved some extra holiday cheer for all of the work he’s been putting in.

You came across this little idea when you found an old pair of lingerie sitting in a box at the back of your closet, Ashton had gifted it to you on your first anniversary— it was a red matching set with a sheer tulle slip. You were never presented with the opportunity to wear it, but the feathered trimming on the slip and rhinestone bow smack between the bra cups was just the right amount of festive for the precedent set on Christmas Eve.

Thinking all day about surprising him was what got you motivated enough to deck out your living room in Christmas decor. You couldn’t contain your smile when Ashton offered to bake cookies, since you knew he’d be too distracted to notice if you slipped away for a moment.

The Kitchen Aid began to whir, and you tilt your head to see Ashton whistling to himself as he spins the bowl of dough with ease. You took this moment as your perfect opportunity to sneak away upstairs to the bedroom.

He definitely didn’t notice you had left; he was far too engulfed with getting his cookie dough to the perfect consistency. You felt your heart patter as you reached for the box under the bed, all while the mixer was still working and Ashton was still whistling without a clue.

The lingerie was in pristine condition after all these years— and changing into it made you feel like a million bucks. It was flattering, the way the tulle fell just above your hips and left the red lace panties barely exposed. Once adjusted, you grinned to yourself in the mirror while smoothing out the feathers and scurried into the bathroom for your next surprise.

You found your next hiding spot untouched, thank God, and pulled out the ream of satin ribbon that you left in your bathroom drawer. The ribbon was a last minute idea that dawned on you during a trip to your local craft store.

The ribbon was sturdy, which was perfect for the circumstance. Hell, it was sturdy enough to hold the shape of a perfectly knotted bow on its own— you took the liberty of tying to a lock of your hair at the top of your head to add a bit of pizazz.

If anyone couldn’t tell by now, the gift Ashton wanted most for Christmas was you.

“Hey, baby? Can you come in here for a sec?”

Ashton calls out to you from downstairs in the kitchen, the mixer having stopped and started a few more times.

“What’s up?” You call back, frantically shutting all of your drawers and pushing the lingerie box back under the bed.

“Want you to come try the dough. Make sure the ‘chip ratio’ is to your liking.”

You stifle a giggle as Ashton turns the mixer back on, shutting off all the lights in your bedroom and starting to tiptoe towards the stairs.

“You in the bedroom?” Ashton shouts again, his back facing you as you’re already halfway down the steps.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”

You eventually creep down the last step with chills running down your back in anticipation. You couldn’t believe that he still hasn’t turned around to see you all decked out in your holiday getup. It was honestly kind of funny, how determined he was to get these cookies just how you liked them.

“I think this should be fine. But— tell me what you think. Should I add cinnamon? God, I’ve been staring at cookies for so long… I think I’m starting to turn into one.”

You giggle again, audibly this time, and eventually creep your way behind him. You slither your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“That looks perfect t’me,” you hum sweetly, drumming on his hips and admiring the picturesque bowl of dough.

Ashton laughs at your mellow comment, his body shaking as he disassembles the mixer.

“I want you to try it— but don’t eat too much. The raw eggs and shit, they’ll fuck you up.”

“Mmhm…”

Ashton moves fluidly, as if you weren’t even wrapped around his waist and holding him to your chest. You couldn’t believe how enraptured he was by these goddamn cookies.

You almost wanted to smack him.

“Ashton…” you mumble, an attempt to get his attention.

“Yes?”

Just then, you take a step away, releasing him from your arms and putting your hands on your hips.

“Turn around for God’s sake!”

Ashton freezes, dropping the mixer and wiping the remnants of flour off of his pants, “Sorry, sorry, I was just g— holy fuck.”

He had finally seen you. All decked out. Lace, tulle and all, wrapped up with a little red bow.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

His eyes wasted no time in scanning every inch of your body, pupils dilated to maximum capacity as his hands had no clue what to touch first.

“Oh my God— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Mmmh, thank you,” you coo, melting into his palms as they eventually make it to your waist.

“This is my gift?” He asks, his eyes sparkling like the lights on your tiny Christmas tree.

“Not all of it.”

Ashton pulls you into his torso, hands roaming your sides and lifting the tulle slip in his path. He can’t believe how incredible you look— let alone in a set that he’s been wanting to see you in since he first bought it off the mannequin.

“You fuckin’ spoil me, y’know that? Shit— what’d I do to deserve this? Was I on the nice list? Jesus fuck, I’m spent.” His entire sentence comes out in one hurried jumble, working in tandem with the steps he was taking to walk you backwards into the living room.

“Just thought you deserved a little somethin’ after everything you’ve done this year.”

“Everything I’ve done? Baby,” he interrupts himself with a kiss to your collarbone, “this is the best gift I’ve gotten in years.”

A giggle escapes your throat as you push his eager lips away from their attachment to your neck, “I haven’t even shown you the rest of it yet!”

Soon enough, you have Ashton padding after you like a dog up the stairs, letting him chase you to the top of the staircase before barricading the bedroom door with your body. He frowns as you stop him from bursting through it, taking a hand to caress your waist.

“Baby—” he begins to protest as you anchor your hands to the moulding.

“Ah ah ah,” you tut, “not yet.”

“Why not? I wanna unwrap my gift.”

You chuckle at his childish attitude, lazily slinging your arms across his shoulders and giving him a cheeky smile.

“Patience is a virtue. I’ve got one more surprise left for you.”

Just then, you reach behind and open the door to your bedroom; it was dark, with the exception of the purple and blue lava lamp that backlit your sensual figure.

“Entry fee is one kiss from you, mister.”

Ashton’s lips curve into a sultry smile, still standing over you, “Just one? Why not a million?”

You just shrug, tapping your manicured fingers along the doorframe, “Inflation.”

He stoops down to press a gentle kiss onto your lips, taking a moment to savor the pomegranate flavored lip balm you’d smothered across them in a hurry. He hums into you, wanting to reach out and touch, but barring himself as per your request.

“I’ve paid my toll,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t be smart.”

Ashton bounces on his heels as you step away from the door, guiding him into the dark room by the sway of your hips. You reach over to the nightstand and turn on the light to reveal your bed, intact from this morning, with just a single spool of ribbon nestled between your pillows.

Ashton stops at the doorway, scratching his head in confusion, “Our bed?”

“Mhm. Our bed.”

You then take a few steps, making sure to push your arms together and arch out your back as you reach for the red satin ribbon.

“I mean— I’m not complaining—”

“You shouldn’t. This is part of the surprise,” you say these words as if they meant nothing, twisting the ribbon between your fingers and starting to slowly unravel the tightly wound roll.

“You’re so elusive,” he tuts, stepping closer to the bed.

“I haven’t even given you instructions yet.”

Ashton raises his eyebrow, dipping his knee down onto the mattress. You could tell his eyes were still bugged out and wandering across your body.

“Instructions? Did my gift come with a manual?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you murmur, stepping around the bed to meet him, “you’ve been awfully good this year.”

“Have I?” Ashton asks, in complete awe of you. His body stiffens when you reach out to fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Mhmm, very. You’ve been working so hard all year. Must get tiresome, no?”

In a complete 180 switch, Ashton suddenly seems to know where this is headed. His face, once dawned in pure ignorant bliss, had learned a thing or two within the past few minutes.

“Wait.”

He had stopped his path towards the bed, eyeing you down as you continued to unravel the ribbon until it dropped onto the floor.

“What?”

“What are you trying to do right now?”

With the satin now wrapped into a make-shift spool across your knuckles, you shrug, “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, slowly working backwards from the progress he’s made getting onto the mattress.

“Is this part of your little surprise? What’s the ribbon for?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?”

Ashton crosses his arms, meeting you at your side of the bed, “Because I’m impatient.”

You scoff, “Well at least you’re aware of it.”

He shakes his head, stepping towards you and motioning to the ribbon as the smile on your face only makes him more impatient, “And how do you intend to use that?”

“Use what?”

“The ribbon.”

“Oh,” you hold out your hand, stepping closer to him and only leaving an inch between your bodies, “this?”

“Yeah, that.”

You could tell that Ashton was getting frustrated; the subtle way his jaw ticked each time you smart-mouthed one of his questions. Being elusive and condescending was Ashton’s job in the bedroom. It was one of the things you liked most about your dynamic between the sheets. He, however, didn’t seem to like the sudden role reversal.

But tonight, despite your presence being his present, you decided to go for the more self indulgent route.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“The purpose of the ribbon is for me to know, and for you to find out. Wanna lay down for me?”

He doesn’t even get the chance to retort before one soft push to his chest had him plopping down onto the bed. He stares up at you, a bit stunned, watching as you slip right between the perfectly sized slot between his legs.

“Fine. No more questions. But you mentioned instructions…?”

“Mhm. They’re very simple.”

“Hit me with ‘em.”

You smile, draping the ribbon around your neck in order to have both hands free.

“Take your shirt off.”

With his bottom lip now tucked between his teeth, he obliges, pulling off his white tee from the back and tossing it behind you. You take a moment to admire his smooth collarbones, still standing between his legs.

“I’m starting to like you from this angle, Ash,” you purr, taking that same hand you used to push him down to grapple his chin and force his gaze into your eyes.

“I’m indifferent.”

“Why’s that, hm?”

“Usually I’m the one barkin’ orders...”

Before he can explain himself any further, you grab at the ribbon and point to the headboard.

“Lay back. Arms up.”

“Are you about to tie me up?”

He asks this question as he slowly maneuvers to where you told him to, curiosity sparkling in his eyes yet still a fool to your soft, sultry tone.

Somehow, some way, despite the vehement pleading of his facial expressions and the desire to put up a fight, you’re straddling his hips, and he’s holding his arms up like you asked him to.

“Just lay back and look pretty.”

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” Ashton chuckles, “how the tables have turned…”

“I wish you’d stop being such a smartass,” you hum, reaching over him to tie his left wrist in place.

You wished you could’ve taken a picture of his face when the second bow was tied— his face was priceless. You loved how the bows keeping his wrists steady to the bedposts matched the one you’d tied into your hair, you loved how gorgeous he looked beneath you, completely at your disposal.

The way his eyes narrowed when you called him a smartass, it was obvious he was holding back a smile.

You were starting to think that he loved it too.

“Baby—” as Ashton whines, he tugs at your knots, causing your antique bed frame to creak and bang against the wall.

“Yes?” you reply, perching on his lap with an innocent smile.

He seems to have more to say, but all vices are lost as he seems to just give up, and sigh.

“—Oh— forget it. Do what you want. I’m yours.”

You break the tension with a kiss, pressing your lips against his and feeling his chest shudder as he breathes beneath you. It was obvious that he wasn’t accustomed to being restrained. Each time you rolled your hips against his flannel pajama pants there was a knocking at your wall, signifying the willpower he was exercising as to not uproot the bedposts from the floor.

You continue your slow trail, taking your time and peppering open-mouthed kisses along the side of his neck and down towards his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. How do you do this shit?” The frustration laced through his breathy voice made your stomach turn.

“What, stay tied up? It’s easy,” you hum, mid-kiss to his pec, “I just play by the rules.”

Ashton huffs, growing more and more antsy as your travels lead you towards the waistband of his pajama pants. His supple, gravelly moans were the only thing keeping you from tearing off his pants and having your way with him— because one thing that Ashton Irwin lacked in this life was patience.

And one thing you lacked in this life was the ability to deny yourself a good time.

“Baby, c’mon.” His hips jerk upward, along with his hands, his crotch hitting your clothed core in all of the correct places. But rather than visibly showing how much his fully hard dick had an effect on you, you just smile, and reach up to smoosh his lips together with your index finger.

“Stop pulling, you’ll break the bed.”

“It’s gettin’ really fuckin hard not to.”

“Hush. Don’t wanna hear another word from that mouth.”

Just then, you tap your cool fingertips along his pelvic bone, and watch as the goosebumps rise along his tanned stomach. Living in Los Angeles definitely had it’s perks.

“Yeah?” You can tell how hard he was trying to keep the status quo, but now your fingers were dancing beneath his waistband and causing him grief, “You–God, what have you done to me?”

A catty smile dances across your face, still enjoying how much he absolutely fucking hated not being the one in control.

“A Christmas miracle, maybe?” you tease, finally getting a start on pulling down his pants, “Lift those hips, pretty boy.”

With a disgruntled moan, he does as he’s told, his eyes locked in on your figure and tracing every single curve with his pupils.

You eventually free him from the confines of flannel, his cock springing out like it was being held captive. It was hard not to let your mouth water at just the sight of him; your old ways were awfully invasive.

“Mmmmh,” you hum at the way he twitches, his tip leaky and just begging to be touched.

“You’re fuckin’ murdering me with those eyes, baby.”

“That’s the point, silly. You always like to tell me how patient I am. Why not give you a taste of your own medicine?”

You reach out to hold his cock, antagonizing him by wrapping your fingers around him and remaining stagnant. He hisses at your gentle touch, the headboard knocking against the wall once more.

“God damnit— you gonna make me beg for it?”

“Maybe. That’d be fun,” you hum sweetly, starting a slow rhythm of pumping his cock while staring deeply into those honey green eyes.

“In your fuckin’ dreams, sweetheart.”

In order to hush those sweet lips of his, you take your tongue and drag a line up his shaft. He grunts, loudly, wrists now tinged with red to match his restraints and his incapability to sit still.

“Fuck you— you’re such a tease,” he mutters, his breathing picking up at merely the sigh of your lips near his cock.

“Fuck me? Isn’t that the goal?” you joke once more before dipping your head down to ever-so daintily suck on his tip.

Ashton then lets out a sound like you’d never heard before— it was loud, and beastial. You’d never thought you had it in you to make a grown man cry, and yet here you were, with your boyfriend's sanity at your fingertips.

“Y/N, baby, please… Take it all. God I’m— I’m dyin’ t’feel that fuckin’ mouth.”

With your lips still pursed around his tip, not giving him the full satisfaction just yet, you hum, sending vibrations from the hollows of your cheeks directly into his body. He jolts again, cursing and muttering at the feeling of satin setting fire to his wrists.

His sounds alone have you enthralled by this whole scenario. Hell, you couldn’t believe you didn’t think of this sooner. Tying Ashton up and teasing him in the most seductive piece of lingerie you own? Sold.

In the midst of feeling bad for your poor poor boyfriend, you decide to up the ante, and take him fully into your mouth without warning. Another gasp catches in his larynx, finally releasing some of the pent up tension that had been building since the moment you tied a knot around his wrist.

“Ahhh, fuck. Fuck, yes sweetheart. God you feel so good—”

Expletives and moans fill your bedroom wall to wall, a familiar buzzing sensation hits your stomach as he mutters your name like a prayer.

“Just like that, baby. Not gonna last long if ya’ keep—fuck— suckin’ me off like that.”

It was now an attempt to beat the clock as you felt Ashton’s abdomen tighten. You knew he was close, he knew he was close, it was just a matter of when.

You continued the rhythm that hit him just right, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks whilst his mercy ran thin.

“That pretty mouth— s’good to me. Fuck, you’re an angel.”

With his words, you pop your head up, releasing his cock and replacing his your cock-full mouth with a smile.

“Keep talkin’ pretty boy, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s eyebrows furrow, but they don’t stay angry for long.

“You piss me the fuck off.”

A giggle slips past your steely demeanor, enjoying the ability to banter with your boyfriend while his head spins.

“I know. That’s the best part,” you coo, narrowing your eyes as your hand pumps his milks his cock to an imminent orgasm, “Now are you gonna cum for me, or what?”

One final tug at the headboard left Ashton spent, his release spilling onto your knuckles as you watch him with your bottom lip between your teeth. His breathing was shallow, in time with the rhythm of the last few strokes of your hand.

“Jesus Christ—” he sighs, his head thumping back into the pillows, “You’re a fuckin’ animal.”

“Still a merry Christmas?” You ask, your eyes half-lidded as you take your free hand to massage his shaky thighs.

“The merriest,” he breathes out, still trying to collect himself by running his hands through his now sweaty hair, “but just wait ‘till next year.”

After you’d cleaned up the mess you made and freed Ashton from his festive ligatures, the two of you sat, cozied in bed, staring up at the ceiling as you ruminated on the past year together.

“You know, if you wanna start up the tradition of having a real Christmas, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Ashton mumbles into your hair, still traipsing along the red tulle of your slip.

“Really? What changed your mind?”

“Don’t know. I guess today had me feeling ‘holly and jolly’, if ya’ catch my drift.”

The two of you giggle, feeling the warmth of your body heat combining to shield how Ashton blasted the AC to compensate for your longing for a real white Christmas.

“Maybe next year we’ll have a Christmas party. Invite a few friends, do a secret Santa, cook some dinner?” you shrug, mindlessly sweeping his hair off of his forehead and tucking it behind his ear.

“Hell no. Entertaining those losers is the last thing on my wishlist. But you and me? Alone together?”

“Yeah? What about it?” You hum.

“That’s at the top of my wishlist.”

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal Chapter 4

A/N: HELLO HI VERY IMPORTANT! This chapter has some triggering scenarios when it comes to r!pe and non-consensual relationships between Geta and Cecilia. If that is something that triggers you, I ask you please do not read this chapter!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 4! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3k

That evening, Cecilia took her place beside Geta at the long dining table. Caracalla sat across from them, his expression a perpetual mask of discontent. The feast laid out before them was almost obscene in its abundance—a spread that could have easily satisfied a dozen soldiers, yet it was prepared for only the three of them. Golden loaves of bread still warm from the oven, succulent porchetta glistening with herbs and juices, bowls of vibrant fruits bursting with color, and pitchers of red wine stood in silent testament to the brothers’ grotesque privilege.

Despite the abundance of Roman delicacies, Cecilia could barely touch the slice of bread resting on her plate. Her stomach churned, not with hunger, but with unease. She knew she had to sing a different tune with Geta now in order to make him believe she had become smitten.

“I cannot believe the General,” Geta suddenly muttered, his voice thick with disdain as he speared a piece of meat. “Running off like a coward and leaving us to fend for ourselves. Taking my wife like she is more important than us”

Caracalla snorted in agreement, his grip tightening on his glass. “The man deserves nothing less than execution for such betrayal. Beheading would be a mercy for General Acacius.”

Cecilia hesitated, her fingers brushing the rim of her cup. She noticed that their words about the General angered her in a way they had not before. “He was shocked, that’s all,” she said softly, willing her voice to remain steady. “I’ll make sure he understands his duty—to protect the both of you—next time.”

“Next time?” Geta shot her a sharp look, his brow furrowing. “Where did he even take you, Cecilia? I pray there will not be a next time.”

“He… he just brought me back to the palace,” she replied, forcing a smile that she hoped seemed genuine as she picked at her food. “I stayed in our room until you both arrived.”

Geta seemed satisfied with her answer, nodding as he resumed eating, though Caracalla’s narrowed eyes lingered on her a moment longer. Cecilia lowered her gaze to her untouched bread, her heartbeat quickening. Lies came easier with practice, but the weight of them never lessened.

She still was shaken up from the news of Atticus. She felt betrayed, like he had been lying to her. What would she have done if Acacius hadn’t told her? She asked herself. 

Breaking the tense silence, she looked to Geta, her voice trembling despite herself. “Geta, my love?”

Her words felt foreign, unnatural, as if they belonged to someone else. She cringed inwardly, but there was no turning back now.

“Speak, little dove,” Geta commanded, putting down his utensils to drink his wine.

“I…I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the games today,” she swallowed, she felt like her throat was swelling as she forced the words, “I love you, and I shouldn’t speak unless spoken to.”

For a moment, silence once again enveloped the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches mounted on the walls and the clinks of dishes as they were passed about the table. Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her with a faint smirk curling his lips.

“Well, well,” he mused, swirling his wine. “I suppose even a bird can learn its place with proper training.” He reached across the table and tilted her chin up with a finger, his grip deceptively gentle. “You’ll remember that next time, won’t you, my dear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “I will, your highness.”

Caracalla snorted softly but said nothing, his eyes flicking between Geta and Cecilia before returning to his plate. Cecilia lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She fought to steady her breathing, desperate to hold onto the mask she wore.

Beneath it all, her mind churned, replaying the words of General Acacius. Atticus had known of the plans that were made for her. He’d lied. The sting of it was almost unbearable, but now was not the time to unravel. If she crumbled in this room filled with watchful eyes, she would lose more than her pride.

She forced herself to lift her goblet, the wine sloshing slightly as her hands trembled. “To your honor both of you,” she said to the brothers, her voice thin but clear.

Geta raised his cup, his smirk broadening. “To mine.”

As they drank, Cecilia’s thoughts swirled with growing clarity The room buzzed with conversation again, but Cecilia’s mind was already elsewhere, turning over the plans she barely dared to entertain. If she wanted to survive, she would need more than apologies and submission. She would have to give him what he really wanted. 

“Will the games continue tomorrow?” she asked, assuming she could speak.

Geta paused, his goblet midway to his lips. His dark eyes fixed on her, narrowing slightly, as though weighing whether her question warranted his breath. “They will,” he finally said, his tone clipped. “Why do you ask?”

Cecilia hesitated, feeling the weight of Caracalla’s gaze settle on her like a predator studying prey once more. She licked her lips, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I was just curious,” she replied. “The people seemed so lively today. I thought they might want more.”

Caracalla let out a sharp laugh, setting his goblet down with a thud. “The people always want more,” he sneered. “Blood and spectacle—that’s all they understand. That’s all they’re good for. But I must say, I find pleasure in it as well.”

“Enough,” Geta said, raising a hand to silence his brother. He turned his attention back to Cecilia. “If you must know, tomorrow’s games will be grander. More beasts, more gladiators, more death.” A thin smile played on his lips. “I imagine you’ll enjoy it, little dove.”

Cecilia forced a small smile, though her stomach twisted at the thought. She nodded, lowering her eyes to her plate. “Of course, my love,” she said softly, “I am sure whatever you two have planned will be a spectacle.”

“What I have planned, little dove,” Geta corrected her, “Caracalla is no use when executing the games. He does no more than pleasure himself to the sight of the gladiators’ bloodshed.”

Caracalla’s goblet clinked against the table loudly as he set it down with deliberate force. “Careful, brother,” he said, his voice low but dangerous. “Your tongue wags a little too fiercely.”

“Oh, does it?” Geta replied, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Tell me, what exactly do you contribute, Caracalla? Besides criticism and the release of your desires?”

The tension between the brothers thickened, and Cecilia sat frozen, her pulse quickening. The air felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. She did not realize how much they argued, purely to see who was more powerful than the other.

“I contribute more than you could ever hope to understand,” Caracalla shot back, his eyes narrowing. “While you play your games and parade your purchased wife like a pompous fool, I see the bigger picture. The games are nothing without the politics behind them, the alliances they secure. The relationships they create. Perhaps you should pay attention to the matches rather than your trophy of a woman.”

Geta’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, waving a dismissive hand. “Politics,” he scoffed. “You mean the web of lies you so enjoy weaving? Spare me.”

“Enough,” Cecilia interjected softly, surprising even herself with her words. Both men turned to her, their sharp gazes cutting like knives deep into her soul. Her heart pounded, but she kept her voice steady. “Please, this is dinner, not a battlefield.”

For a moment, neither brother spoke. Then Geta chuckled, breaking the silence. “You see, Caracalla? Even my little dove has more sense than you.”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, reaching for his goblet instead as he shot daggers at Cecilia. She exhaled quietly.  The tension had momentarily diffused, but she knew it was far from gone. The animosity between the brothers was a fire constantly smoldering. She took a sip of her wine. If she could navigate their rivalry, perhaps there was a way to exploit it. If they were too busy fighting each other, they might overlook her. And if they overlooked her, she could crumble the two of them from within.

The conversation moved on without her, Geta and Caracalla discussing the logistics of the games and the political power they wielded through them. Their voices faded into a dull hum in her ears as she stared at the table, her mind elsewhere.

Tomorrow. The games would be bigger, louder, bloodier. She would be expected to sit there, to smile and applaud like a devoted wife. But the thought of it churned her stomach. Tomorrow would come, and with it, more pointless death. But perhaps, it would also bring a chance to tip the scales. 

The only comfort she could find as she tried to prepare herself for the games was the idea of General Acacius. Even if she had to act like she enjoyed the horrid events, she would have the General to guide her, to ground her. Even amidst the looming dread of faux smiles and forced applause, the idea of his presence brought a sense of peace. She thought about his embrace that seemed to pull her in when she felt she was drifting away. The same embrace that kept her sane when her world had changed forever just mere hours ago. In that moment, as her world had tilted and fractured, his touch had grounded her, keeping her from drifting into the darker corners of her mind.

The memory was bittersweet. She thought about his broad stature, the way he exudes a commanding yet understated allure, a quiet confidence that draws the eye without demanding one’s attention. She thought of his bold attributes—sharp cheekbones softened by a well-kept, gray beard. His face carried a weathered charm, as if etched by the passage of time and the weight of countless decisions. His gaze is always one full of thought, one that always peered into his soul. 

There’s a sense of quiet passion about him, an intensity that suggests he loves with the same fierce devotion he brings to his duties. The thought of that overwhelms her, a crimson blush painting her cheeks as she brings herself back to the dinner table. There was comfort in the thought of Acacius, but also an uneasiness that ebbed and flowed along with it. She knew her reliance on him was growing into a…dependence. That scared her, especially after the news of Atticus’ dishonesty.

“Little dove,” Geta said, bringing her back to reality, “are you ready for bed?” 

Her stomach churned, not for sleep, but for the forced implications of laying with the emperor. “Yes, my love,” she stated, standing from the table and bidding goodnight to Caracalla.

Caracalla smirked at the two of them. “You should send her my way sometime, brother,” he nearly laughed, “we always enjoyed each other’s company at the brothel.”

Cecilia froze, Caracalla’s suggestive words hung in the air. Her face burned with humiliation, though she refused to look at Caracalla. She was always disgusted with him, but he was always the highest bidder, of course. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, hidden by the folds of her dress.

Geta’s expression darkened, an arm wrapping around his wife as he spoke. “Watch your tongue, Caracalla,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s mine now, and I don’t share.”

Caracalla chuckled, raising his goblet in mock surrender. “Of course, brother,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” But the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise, a deliberate taunt that left the tension evident. Caracalla was a disgusting man. She knew Caracalla probably did dream of her, her image radiating in his disturbing fantasies. Emperor Caracalla did not care if Cecilia was wed to his brother, he would have her either way.

Cecilia forced herself to move towards her shared bedroom with Geta, her legs stiff as she stepped away from the table. Every step felt like she had bricks tied to her ankles. As she reached the doorway, she dared a glance back to look at her husband. Geta was looking at her hungrily, his eyes full of lust and desire. 

There was no denying that Geta considered Cecilia one of the most beautiful women in Rome. She had heard him boast about her beauty countless times to senators, dignitaries, and even his own brother. But to her, his admiration felt hollow, empty and seated only in expected desire. She wasn’t his equal, nor his partner. She was his possession—a living, breathing trophy he displayed to assert his dominance in comparison to his older brother. 

Her fingers tightened around the doorknob as she tried to collect herself. She had learned long ago how to endure, how to play the role of a pleasured woman. But tonight, as the memory of Caracalla’s taunt echoed in her ears and the weight of her husband’s gaze lingered on her skin, she felt her act begin to diminish.

For now, all she could do was walk forward towards the mountain of sheets, step by agonizing step, toward a night she wished she could escape. As Geta locked the door, he turned to kiss her. She forced herself to stay still, her lips barely responding to him as his lips pressed against her own. When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered on her, searching for something she wasn’t sure she could give. “You’re mine, little dove,” he murmured, “Don’t forget that.”

Cecilia managed a faint nod, her throat tight as if the words she wanted to say were caught there. “Of course, all yours…your highness,” she whispered, the lie slipping from her lips with practiced ease.

Geta smiled, seemingly satisfied, and moved to the edge of the bed, removing his ornate outer garments. Cecilia stood frozen in place for a moment, her hands trembling at her sides as she urged her body to do something…anything. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of his high, impractical expectations for her. She moved toward him, her mind racing for ways to endure another night of this charade.

-

Just before the rise of dawn, she met Acacius in the alcove just as they had promised one another the afternoon prior. Acacius had beat her there, and was welcoming as she entered their small hideaway. His broad frame was bathed in the faint glow of the first hints of morning light, his silhouette calm and steady as he leaned against the wall, posed just like the support she needed him to be. When he saw her approach, his face softened, and he straightened. He stepped toward her with a warm smile.

“Cecilia,” he said, his voice low but filled with adoration, “You made it.”

“I couldn’t stay another moment in that room,” she replied, but still managed to smile at his comforting gaze. The tension she had carried all night was still coiled tightly in her chest, but something about Acacius’ presence began to ease it. She started to feel like she could breathe again.

As she stepped fully into their little hideaway, he reached out, his hands brushing her arms in a gesture that was both protective and grounding. “You’re safe here,” he murmured, reminding her gently. “What happened?”

Her throat tightened as she looked up at him. The words threatened to spill out, but she hesitated, unsure of where to begin or how much to say. She did not like speaking about it. She felt she could never truly tell him, as the reminder stirred feelings deep within her that caused terror.  “It’s…it’s nothing new,” she finally managed, “Just more of the same.”

Acacius’ jaw clenched, his hands briefly tightening on her arms before he let out a controlled breath. “You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice rough with restrained anger. “Any of it.”

Cecilia shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes. “I don’t have a choice, Acacius. Atticus signed me up for this pain, and I must follow through.”

“Atticus wronged you,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But I won’t let you be.”

His words wrapped around her like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her hurt. She let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his chest. She knew he was right. Atticus had wronged her, and she had needed someone else to tell her that. For a moment, the world outside the alcove faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Acacius wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as though he could shield her from the weight of the world. His touch was firm yet tender, his hands settling on her back with a protective instinct that warred against the fire steadily growing within him. He knew he shouldn’t let himself feel this way about her. She was young, fragile. But she was also forbidden to him, bound to a man unworthy of her. Yet, no matter how fiercely he tried to fight it, his feelings for Cecilia only grew stronger with each stolen moment they shared in the small hideaway. Every glance, every word, every touch chipped away at his resolve, leaving him powerless against the tide of emotions he felt soon he would be no longer able to control.

Acacius closed his eyes, his cheek brushing the top of her head as he tried to bring himself back down to earth. Her presence was intoxicating—a bittersweet ache that made his heart race. He wondered if she could feel his heart rate quicken as he held her. He wanted to fight it, to push her away for both their sakes, but every time she sought him out, every time she looked at him with those pleading, vulnerable eyes, he was a goner.

“Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “I wish I could take you far away from here. Away from all of this.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her gaze filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “If only it were that simple,” she whispered.

He reached up, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, his touch gentle as though she might break under his touch. “One day,” he said quietly, the words more a vow than a hope. “One day, I’ll find a way. You will not live in this reality forever. I promise.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the air. Acacius knew the dangers of this attachment. He knew it could cost them both dearly, but in that moment, with her in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

[queenmagnusao3]

a kiss with death is better than none

An Agathario fic that starts at the beginning. I'll be trying to stay within the bit of canon the show gave us for Agatha's history but may bend a few things to better fit my narrative

Link to full fic

Evanora Harkness pulled the freshly baked pie from the oven, the warmth of the hot metal oven causing her face to flush and her eyes to sting. She quickly placed it on the table and wiped her brow. The sun had set not 30 minutes prior and she knew he would be there at any moment.

She had felt him growing more distant from her for nearly a full moon cycle now. He seemed to genuinely love her, or at least he seemed to enjoy bedding her any chance he got but his pesky wife and their two brats were getting in the way. He seemed unwilling to leave them, no matter how much of herself she gave over to him.

Evanora wasn’t completely above killing his wife and the children, she just wasn't that desperate yet. She could still make it work. She could still convince him he wanted to stay of his own free will. He was a man of status in the small village and if she could keep him on her side, she wouldn’t have to worry about ending up on the gallows or worse. She would be safe.

The fear towards witch kind had grown to such extreme heights fewer and fewer witches were willing to practice their craft anymore. The humans were quick to pass judgement and even the slightest hint of an unnatural ability was met with swift action. These punishments and executions had begun to get more brutal and extreme. Some deaths were easily avoidable for the average witch but not all were skilled or prepared enough for the trials that awaited them. To make matters worse, many of those accused weren’t even magical, just poor women caught up in the high of the witch hunt. 

Evanora herself once nearly met her end, finding herself standing before a judge and jury determined to find her guilty of the crime that was being a witch. Lucky for her, she was rather proficient in the art of manipulating the mind. It was a fine tuned magic that would damage and warp the weak mind of most humans if not done precisely. 

She used her manipulations to bring forth the truth: the true witch was her accusor, determined to frame Evanora for her own cimes. The witch did not feel guilty over that women’s death. She had already sent half a dozen others to Death’s waiting arms. She deserved whatever pain awaited her.

No, in order to truly be safe she needed him to truly love her. Being a man it wasn’t hard to catch his eye. A slip of her skirts or the gently flip of her hair had him under her spell as soon as he laid his eyes on her. But that rush of something new and forbidden had started to wear off. She needed to up the stakes.

There was the sound of horseshoes on dirt and she quickly pinched her cheeks, giving them an even more rosey look, putting on her sweetest smile turning just as the door opened. 

Thomas was not a particularly handsome man but his dark hair and blue eyes gave him a charming look that Evanora genuinely found enduring. He smiled at her but the smile did not reach his eyes and she knew something was wrong.

“I baked you a pie, my darling. It’s elderberry.”

He took off his hat, holding it in his hands. Another warning. He always hung his hat on the hook by the door.

“My favorite.”

She scanned his face, wishing, not for the first time in her life, she could see into his mind. 

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t move from the front door. He always pulled her into his arms when he got home. Instead he ran a hand through his thick hair and let out a long sigh.

No no no no no no no

Bells were ringing in her head. She could save this. She could get him to stay.

“Thomas, dear. Come sit and have some pie. It’s been days and I’ve missed you so.”

She moved to him and started to pull off his coat but he flinched away from her. She froze, her heart starting to race as she started working through ideas. She was not going to run again. With his protection she could live her life in peace. She could gather a coven again and together they’d be strong enough to handle anything the foolish humans might try to do to them. She just needed more time.

“Evanora?”

She blinked rapidly, looking up into his piercing blue eyes.

“Evanora, I am sorry. But whatever this is between us cannot continue. I have a wife and two babes not yet 6. I cannot leave them.”

Evanora’s eyes darkened. It wasn’t her fault he was married. He was the one who fell for her advances. He was the one who broke his vow, his devotion. She would not suffer rejection from someone so weak.

She took a step back and turned her back on him. She had one card left to play. Hunching over, she began to quietly sob, pinching the inside of her arm to help the tears well. She heard him take a step and the moment he touched her back she pulled away from his touch, whirling around with angry tears spilling down her cheeks.

“You cannot do this to me! I am an unmarried women with no one else to look after me. To look after us .” She sucked in a dramatic sob of a sigh and fell to her knees, wrapping an arm around her midsection for good effect. She wasn’t actually with child. But that was easy enough to remedy. Or she could always fake a miscarriage in a few weeks. She just needed him to stay for now. 

It took so long for him to react that she almost looked at him to be sure the idiotic man understood what she was telling him. She waited though, letting her gently sobs continue until he was on the floor before her, gently taking her hands in his.

“My darling, are you telling me you are with child?”

She slowly moved her eyes up to meet his, pausing just a moment before nodding slightly. He let out a soft breath and kissed her hands before pulling her into a tight embrace. Evanora melted against him, a wave of relief washing over her as she knew she had won.

“We shall  find someone to help get rid of it. I know they are medicines one can take to-”

She pulled away from him in an instant.

“What did you say?”

He had the gull to look at her confused as if what he said was perfectly normal.

“Evanora, this changes nothing. I am already married. I already have children. I cannot just leave them. I would be an outcast, a disgrace. And your child, the child would be a bastard with no place in society or hope for a future.”

Her anger bubbled over and she lashed out with her magic. She pierced his mind, causing as much pain as she could with no care for precision or care. He writhed and screamed, clutching his head as his eyes glowed. 

You’ll go to your wife tonight and tell her you’re leaving. Tell her you don’t love her. Do whatever you have to do to make them understand you’re not coming back. Make your children forget they ever had a father. Get rid of them in a way that ensures we’ll never have to see them again. Then come back to me and devote yourself to me fully.

She wasn’t even fully aware of the commands she was giving him, she just wanted him gone. She didn't even care if he came back at this point. She just wanted to cause him as much pain as she could. She let out a scream of anger before cutting him free of her spell, rushing to the back door and vomiting into the grass as the cool air stung against her tearstained face.

She knew he would be gone when she went back inside. 

2 days later he returned. His eyes staring at her without truly seeing as he stood in the doorway, his clothing soaked in crimson blood.

“What di-”

“It’s done. They’re gone. And you, my beloved, are mine .”

He walked to her, pulling her close as his lips met hers in a crushing kiss. There was a passion behind it she had not felt from him before. He pushed her back towards the kitchen table, taking her by the hips and lifting her up so she was sitting on the edge. His kisses were frenzied and he quickly started undoing his breeches as she greedily lifted her skirts. She liked this new Thomas and she wanted him just as much as he seemingly wanted her.

He was rough and finished quickly, leaving her wanting more. But she saw it happen in an instant, his eyes changed from hard and hungry to confused, followed by horrified. He pulled away from her, taking in the blood that had transferred to her clothing. His gaze moving towards his own hands and the blood that covered him. He stumbled backwards, towards the door.

“Wh-what have I done?”

Evanora pushed her skirts back down, catching her breath as she walked to him. She touched him gently, slipping back into the role of the meak, nurturing woman he was attracted to for some reason.

“Shh, it’s okay. It will all be okay. Let me get you cleaned up and we can talk about it.”

But there was a madness in his eyes now. 

“No. Y-you stay away from me. I-I heard you in my head. What did you do to me? What have I done? My children! My wife!”

He tripped as he moved farther away from her, stumbling down the stairs as he ran away. 

Evanora watched him stagger down the road towards the village. Letting out a sigh she started making a mental list of the belongings she would be able to carry with her to her next destination. She was never really meant for the life of doting housewife anyway. It was worth the try but it was no great loss on her part.

Her house was empty by the time the townsfolk came for her. She stuck around long enough to hear of his trial. He had slit his wife’s throat and left his children to drown in a well. He confessed to everything claiming his only defense being he had been put under some spell by a witch he had been having relations with.

Committing crimes under a spell sometimes worked as a defense but with such a heinous crime he did not stand a chance. He was found guilty and sentenced to death. 

He was hanged not 3 days later.

It was not for nearly a full moon cycle later that Evanora Harkness realized Thomas had left her with a parting gift. She supposed it was some divine retribution that her last encounter with him had resulted in new life. Maybe this child would be the way forward. Maybe it would be the soltution to all her problems.

She wandered for a few days before she was drawn to a young witch living quietly at the edge of a forest. The woman was happy to provide her with a safe place to take shelter.

“You are with child.”

It was not a question. Evanora looked around the camp and noticed cards on a table, a few of them still set in a familiar spread. A divination witch.

“Yes.”

“The child was made with magic.”

Evanora nodded.

“There is a darkness hanging over her conception.”

Her. So it was a girl. Evanora already felt this though. She had not dwelled much on the fact the child was conceived under magical coercion. Plenty of witches got men with love spells or potions. Surely this was no different. But the other witch’s eyes suddenly grew wide and Evanora swore the skiy darkened.

“There is a great evil within you, Evanora Harkness.”

Evanora’s skin prickled as the witch continued.

“Her power will be like nothing this world has seen. Death will follow your child wherever she goes.”

[ariannawilliamsblog]

Making Fried Chicken for a Crowd: Tips

Preparing fried chicken for a crowd can be a rewarding experience, especially when you want to impress guests with a delicious, comforting dish. Whether it's for a family gathering, a party, or a community event, making enough fried chicken to satisfy a large number of people requires careful planning and execution. Here are some essential tips to ensure your fried chicken is crispy, flavorful, and enjoyed by all.

1. Plan Ahead

Effective planning is key to successfully cooking for a crowd. Start by estimating how much chicken you’ll need based on the number of guests. A good rule of thumb is to plan for about 2-3 pieces of chicken per person, depending on the size of the pieces and whether there are other main dishes available. It’s always better to prepare a little extra, just in case.

2. Choose the Right Cut of Chicken

For large gatherings, consider using a mix of chicken parts such as drumsticks, thighs, and wings. These cuts are not only cost-effective but also easy to serve. Drumsticks and thighs tend to be more flavorful and juicy, while wings are perfect for finger food. Make sure to cut your chicken into uniform pieces to ensure even cooking.

3. Marinate for Flavor

Marinating chicken is essential for adding flavor and ensuring moisture. A simple buttermilk marinade works wonders, as the lactic acid helps tenderize the meat and infuse it with flavor. Marinate the chicken for at least 2 hours, or overnight if possible, to allow the flavors to penetrate deeply. You can also add spices and herbs to the marinade for an extra kick.

4. Prepare the Breading

The breading process gives fried chicken its signature crispy coating. For a classic breading, use a mixture of flour, salt, pepper, and other seasonings. Dredge the marinated chicken in flour, then dip it in beaten eggs or buttermilk, and coat it with seasoned flour again. This double-dipping method creates a thicker, crunchier crust. For added texture, you can incorporate breadcrumbs or cornmeal into the flour mixture.

5. Fry in Batches

When cooking for a crowd, frying in batches is crucial to avoid overcrowding the pan. Overcrowding can cause the temperature of the oil to drop, resulting in greasy and soggy chicken. Use a large, heavy-bottomed skillet or deep fryer, and maintain the oil temperature at around 350°F (175°C). Fry the chicken in small batches to ensure that each piece gets the crispy coating and even cooking it deserves. Drain the fried chicken on a wire rack to keep it crispy.

Conclusion

Making fried chicken for a crowd involves careful planning, marinating, and frying. Choose uniform cuts, marinate in buttermilk, and use a seasoned flour coating for a crispy crust. Fry in batches to avoid overcrowding and keep the chicken warm in an oven. Complement with classic sides and sauces. For local inspiration, check out fried chicken in Mattoon, IL, to make your event a success.

[sams-venting]

To be completely honest, the show isn't... good. It's like, passable at best. It has good ideas and earnest storytelling, but the execution of those ideas is often hit-or-miss. Even when a good idea is well-executed, it usually overstays its welcome and becomes stale really fast. Nothing ever amounts to anything. Nothing ever has any weight. Who cares if such-and-such dies for the umpteenth time? We know we'll see them again in, like, at most a couple weeks. There are no stakes, and there's no reason to believe any of the characters will have evolved in any meaningful way around such a time that the show ends.

I'm not saying I don't like the show. It is kind of hard to watch, though. If uploads weren't daily and the team had more time to really give these cool ideas and story beats the attention they deserve, I would be a huge fan. I don't even mind that it's basically improv because they're all really good at improv! That's a huge deal, considering they're acting in VR! That isn't my issue with the show, I like improv. But the team have done themselves a disservice by not really making a concrete decision about the age demographic and by locking themselves into such a demanding upload schedule. It's like they've gathered a bunch of really nice and fresh ingredients for a cake, combined everything into a batter, and then didn't leave it in the oven long enough.

I really hate to say it, but I'm very much reminded of High Guardian Spice if anyone remembers that. There's so much potential for a good show, so much talent, such cool ideas, but there's not a sturdy enough foundation to carry all these good things.

And I hate to be so critical, I honestly do, because I'm sure it's not easy. I don't wanna look at something that people clearly spend a lot of time and effort on, something I even enjoy, and just shit all over that hard work. So, I guess I better try to make this constructive, at least?

So, here's what I would do if I was in charge:

Obviously, the daily upload schedule is good for the algorithm, but it doesn't lend itself well to the show's pacing. These ideas and story beats need space to breathe and run their full course, which is really difficult to make happen in a 15 - 20 minute time frame. Even if it was like, a twice a week upload schedule (still a pretty substantial amount), there'd be way more time to flesh episodes out and really use those 15 - 20 minutes as efficiently as possible. Plus, I'm sure it'd be way less stressful.

I would also try to space out the amount of big, dramatic events that leave the characters traumatized and needing therapy. When they happen so frequently, you start to wonder how the characters aren't completely jaded by now. In between all the big adventures and dying several times and always having to defend themselves from the villains, there should be way more moments of levity. Those moments can still be serious and develop the characters' personalities, but if the big drama is constantly happening, it just becomes the background hum, you know? It loses its impact when it's the norm.

Ideally, I feel like the show would resemble ATLA a lot more. You can have your serious themes, your death, your jokes, your magic, your fun, your family drama, your badass villains, your characters growing and changing and discovering themselves, and you can even make that all happen in a show that appeals to all ages! It's possible! But it's really difficult to reach that point if you don't give yourself more than like 12 hours to craft each episode.

.

[izzymybeloved]

Ruby Gillman: Teenage Kraken spoiler review

I saw Ruby Gillman: Teenage Kraken two weeks ago and I think it's a good movie but it does have some problems. For the positives, I like the character designs, Ruby’s a nice protagonist, I LOVE Ruby’s friends and they’re funny to me, I like Ruby’s love interest. Also Chelsea’s is a funny Ariel parody. And I also like everything this movie sets up but how it executes it is where my problems start. The movie has a lot of stories going on like Ruby trying to fit in high school, the kraken vs mermaid war, prom, Agatha's (Ruby's mom) relationship with her mom, and Ruby being a descendant of royalty. Many people say that the problem with the movie is that it has too many stories but I think they connect well in the first half. My problem is that it isn't paced well in the second half. For example, Ruby and Chelsea become friends and Chelsea thinks that if Ruby gets a trident that was lost during the kraken vs mermaid war, then that could unite both of their kingdoms but then when Ruby does get the trident and gives it to Chelsea, Chelsea’s revealed to be Nerissa, the leader of the mermaids and she wants to take down the krakens and this happens in the span of 10 minutes. If they wanted the twist to surprise the audience or hit hard then they should've taken a lot more time showing Ruby and Chelsea's friendship and NOT SPOIL IT IN THE TRAILERS. Or you could've made Chelsea actually Nerissa's daughter and at first she doesn't care about Ruby and manipulates her because her mom wants to. But then after a lot of bonding, Ruby and Chelsea become actual friends. Though doing this you might lose the parody aspect. I do think if this movie was 50 minutes to an hour longer then it would've been able to flesh out everything. Flesh out the high school stuff, the war, the prom, Agatha and her mom's relationship, and Ruby being a descendant of royalty. Also, this is a personal thing but I feel like a movie about a mermaid and kraken war, there should've been more mermaids. Like I feel like we should've seen where Chelsea/Nerissa came from. Overall, Ruby Gillman is a good movie but it just needed some more time in the oven and even though it’s not the best movie, it didn’t deserve to bomb the way it did in theaters. I give this movie a 6/10. 

[pie-of-flames]

John/Paul ficlets

I wrote a couple of little things for the Three Sentence Ficathon over on Dreamwidth. If you're so inclined, anyone can leave as many prompts as they want and there are pages and pages of prompts to fill, many of which are any fandom.

Prompt: Gilded

1967 When Paul stops his idle strumming, John puts down his book; it’s getting too dark to read anyway. The sun’s low over the trees, lighting up the meditation dome with a red-orange glow and gilding Paul’s profile as he gazes up at the sky. Mesmerized, John reaches over and with the tip of his index finger, follows the golden line from Paul’s forehead, with its soft fringe now a sun-kissed brown, down his nose to the delicate divot of his upper lip, then falling to his plump, rosy lips, which curve into a smile to match John’s as the finger gives way to John’s eager mouth.

Prompt: Food as a metaphor for love I gave up on trying to keep this to 3 sentences. Oh well. 70’s AUish “What the hell?” Paul thought as he opened the box and pulled out containers of flour and yeast and a page of detailed instructions written in a familiar hand, illustrated with a cartoon of John with a giant beaky nose, bird’s nest hair and giant oven mitts.

Your mission if you choose to accept it, began the instructions, and Paul grinned as he read his assignment and thought, “Game on, Lennon.”

One week later, as Paul bustled into John’s New York apartment laden with packages, John said, “You actually did it. I don’t believe it,” before he tore open one of the packages to reveal a perfectly executed sourdough loaf topped with John’s face made in dough. “My nose is not that big,” he protested as Paul’s arms snaked around his waist. 

“Taste first, critique later,” Paul whispered into his ear. Not wasting any time on niceties, John tore into the bread and stuffed it in his mouth. As he chewed, his eyes widened. “I love you, Paul, but this is unacceptable. Nobody makes a better sourdough than me.”

“Is that right?” Paul smirked. “I met the challenge, didn’t I? John flapped away Paul’s hands that were trying to sneak under his waistband. “Yeah, but you weren’t supposed to win. I can’t have that.” He started frantically pulling out flour and pots and pans.

“Hold on, hold on,” Paul said as he yanked the flour out of John’s grip and pushed John against the counter, hands slipping under John’s shirt to get at his warm skin. “I came all this way, Johnnie. Don’t I deserve a thank you?” 

“I just want to…”  Paul cut off his words with a kiss that rendered John boneless.

“Oh,” John gasped when they finally broke apart. “You’re bloody good at that, you know? But I think I can do you one better.” He started tugging Paul toward the bedroom. 

[suncoastcustomhomesblog]

Revamp Your Kitchen with a Stellar Kitchen Remodelling Service Naples

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Your kitchen is more than just a place to cook; it's an extension of your personality. With a professional kitchen remodelling service, you can add personalized touches to truly make the space your own. From unique backsplash options to custom lighting fixtures, unleash your creativity and infuse your kitchen with a touch of your own character.

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Transforming your kitchen into a paradise of convenience and aesthetics is within reach, thanks to the excellent services provided by professional Kitchen Remodelling Service Naples. Whether you're seeking to upgrade appliances, follow the latest trends, or simply rejuvenate your living space, a kitchen remodelling service can turn your dreams into reality. So, say goodbye to your mundane kitchen and give it the makeover it deserves with the expert guidance of a stellar kitchen remodelling service.

[localapplicance]

ILVE Oven Repair: The Benefits of Professional Service

So your trusty Ilve oven has finally given up the ghost. There you were, preparing a culinary masterpiece, when smoke started billowing from the oven vents, and that familiar burning smell filled the kitchen. Now you're left with two options: attempt a DIY repair or call in the professionals. Sure, your buddy who's handy with tools offered to take a look, but do you want to risk ruining your prized appliance for good? Regarding ILVE ovens, it's best to leave repairs to the experts. Professional Ilve oven repairs services have the proper training, tools, and parts to get your oven back up and running safely. Keep reading to discover why calling a pro for your ILVE oven repair is the wisest choice.

Why Choose a Professional ILVE Oven Repair Service?

Why trust any handyman with your high-end ILVE oven? Precision appliances demand expert servicing. ILVE oven technician have the knowledge, skills, and materials to safely and rapidly repair your oven.

A pro will identify the issue right away. They can diagnose the problem since they know how Ilve ovens' complex components work. No guesswork or unnecessary replacements. This saves time, money, and stress.

Technicians remain current on ILVE oven technology and repair. They can fix even the most complicated ovens.

Ovens' high temperatures and voltages need safety. The best technicians follow safety standards to prevent harm.

Why risk? Local licensed technicians provide economical ILVE oven repairs. Your ideal oven deserves nothing less.

Conclusion

Thus, the main reasons to choose a professional for ILVE oven repairs. Ovens and time are precious. Professionals are trained, experienced, and equipped to execute the work perfectly the first time. No more stress or missed work waiting for wrongly ordered components. Call the professionals and relax—you'll be baking again soon. Find a trustworthy local provider to maintain your ILVE oven. You should return to your passion!

[maulusque]

Clone genetic enhancement ideas

So the clones were genetically enhanced, but i don’t really see any writers (in fanfic or in published stuff) really exploring what that MEANS beyond “clone very stronk”. Here are some ideas that would actually make clones significantly different from just a regular-ass human in peak condition. 

-enhanced senses: eyesight, hearing, etc. I’m talking eyes like a HAWK

-better reflexes

-quicker information processing

-can hear sounds of higher and lower frequency than standard humans

-can see light of a broader spectrum than human standard

-learn quicker, retain information and skills better (potential problem: if you learn something the WRONG way, that way might stick really well)

-photographic memory (really useful for memorizing layouts and maps)

-immunity to various diseases

-can tolerate a wider range of temperatures and environments

-increased stamina and strength baseline. Clones can just run full-tilt for hours and hours and be like “ah a nice stroll”. Over long distances, they can out-pace jedi in the same way that humans can out-pace horses.

-higher tolerance of certain poisons/toxins (clones can straight-up drink ethanol, and get maybe a little tipsy)

-bodies respond quickly to physical stress, and slowly to the absence of it (basically, this means that physical conditioning results in stronger muscles and a stronger cardiovascular system really quickly, and it takes MUCH longer for a clone to lose strength and conditioning due to not exercising than standard humans. Think how much valuable training time is saved if they only have to go on a run like, once a month in order to stay in shape)

-increased ability to function through intense pain and acute injuries. Basically, semi-disabling the pain system so it’s less distracting. Probably not good for the survival of the individual in many situations, but an advantage on the battlefield. 

-heal faster and better, with fewer long-term complications. Clones can dislocate their shoulders and NOT have the joint be permanently fucked up, because the Kaminoans re-designed the whole damn thing to suck WAY less.

-actually, unique internal anatomy. There’s probably a lot about the human body besides the shoulder joint that is actually just really stupid, and something no intelligent designer would actually build. So the Kaminoans can fix a lot of that stuff. Better knees, maybe. Stronger ribs. Maybe Cody punches droids not just because he’s a mad bastard, but also because his metatarsals are literally as strong as steel. 

-Hearing loss/hearing damage? No problem, your ear can regrow those little hair-thingies that help you hear. 

-Of course, it takes energy to maintain muscle mass, which is why human bodies lose it if we’re not using it. Clones need significantly more calories than standard humans. However, their digestive systems are enhanced to extract calories and nutrients from food much more efficiently, so food goes much farther. Potential weird side effect: maybe clones only have to poop like, once a week?

-You could probably extend that into increased ability to tolerate long periods without food/on low rations, despite the increased need for calories. 

-wouldn’t it be NEAT if the kaminoans somehow designed self-repairing DNA. This would mean that others couldn’t take a DNA sample from a clone and modify it to create their own clones (basically, it protects their product. It’s like DRM for clones). This ALSO means that clones couldn’t get cancer, and that they’d be immune to radiation poisoning. So a clone could just walk up to a sphere of uranium at critical mass and pick it up. Maybe with oven mitts on if it’s hot. (this would also make it harder for a rapid-aging cure to be developed, but uhhhh fanfic writers find a way)

- “bred for obedience” I think most of this would have to be accomplished through tightly-controlled messaging and cultural norms as the clones grow up- basically, enshrining obedience as a desirable and almost sacred trait, to be prized higher than anything else, including the lives of your brothers. In the same way that we hear stories of people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones, the clones would grow up hearing stories of soldiers sacrificing their brothers’ lives to obey an order from a superior. 

-SOME of the “obedience” thing could be engineered, though. Humans are already super social, but it would probably make sense for the clones to have an even greater need for social bonds. This would make for greater teamwork and coordination, and better unit cohesion, since the clones would be more inclined to prioritize friendship/agreeing with someone over winning an argument. It would also make it so they’d bond with their natural-born generals more easily, so they would obey them not just because they’re supposed to, but because they’d be much quicker to see them as a friend, and someone who’s trust they want to earn, someone they want to incorporate into their group and make happy.

-consequently, clones who find themselves alone do NOT do well. Isolation has a much more profoundly negative impact on clones than on regular humans.

-Originally, clones designed to operate alone or in small teams would not have the social enhancement- ARC troopers, spec-ops teams, etc. There wouldn’t be much of a noticeable difference in everyday interactions, but they’d also be vaguely weirded out by what they interpret as aggressive friendliness from their brothers, and their brothers would think they’re a bit shy and standoffish. 

-actually this social modification would make it MUCH harder for clones to kill people. REGULAR HUMANS are already super bad at killing people- i remember reading this article about how as soon as soldiers have to point their weapons at actual people, their aim gets mysteriously much shittier. Even when compared to situations that are exactly the same, except they’re not shooting at other humans. So reconcile this how you will, idk.

-I imagine a lot of these enhancements would be accomplished not through DNA, but through microorganisms. Retroviruses could explain the DNA resistant to modification, and the increased healing speed, and possibly some disease resistance (do i know anything about retroviruses other than a vague concept of what they are? no i do not. will that stop me? also no.) Their metabolism can be partially explained through specially engineered gut microbes.

-not sure how they’d go about making clones “resistant to any stress”, because you can’t exactly turn off the trauma response in the brain without breaking a bunch of other things. They could probably do a bit of fiddling to make clones more resistant to chemical imbalances, and therefore more depression-resistant. I think most of the “stress-resistance” would have to come through training. Either they train the clones to basically suppress everything, which might work alright in the short term. OR they actually have systems in place that help prevent the development of things like PTSD and help treat trauma. Meaning the clones are literally trained in self-care, positive self-talk, talking about their pain with their brothers, and having community rituals around things like death and grief. I don’t think that’s super likely because one thing that’s integral to those concepts is the concept of “i am a person and i have worth, and if i feel angry about something bad happening, that is ok and valid” and considering that a whole lot of bad things happen to the clones all the time and their childhood is a whole boatload of bad all happening at once, i don’t think the kaminoans would want the clones realizing “hey wait a minute i’m a person and i don’t deserve to be treated this way and it’s ok for me to be mad at you”. 

- the clones were supposedly engineered to be “less aggressive” but i think there was literally nothing more to that than a cover story for the control chip. The clones wouldn’t be raised with a lot of the aggressive western concept of masculinity, where anger is the default reaction to like, everything, and your personal pride is extremely important and also fragile (no offense lmao). So you wouldn’t have clones posturing and getting angry over perceived slights and fighting each other all the time, like everyone in-universe apparently expects to be the case. Anyway, why would you want your soldiers to be less aggressive? they’re literally supposed to fight and kill the enemy. You want them fully capable of getting angry, anger is the human response to fear and danger that lets us DO something about it. 

-obviously the biggest component in how they behave would be how they are raised, but that’s an entirely different post

-Specializations! I imagine that initially, the Kaminoans had different clones with different traits engineered specifically to fill certain roles. However, as the war went on, they struggled to keep up with demand and had to start shoving clones into whatever roles were needed (hence Fives and Echo becoming ARCs, despite not being engineered as ARC troopers). 

-Command clones would have better abilities in the executive function parts of the brain that deal with extrapolation, planning ahead, spatial reasoning, etc. They’d also have increased visual pattern recognition (like a pigeon)

-search-and-rescue troops would also have the pigeon pattern recognition abilities. The coast guard literally strapped pigeons to helicopters who would tap a button when they saw orange in the water, because they were better at spotting it than humans. Pigeons can detect cancer in microscope images of cells, because they’re that good at pattern recognition

-Pilots would have hella reflexes, excellent spatial awareness and spatial reasoning skills, much greater ability to process visual information, stronger hearts and blood vessels (to resist greater Gs of force), and they’d also be much shorter, to better fit into a cockpit. Which reminds me of Axe, that poor bastard from Ahsoka’s squadron over Ryloth who was almost eight feet tall. rip poor Axe, how did you even become a pilot, you long bastard.

-medics who can smell certain diseases. If you want to get a little bit out there, make the medics able to purr so they can sooth stressed-out patients. 

-infantry would have even greater endurance than everyone else, as well as greater tolerance for, and ability to, remain constantly on alert.

-ability to fall asleep at will? that would be super dope.

-maybe more efficient sleep, so to an adult clone, 4 hours of sleep is genuinely sufficient.

-concept: clones can sort of turn down their bodily functions- slow their digestion, heart, lungs, the whole nine yards- to last longer in adverse conditions. Sort of a half-hibernation (or quarter hibernation- they’d still be able to talk and think, but they’d feel very lethargic). They wouldn’t be able to function very well, but it would be great for things like enduring intense cold, periods without food, low-oxygen environments, and it would be especially useful if you were wounded and waiting for help, since you could slow your circulation, meaning it would take you a lot longer to bleed out. This state could be triggered by a combination of physical actions such as sitting or lying still, breathing slowly and deeply, and focusing on slowing the heart down (humans can actually slow down their hearts consciously if you practice at it, this is basically that, but turned up to like 1100).

-one thing that never made sense to me was the whole “we’re running out of jango fett’s DNA, all the new clones won’t be as good, and we have to stop ventress from stealing the original DNA” because like, can’t they just, get the EXACT SAME DNA from the clones?? you know, the exact genetic copies? With all the enhancements already done? But now my idea is that the kaminoans have engineered the clones so their DNA straight up can’t be copied. The clone’s own body can obviously replicate it, but if you take a sample and try to extract the DNA, it just self-destructs or something. This is to protect their intellectual property, but also means that they literally have to use a couple of Jango Fett’s actual human cells for every single clone they make (and the fact that they then have to do all the above enhancements to every single embryo helps explain why there’s so many small mutations, such as hair color and height). So they kinda shot themselves in the foot with that one. 

-of course since things like ADHD and autism have a strong genetic component, the kaminoans could theoretically engineer those out of the clones, but actually FUCK THAT so for whatever reason, that’s just not something they are able to do, and neurodivergent clones are absolutely a thing

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

food, health, need advice. hi so i'm a caretaker and cooking is a struggle, i know how to cook but sometimes if i'm making something for myself the person i take care of (mom) takes most of my food? and i have executive dysfunction so it can be hard to cook meals for myself. idk how much of this is real but i've heard that a bad quality diet can make mental illness worse? sometimes i don't eat but then when i do eat it's always junk food and caffeinated drinks and i suffer from daily migraines.

Hey anon,

I'm sorry that's happening. Sounds like a frustrating experience. You deserve kindness and to get a good portion of the food you're cooking.

I think it would help to communicate to your mom how you're feeling. If you're willing to make more food and share with her, tell her that. You can also tell her that you are willing to make food for both of you, but you need to know beforehand, so you can make enough, if that's something you're willing to do. Communicating boundaries can be really important when it comes to caregiving. If this is not a possibility right now, I suggest telling her what time you're available to make food and what you'll be making. Then, plate for both of you and ensure you have enough on your plate.

Other, more general tips are to make food that can be eaten as leftovers the next day, or even later that same day. Pasta, casserole dishes, slow-cooker dishes, etc all work well as leftovers. Try to pick recipes that take few steps, such as slow-cooker recipes, oven-baking, etc.

A healthy, well-balanced diet is really important for concentration, brain functioning, critical thinking, as well as physical things such as balance, fine motor skills, energy, and, as you know, migraines. It's hard to cope with mental illness when you're not eating enough of what you need. All food has nutritional value, but some have more variety than others.

Make it a priority to eat. If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of someone else to the best of your ability. You deserve to feel energized, healthy, and full. Your body's hunger queues are probably a bit messed up right now, so be patient with yourself as you reset things. Remember that it is always better to eat something than nothing, even if that's fast food, candy, chips, a pb&j, instant noodles, etc.

Keep small snacks available. If you occupy a particular area for most of your day, have a snack basket there. In mine, I've had nuts, juice, water, pretzels, popcorn dried fruit, electrolyte drinks, pudding, rice cakes, peanut butter, fruit, dry cereal, crackers, and pickles. Some of these items need to be replaced or thrown out if not eaten fast enough, so it's okay to omit these ones if you don't think you'll be able to keep things clean.

Don't be afraid to take shortcuts. There's absolutely nothing wrong with a bagged salad, canned food, or pre-cooked meals when you're not up for cooking. When you are able to cook, try to do a little meal-planning and prep things as much as you can. Even chopping veggies can be a big help. They can be used in many different things and eaten raw with dressing. Making a plate of pickles, meat, and cheese can be a great addition so you get a bit of everything. Personally, I like just eating crackers and cream cheese, with pickles if I'm able. Even if you're not cooking a whole meal, you can eat components and still get what you need. Here are 100 no-cook foods.

You'll need carbs, fat, and protein. I think by balancing the cooked meals and these shortcuts, you can get enough nutritionally valuable food in you.

As for migraines specifically, this could definitely be caused by your diet. Make sure you're having enough water, eat foods with magnesium (bananas, seeds/nuts, legumes, spinach, brown rice), and take moments in your day to breathe, rest, and relax. Check in with yourself and just take a few deep, slow breaths, breathing out through your mouth. Lowering your baseline of stress may help your migraines.

Take care.

- Misa

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Day 8: Tepid

Modern AU. Agi and Estinien plans for a romantic evening are derailed by a broken water heater. NSFW.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.” Agnes said, holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she put the teriyaki tofu tempeh casserole in the oven. “The good news is dinner will be ready when you get here, love.”

“And the bad news?”

“The water heater is busted, so our dreams of a romantic, if extremely tight, bath, will be…tepid at best. But,” Agnes said excitedly. “I’ve got your favorite beer, so that’s good!”

Beer is good. Tepid romantic bath…not good. “That’s something at least. I’ll see in a bell or so, sweetheart.”

***

After they had dinner (my recipe but Agi makes it taste a million times better than when I make it) and some making out on the couch (she’s perfect in every way---move-in day can’t come soon enough), she and Estinien retreated to her bedroom.

“I tried to find some fire crystals, but alas, none were found.” Agnes sighed, removing her clothes. “Are you sure you still want to do this romantic bath? We can—”

“Aye, we can see how it goes. If anything,” Estinien smirked and pinched her ass. “We can cuddle in bed. Either way, we’re having a romantic evening.” NO MATTER WHAT! You deserve everything, my sweet sausage roll.

“Oh! You naughty man! Let’s check on the bath…” She and Estinien entered her bathroom, and Agnes put her hand in the water in the tub. “Tepid. You in first or me?”

Estinien shrugged. “I suppose me, since I’m the taller one?” I think I misjudged. I’m not sure if both of us can fit in here. He managed to sit but couldn’t stretch his legs. “Maybe…you get in…hmmmm…” The water is certainly not making this romantic. Shit.

Agnes took off her glasses and placed them on the sink. “If I get in front of you? Let’s try that.” She carefully stepped into the tub, trying to adjust herself to be in between Estinien’s legs. “Could you widen—”

“Agi, I can’t move my legs any wider.”

“What if—”

“AGI!”

She lost her balance a bit and nearly toppled onto Estinien, who had his hands firmly gripping her hips.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll just step out and—”

Estinien shook his head, waiting for her to get out of the tub first. “Let’s just cuddle in bed. Tepid water’s no good for my cock anyways.”

Excellent idea. Shit execution. No matter though—who doesn’t love a cuddle and fuck in bed?

[cedric-stories]

A Royal New Year Party

Word Count: Around 2,400

Plot: After getting done planning a New Year’s Eve party, Cedric meets a man that makes the sorcerer question his relationship with you.

Warnings: Angst and language

Author’s Note: This just came to me cause people used to be such jerks to my ex about us being a couple. So, kinda personal and kinda just I adore Cedric and want my baby to know he’s loved.

Author’s Note note: Okay, so I had another fic like this but I’m finally gonna address it; the world is set in our time so there are cell phones and stuff. I know I changed it from the show, but it was just easier for me. Also, this is gonna be the last fic for a few days. tbh, I haven’t even started the next ones, but I do have outlines. Hope you enjoy and happy New Year!!!

Reader pronouns: she/her

                                       A Royal New Year Party

Here it is, the greatest party of every year. The royal family’s enchanted New Year’s Eve party was only a few hours away.

           “Cedric, could you please conjure another bouquet of roses?”

“Cedric, can you please just conjure one more turkey? The chef ran out of bird, so he is begging you to make one; but please don’t tell the King!”

           “Cedric, can you put the floating plates over here?”

“Cedric, can you conjure a few more chairs?”

           “Cedric, where is god’s name is that turkey!?”

           Yes, these were the sounds the poor sorcerer had been listening to all day. Everyone and their chef have been pestering him. He was in the middle of all the bustling and rustling. Things at been nonstop for hours and he was getting sick of it. The past day, he had been conjuring plates, chairs, ovens, instruments, and everything in between to make this party amazing. King Roland expected the very best to wow his guests, so he wanted Cedric not only to create dozens of items, but to enchant everything.

The King wanted enchanted chairs that could sway with the music, enchanted instruments that could play on their own to give the orchestra a break, and enchanted silverware that could dazzle the guests with dancing and singing. It was quite complicated to cast spell after spell (especially enchanted ones) and it was beginning to tire the man.

           Cedric was finishing up one more spell when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Well done, Cedric!” The king boomed from behind the sorcerer, scaring him out of his wits.  

           “Thank you, your majesty. I am honored.” He said, turning and bowing his head.  

“You’re very welcome, things are coming along nicely. Now, since you’ve been working all day, have you given any thought to what you have planned tonight?”

           Cedric lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.

“No, I haven’t really thought of anything.”

           “Well then,” Roland paused, gesturing to all the gold and black decorations, “why don’t the two of you celebrate the new year with us? I’m sure y/n would love it.”  

“I-we would love to and I greatly appreciate the offer,” Cedric started, “but I think we are going to celebrate the new year just the two of us.”

           Roland gave Cedric a disappointed look.

“Alright, if you insist. We will all miss you and y/n. If you change your mind, you guys are welcome.”

           “Thank you, your highness.” He said, beginning to walk out of the ballroom through majestic, golden doors.

Cedric trudged through the halls of the castle. He came across the coffee shop on the corner of the ballroom and royal dining hall and scurried into line to get a cup.

           Workers of all types stood back to front. One man wearing a blue vest, top hat, and holding a scepter in his hands was in front of cedric.

           “Hello, sir. The name’s Jonathan” The man greeted the sorcerer. His eyes seemed warm and inviting enough to talk to.

“Oh, hello.” Cedric answered, barely shaking his head to try, and come to consciousness.

           “What do you do around here, fine man?”

“I’m the royal sorcerer for Enchantcia. You may know me by Cedric the Sensational?”

The man looked perplexed for a minute, then, as if realization came down from the gods, Jonathan’s face turned up and Cedric could see the lightbulb come on.

           “Oh yes! You are the one who tried taking over the kingdom a few years back!”

Cedric cringed.

           “Yes, I am.” He said, trying hard not to recall those memories but nevertheless, remembered them vividly.

           “My, I was sure good old Kind Roland would have you executed for that!”

“Oh yes, didn’t we all?” Cedric rolled his eyes.

           “And the way the towns folk talked about you, it musta been hard to show you face around them parts for a while, eh?”

“Eh.” Cedric sarcastically parroted back.

           “Why, never in my wildest dreams would old Winnie and Goodwin’s kiddy ever try a stunt like that.”                        

“Yes, quite,” Cedric paused, narrowing his eyes at the man, “foolish of me.”

“You know, your father saved old’ king Roland’s daddy from a few monsters like yourself!”

           “yes, yes, I know. Oh look, you’re at the counter, time to order now.” Cedric rushed.

“Oh, look at that. Hi, ma’am, I’ll have a…”

           Once the man had finished ordering, cedric got up to the counter and ordered a cold caramel frappe. After, he went to sit down and wait. The bustling of people became a background noise and Cedric finally got some peace. While he sat and tried to unwind-

           “There you are good buddy!” The same talkative man said, jostling over to Cedric.

“Here I am.”

           After a long talk about Cedric’s wrongs, the man began to inquire about Cedric’s personal life.

           “So, I doubt after your long, ungrateful journey back to civilized living hadn’t brought you company of any kind?”

           Cedric believed the man meant a significant other but wasn’t really sure.

           “Pardon?”

“A woman! Have you gotten yourself a woman?!”

           Cedric gave the man a blank stare and leaned away from his sudden enthusiasm. Why in god’s name does this man want to know so much about him? He thought about telling him or not. If I do, he’s going to go on how I don’t deserve someone, or not believe me entirely. And why does he just presume I have a woman? Has the man never heard of two men living happily together? Why does this man care so much about my life?

           “I do have a significant other.” Cedric finally let out.

“Well for heavens sakes, how the hell did you get one?”

           “Well, we met over a year ago and- “

“No one in her right mind would want you. You’re so unstable compared to others your age. Eh, she’s probably just waiting’ on someone better anyways.”

           Cedric was now completely offended and didn’t really know how to answer. Without saying another word, he rose to get his coffee from the counter and left.

On his walk home, Cedric began thinking.

I have been with Y/N for almost a year. I don’t deserve her. Does she even want to be with me? Maybe I’ve just fooled myself into thinking she really loves me when all this time she’s only stayed around cause there’s no one else. Maybe he’s right, maybe it was just weird I found her. She probably is just waiting for someone better to come along and leave…I’ve done so much wrong, maybe she doesn’t even want me?

           After his long debate, Cedric headed upstairs to his tower. The stone walls felt cold against cedric’s fingers as he guided himself up three floors of spiraled stairs. He looked out one of the windows to see the sun turning orange as it set over glistening red trees. It was beautiful in Enchantcia tonight. After looking for only a minute, he started back up the stairs.

Once he had made it to the door, he took a big breath and he walked in to find his girlfriend sitting crisscrossed on a table. You were wearing Black lacy shorts with flowers embroidered along with a spaghetti strapped top that matched. Trying to pick up your phone off the floor, you were dangling from the edge. You grabbed your phone and looked up to see your boyfriend.

           “Ceddy! You’re finally home.” You smiled, jumping off the table onto your sorcerer. Your hair was in a messy bun and fluffed up into his face when you grabbed onto him for a hug.

           “Hello, Angel.”

“I’ve been missing you all day.” You said, snuggling in tighter.

           “I have too. Oh, this is for you.” He said, giving you a hot mocha.

Your smile widened. “Thank you!”    After grabbing the hot beverage from him, you look a sip, and placed it on the table.

“You look tired.”

           “I am tired.” Cedric laughed, hugging you. He was happy to be home to you until he started remembering the conversation he had with Jonathan.

Noticing him grow somber, you asked him if he was okay.

           Cedric hesitated, “Yes, just tired I think.”

“Okay, why don’t you take a nap?” You asked, still having a questioning look on your face.

           “I may.”

You kissed him gently on the cheek and made sure he got to the bedroom. Closing the door behind you, you decided to grab a book and read until he woke.

                                                                       …

After a few hours, you decided to check on Cedric. You wanted to make sure he was okay after what happened earlier.

Walking into the bedroom, you found your boyfriend already awake on his phone.

           “Hello.” You greeted, walking along the side of the bed.

Cedric nodded at you.

           Carefully, you made you way to the upper part of the bed and sat down. Noticing his standoffish actions, you scooted closer to him.

           “Babe, what’s wrong? Please, tell me.” You quietly pleaded.

He looked over at you with glassy eyes. His face was full of pain, but you just couldn’t put a finger on what upset him.

           “Did I say or do something?”

“No.” He answered, shifting away from you slightly.

��          “Cedric, tell me what’s wrong.” You grabbed his hand and put it on your lap.

He ran his other hand through his hair, and you noticed his shoulders tense.

           “Y/n,” he paused, his voice almost choking, “why-why do you stay here?”

You became confused.

           “What?”

“Why do you stay here…with me?”

           “I don’t u- “

“You have been with me for almost a year, and for merlin’s sake I have no idea why you stay.”

           “I love you.” You said, without thinking twice.

Cedric’s eyes met yours.

           “I love you, but I just don’t see how you could love me.”

You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

           “Cedric, how could you not see- “

“Do you know what I am?”

           You stared at him, “Do I know what you are?”

“Yes. Do you know what I am?”

           You ran your hand up his arm gently, “You’re mine.”

“No. I mean, do you understand what I’ve done? I’ve tried overthrowing the kingdom, I plotted against the royal family for years. Everything had a terrible motive, everything I did was selfish, I dreamed of making others bow before me. I am not a good person.”

           “Cedric! Of course, I know that. I’ve always known all of that. I love you for you. You are a good person now, and I don’t care about your past, I love you for everything you are and once was.”

           Cedric looked down then he cocked his head.

“Once was?”

           You took a breath.

“Cedric, I’ve never admitted it, but I really don’t care you tried overthrowing the kingdom. It’s not healthy, I know, but sometimes I think my love for you is stronger than my morals.” You laughed nervously. “You are my person, my lobster, as some show would say, and no matter what, I love you. I’m not saying what you did was right, but because I love you, I overlook it easily.”

           He grabbed ahold of your hand and you wrapped your arm around him. He hugged you back tightly and you knew he felt better. You kissed the side of his cheek and laid you head on his chest.

           “What even made you think of that, love?”

“Nothing, I guess I just will never quite get used to you being mine.”

           The two of you sat in silence for a minute, then cedric turned towards you.

           “The royal family is having a party tonight to bring in the new year. I was wondering if you would want to go. The King invited us.”

           You beamed a smile.

“I’d love to!”

About an hour later, the two of you were walking down the hall towards the ballroom.

Once you arrived, you were greeted by a loud orchestra and babbling voices. The room was full of women in suits and dresses and men in the same attire. It was an extravagant gathering with gold and black streamers lining the walls and draping over the ceiling. At the front of the room sat the orchestra with its self-playing instruments and band members walking about. Some guests sat on floating chairs and plates that followed behind others walking. Workers hurried around, grabbing dirty, golden silverware.

           Cedric and you started over to the royal table when Sofia came running over.

“Mr. Cedric! Miss. Y/n! I’m so happy you guys could come.” She shouted over the music, running up and giving Cedric a hug followed by yours.

           “I’m glad we could. Please tell your father that we are very grateful.” You said to the young girl wearing the pink amulet.

           “I will. Are you guys going to sit down? There’s two chairs next to me.”

“Yes, we are. We’ll be over in a minute. Thanks again.”

           “No problem.” Sofia replied, running off to greet the other guests.

           You had almost made it over to the table when a loud voice practically yelled at Cedric.

“Cedric! There you are old buddy!”

           Cedric’s shoulders stiffened again.

“Hello, Jonathan.”

           “Who you got with you?”

“This is y/n, she’s my girlfriend.”

           The man looked you over and made you rather uncomfortable.

“Oh my god! She’s beautiful! What the hell did you have to bribe her to come with?”

           Your eyes flung wide open and you gasp.

“What?” You asked in a flat tone.

           “No offense to you ma’am, You’re beautiful! I’m just wondering’ how he got someone like you,” he glanced at Cedric, “with his past and all.”

You shot Jonathan an angry look.

           “For your information, I love this man with all my heart and want to be with him for who he is. If you can’t accept that then you can just kindly leave us alone!” You snapped.

           The man looked shocked.

           “Well, I guess if you’re happy- “

“I am happy. Thank you.”

           “It was nice seeing you again old buddy.”

“A pleasure really.” Cedric smiled, wrapping his arm around you.

           The two of you began walking away. You couldn’t believe how rude he had been. Before you had gotten too far, you were boiling over with anger and wanted that man to know you adored Cedric. Suddenly, you whipped around to make sure he was still watching. You grabbed Cedric by the collar and kissed him firmly on the lips.

           Jonathan looked horrified at you. You gave a sarcastic smile at him and turned back around.

           “Jackass.” You spat out under your breath.

“You have no idea.” Cedric agreed, placing his arm back around you tightly.

           “I truly do love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Cedric.”

           Cedric and you made it to the table and joined the royal family. Later, the two of you along other couples shared a passionate kiss at 12am to welcome the new year.

[madsdefencesquad]

The semi-companion piece to Kevin's one and it's all about Mads, of course. Dedicated to Kevison Nation (every single fudging one of you) and to @flythesail and @penny259 (your comments have me weeping haha 😚). Also on ao3.

A little into Madison Pearson by x (with additions) Summer 2026

I first met Madison Pearson a year ago at George Clooney’s 65th birthday celebrations in Perthshire, Scotland in a fashion closer to that of long-travelled friends who haven’t seen each other in years than that of complete strangers who just so happened to enjoy the same foodie indulgence (bacon-wrapped dates, anyone?). Despite the grandeur of the guests present at the lavish affair – politicians, laureates, philanthropists and A-list celebrities (including her own husband actor Kevin Pearson) – Madison Pearson had the kind of invigorating energy that just drew absolutely anyone in.

Perhaps it was the enchanting mix of contained excitement and understated class she exuded that will warm you upon beholding up close, or perhaps it was the charm of a more loquacious woman of California mixed with the rare intelligence of a world-traveller. Either way, despite the taxing social waltz her husband took her throughout the night bumping elbows with the elites, Madison was one of those people who truly left a lasting impression.

Squeezed next to her in the back of a cab, Madison is head-to-toe in Temperley London x Axel Arigato (vintage-inspired nautical jumpsuit and platform suedes) en route to a baking class where her five-year-old twins Nick and Franny are waiting for her to join them along with their father.

“I was supposed to get changed,” she says, lamenting on her attire worn for a meeting with some West Chester development executives that’s perhaps too luxurious for an afternoon of mixing flour and butter and sugar. “But you have to make at least a bit of an impression, right?”

Madison has been the powerhouse head honcho of the Pearson family business, Big Three Homes, since its establishment three years prior. With a solid background in business management and a surefooted ability to navigate the mores of an ever-changing property development landscape, it was no question that Madison would rise up to the challenge of breaking into the market with a business model founded on family, philanthropy and sustainability.

Despite growing up largely independent without people close enough to call family, Madison has also found the means to speak about her experiences in an effort to encourage and give hope to the younger generation of girls and young women who may be going through an ongoing battle between themselves and their self-worth.

“I never felt enough,” she says of the origins of her battle with her eating disorder that began when she was still in middle school. “I look at Franny and she’s so small and carefree and I want to give her everything I never had, but I know that even that won’t be enough unless she herself realises how worthy she is of all the good and all the love that she deserves.”

We pull up outside the baking studio and she brightens at spotting her husband and twins’ silhouettes behind the frosted glass windows. Nick and Franny almost topple over their stools as they rush to overwhelm their mother while their father scrambles to keep his heart rate down—a close call with their foreheads hitting the edge of the marble benches as they got down will just about do it.

Even with her petite frame, Madison carries the twins like she’s just holding a bag of groceries. Unsurprisingly, both Nick and Franny are as enamoured of their mother as she is of them and are on the verge of complaining when put down just as Kevin, grinning ear to ear, envelops Madison in his huge arms—to be fair, he’s always been quite remarkably chiselled but the Tom Ford sweater and those tailored jeans (chosen by his wife “of course” as Kevin credits) is a different level altogether. He leans down to give her a kiss.

Back in Perthshire a year ago at the Clooney extravaganza, I caught up with the married couple the day after the festivities over a traditional Scottish breakfast as we overlooked the highlands of the Gleneagles.

Perhaps unlike the Clooneys, who were still entertaining their guests from all over world, the Pearsons were much more relaxed within their own family bubble. Having just celebrated Kevin’s twin sister’s wedding three days prior with close family and friends, the pair was grateful to spend some quality time with each other and their twins without the need to be anything but present.

From my perch, Kevin and Madison were the kind of couple that were very much “old souls”. They held an affection for each other that is rooted from sincere fondness and adoration for each other—they converse like deep friends and trade wits like secret lovers. And despite the media attention of the adorable moments shared online (often by the social-savvy actor), Madison is uncompromising when it comes to the privacy of their children.

While the twins dipped in and out of the table pilfering scones or taking over their mother’s green juice, neither one of their parents were the least bit bothered by the constant attention they need to provide such a rumbunctious pair.

“They’re so funny,” Kevin said, a careful eye on little Nick who was staring at the whipped cream on his tiny finger like he was contemplating on wiping it on his dad’s face.

I do recall having a good laugh when I accompanied the family on a tour of a nearby 17th century castle and little Franny, a copy-and-paste of her mother, pointed at a wood-cut table decoration of what looked to be intertwined lovers and confidently yelled, “That’s mommy and daddy!”

The fierce mama bear of the Pearson household of four (Madison sometimes calls her husband “kid number three, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get ideas of trying for another!”), remarks that forging her own path away from her husband’s spotlight had been remarkably easy, and she gives much of the credit to the rest of the Pearson clan who all treasure family more than anything.

Even with the notoriety of her brother-in-law, rising political star Randall Pearson, who currently serves in the Philadelphia municipality and is on track for a career in congress, Madison says that quality time to rest and recuperate is a must.

“[My sisters-in-law] and I have a girls weekend every other month when we can where we literally book ourselves a gorgeous Airbnb and just glamp down. I’m talking sleep-ins, endless mimosas, spa sessions… you name it! It’s the kind of getaway that [our husbands] get really jealous for.”

And upon being reminded, Kevin, now sporting Franny’s tiny chef’s hat, shakes his head at his wife conspicuously as if in reprimand that he most definitely should be included in the gals’ next glamping session despite him being, well, not a gal.

While Nick proudly counts five of about a thousand sprinkles that are scattered on his side of the bench, Madison congratulates him with a warmth and pride that is infectious enough to make you think that she’s proud of you too. And despite her husband’s very obvious possessiveness over her—you could count only one occasion where the actor is not at arm’s length from her—when Madison focuses her attention on you, it’s not difficult to believe that this powerhouse woman could truly do absolutely anything.

“She is that and more,” Kevin says about his wife. “Sometimes I can’t believe that this is my life. Our life! Like, she’s mywife, and these two are our kids. It’s just wild! I’m grateful, just grateful.”

Despite the doubts and fear that had been Madison’s constant companions for most of her life and especially going into adulthood, there is a fierce resilience in her that she could only credit her dear grandmother Frances—her own daughter having been named after her.

“She always believed in me,” she recalls, an eye on the twins squatting by the oven watching their creations rise. Despite the deep grief and loss that are quite intimately shared by the married couple, Madison says that it has only made them more resolute in loving their children and each other as best as they possible can every day.

“You just don’t know when it’s your time,” she says. “So, Kev and I make sure that there are no ‘next times’ when it comes to our family.”

When I had asked Madison about Big Three Homes back in Scotland, she squealed at the origin story of its founding, which started with Kevin’s late father Jack Pearson having asked his wife Rebecca to start the business together as partners.

Although Jack’s tragic and unexpected passing put an indefinite hold to this dream, its fulfilment through his son Kevin and through Madison is a testament to the kind of legacy that Jack Pearson had begun through his kids.

“I mean, it started off as more of a passion project for Kev,” Madison says. “But we knew it was always going to be something really special. Especially because his first project was the house that Jack had wanted to build for his mom. And when Kevin had this wonderful idea of bringing the family together to start the business and he asked me to be a part of it, how could I have said no!”

Kevin makes a point to say though that even if the idea of Big Three Homes originally came from his parents, its fulfilment is as much a part of his and Madison’s own story as it is his parents’. And choosing to have Madison work alongside him wasn’t just the best choice (given how much of a boss she is), but it was the only choice he ever wanted or considered.

“I know this is cliché, but I can’t stand not being with her,” Kevin says. “I made a point of this when our twins were born, and I meant it!”

Madison and the family split their time between California and Pennsylvania both for Kevin’s work and for the business, but nowadays, it’s more of an 80-20 split in favour of the east coast.

When asked about a career path carved away from her hometown in California, Madison says fondly, “It surprises a lot of people when I say this but I’m actually an east coast girl.”

This fun fact translates quite well in Madison’s day to day. She could turn any conversation into an erudite discussion, and she will utterly beguile you with her knowledge of books and literature—her constant companions when she can sneak away to her own personal Taj Mahal, a stunning Japanese garden in the backyard of their Pennsylvania home which Kevin built especially for her.

As the Pearsons continue to make a splash in the world of construction, politics, arts and entertainment—a rare mix indeed for a family in the spotlight—Madison is determined to continue writing a story with her husband and her children that she never had growing up.

With the twins happily destroying their creations by the mouthfuls, Madison promises that another visit is a must and perhaps this time, she can show us a collection of Kevin’s baby photos coupled with her own personal commentary to boot.

And who would say no to that.