#The World of Syrah

[greenthena]

Yep. Mama didn't raise no quitter.

Seriously, though, have you ever reached that point, of personally having absolutely NOTHING left to lose. I'm 100% here for Crowley being abso-fucking-lutely terrifying in averting the next apocalypse. Remember how he responded when God was going to kill the kids in the flood? He's not having it. Crowley may be a lovesick wet puppy in a cardboard box (aren't we all?) but he's a complex and multi-faceted lovesick puppy in said cardboard box. And while he may have a flight response to trauma, my demon boi does not even possess the littlest freeze response. He's gonna be snarky and insufferable. He's gonna be the saddest boi you ever saw. But that doesn't mean he's going to stop fighting.

I think, maybe, it's supposed to be romantic to believe that losing your love shuts down your life??? I don't think it's romantic at all. I think Crowley has always had more going for him than JUST Aziraphale. And it goes both ways. They're both more complex characters than simply "where is my love, where is my love, where is my love?" I mean, yes, that's part of it. But if that's all the other was...neither of them would have EVER fallen so hard. They are smitten with each other because they are complex and interesting and they continue--after 6000 fucking years--to astonish one another.

Have you ever been in a relationship in which you can't function without the other person? That's called co-dependent. (That word only took me four tries. I am NOT droun...drunk. Yes. It's surprisingly difficult to type the things right now.) And you know what? Right now, the Ineffables are a bit co-dependent. But you know what I think we're going to learn in S3? That they are so very much more. That they are whole and complex characters each to their own. And that, sweet angel (platonic), is why they are going to be so much more satisfying when they get their dearly-deserved cottage in the South Downs.

Look, I need Crowley to subvert expectation. I need him not give up. He is an optimist at heart. He is hurt and probably furious but the only time we've ever seen him truly give up was when he thought Aziraphale was destroyed. He is probably in so much pain but the person he loves is alive, even though they aren't together. I need him to keep going. I don't want him to be broken down without Aziraphale. I want them to be together because they want to be, not because they can't function without each other.

[cuubism]

Intemperate

alternatively titled, "consumed with lust for some fucking guy"

4300 words following the thought, "what would it be like to experience sexual attraction again after 100 years in a jar?"

Dreamling, E rated, post-2022 reunion, dom/sub vibes & daydreaming about bondage

--

Dream had never been a creature of the senses, but he did have senses. In the Dreaming, anything that smelled or tasted or sounded was merely part of his power, and therefore not really a subject of the senses as usually conceived. The Waking was a different matter, a cacophony of things outside of himself to experience.

But Dream never thought himself as driven by senses the way actual beings of the Waking were. His senses were an illusion, abstracted from physical reality, a way of bringing him closer to the living things his function was to serve but not really a part of him. So many senses were vague in dreams, after all, for they were products of the conscious mind and its understanding of the world. Not of the realm of dreams.

Dream was not driven by his senses. He was struggling to remember that at this moment.

“So I’ve been saving this one for a special occasion,” Hob was saying, as he poured from a bottle of syrah into two glasses, “and I know we’ve met a few times already, recently that is, but—” he finished off his pour, leaving the bottle to the side and slanting a bashful smile in Dream’s direction— “every time I see you still feels like a special occasion, to be honest. Anyway, you’ll have to let me know how it is.”

Dream took his glass in the hopes that the scent and taste of the wine might distract him from all the other senses currently bombarding him.

He had thought, for a time after his imprisonment, that he might have lost his senses entirely, become inured to the feelings of the Waking world. For one hundred and five years he had felt almost nothing in his cage: there had been no smell, no taste; all sounds were muffled other than the ones he made himself; he saw nothing but the inside of that basement, and the reflections of the glass. Even touch had atrophied when the only thing his skin felt for so, so long was cool, even glass.

He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be otherwise. But he was certain it had never been like this.

It was their first time meeting alone, upstairs in Hob’s kitchen rather than downstairs in the inn. And Dream was sitting altogether too close to him. They had taken seats at right angles to each other at the table, rather than across, and he was perpetually aware of Hob in his peripheral vision, of how their knees almost bumped under the table, of Hob’s forearm resting on the tabletop near his own. He was so close, had he ever felt so close?

The simple curve of Hob’s shoulder was catching like a knife under Dream’s ribcage. The angle of his jaw making a home in his throat, and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes landing somewhere in his vocal cords. The deft movement of his hands curling at the base of his skull, the scent of his cologne when he leaned close simmering low in his belly, the hum of his voice tickling up every inch of Dream’s skin. Grabbing hold of his breath.

“You’re quiet today,” observed Hob, sipping his wine. “More than usual, I mean. Everything alright in the Dreaming?”

Was it like this for humans all the time? Dream wondered. This heavy anticipation in his chest, the bodily attention verging on pain? He hadn’t known it was possible to be so intently aware of another person, but there it was, Hob Hob Hob in the pounding heart he didn’t need, a compulsion that wasn’t intellectual or even particularly romantic, but rather a strained desperation that could only be soothed by touch.

He had hardly touched anyone since his escape, and he had only touched Hob once, at their second meeting when he had told Hob where he’d been, and Hob had hugged him. Strong arms, solid chest, the tickle of hair against his ear, the resonance of life that hummed in Hob’s body. Dream had returned to the Dreaming afterwards and sat on the steps of his throne room for a very long time, palm pressed to his chest where their bodies had connected.

“I am fine,” he said now, and, because he was trying to be a better friend, added, “thank you.”

Not, he thought, with a tangle of chaos inside him, that it was really friendship that he was feeling now.

“Okay,” Hob said, with little conviction. “If you say so.”

Dream wanted to know what Hob would say about it. What he would say about it using his hands and his body and his skin. It was difficult to keep up any sort of conversation thinking like so. Hob was making him feel incredibly loud inside, and not the loudness of the Dreaming, of the dreamers, but a noise of his own making. A noise of his own longing.

He took another sip of his wine to steady himself, and found his hand was trembling.

“Whoa.” Hob grabbed hold of his wrist to steady him before he could drop the glass. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Dream fixated on where their hands were connected, struck by the insane impulse to shake more so Hob would keep holding onto him. Dream had fallen headfirst many times—it was the only way he knew how to do it, in fact—but he could not now recall if it had ever been quite like this. Had he ever been so flung askew by someone’s mere proximity, made so insensate just by the desire to touch? He did not recall, but he did not think so, and he wondered again about his imprisonment, and how sunlight that one might normally turn one’s face towards with ease could be blinding when coming out of the darkness.

Hob realized belatedly what he had done, and let go of him with a guilty startle, and then Dream did drop his glass, ignoring how it cracked and spilled on the table as he lunged for Hob’s hand, catching it before he could pull away fully.

Hob stared at where they touched, utterly still. “I’ve never known you to get drunk,” he said. An out, perhaps, for Dream, if not a graceful one.

Dream gave in to impulse and brought Hob’s hand to his mouth, kissing his palm. The touch of skin was so bright, bright as the rush of power when the Dreaming was returned to him, loud as a billion dreamers’ minds filling him again where before there was silence. And Dream’s nonexistent blood was singing, or perhaps screaming.

“I am not,” he said, and looked up in time to see Hob’s eyes darken. Once such attention from Hob might have triggered the part of Dream that was prone to offense; now he wanted to do such unbecoming things as falling to his knees between Hob’s legs and biting the inside of his thigh through his jeans. Press his face between Hob’s legs and see if that alone would be enough to get him hard, if Hob would put his hands in his hair. To want such things was hardly new in Dream’s long existence but to feel it so strongly, like he was starving, like touching Hob might fix what felt perpetually broken inside of him, that was.

Intemperate. Out of control. Such feelings had never brought Dream anywhere good. But he was made of feelings.

“Dream…” murmured Hob, turning his hand to caress his cheek. Hob held Dream’s face in his palm, and he might as well have been touching every inch of his skin for how Dream felt it. Easy. Takeable. Had. Dream had always prided himself on being above it all, untouchable, but really he was weak for a kind touch and for wanting and for the burn of skin on skin, and he felt especially weak, right now, for Hob.

Hob might not mind such weakness, he thought. Unlike most, might not hold it like a blade above his neck.

Again, Dream let his compulsions pull him, trusted Hob, trusted his friend, to keep him bounded as he slid off his chair and onto his knees, Hob’s thighs bracketing his shoulders. Hob’s breath hitched, and Dream looked up, meeting his stunned gaze, dark in the low light of the kitchen.

Hob swallowed, the bob of his throat visible, and laid his hand on Dream’s cheek again.

Dream did not kneel. Dream had been forcibly put on his knees for one hundred years. Dream was on his knees now at Hob Gadling’s feet, and he wanted to be there, he wanted to trust Hob to touch him and let him touch, to hold carefully the rope he had furtively woven around Dream’s throat when he wasn’t paying attention. To hold him there, so he couldn’t get up until he was satisfied.

“What—” Dream started, and had to swallow, mouth dry, the acidity of the wine clinging to his throat. “What would you have done to me, if you had me the way you daydreamed, the day we first met?”

Dream had caught the scent of those daydreams, of course, and merely pushed them aside. He wondered, now, if Hob could have always affected him so, had he merely looked properly in that direction.

“What’s more important is what I want to do with you now,” Hob murmured, thumb ghosting across Dream’s lower lip. “Of course I wanted to have you when I first saw you. Of course I did. You were like nothing I’d ever seen. But that feeling is— it’s practically nothing compared to how I feel about you now, when I lo—” he swallowed, cutting himself off. Dream kept looking up at him, and Hob kept holding his face. “When I love you.”

Love. Dream did not know quite in what respect Hob meant it, but perhaps it was all, or perhaps it didn’t matter. Dream had never had a love where it didn’t matter.

Dream leaned his cheek against Hob’s inner thigh, as he had so wanted to, and Hob ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly. Even through his jeans, Hob’s body was warm, his hand gentle, and Dream sighed, put at ease by the proximity. It should be alarming, to be so easily soothed. Threatening, to be touched. But it wasn’t. Dream only wanted to be closer, no matter what direction it careened their relationship in. Hob would not let it end badly, he thought. What a strange thing to feel sure of.

“I have not been with someone in a very long time,” he admitted. He was sure Hob could surmise this of the past century, but it had been much longer than that. “Locked away, I became so divorced from sensation that… I no longer know quite what it is I am feeling, I’m afraid.”

Hob scratched at his scalp, and Dream shivered. “All you have to know is how to tell me off if I do something you don’t like.” He huffed. “Not that you’ve ever been particularly shy about that.”

Dream smiled, a small thing, but it came easier than it had in a long time. “Perhaps I should have been.”

“Much as I do wish you hadn’t run out on me, I kind of like you as the stormy thing that you are,” Hob said. “I like my Stranger. Tell me off all you want, only stick around. Don’t leave.”

“I won’t leave,” Dream said. “I swear it.” He had no desire to, either. Not for quite a while.

“I get the sense that a swear from you means a lot.” Hob’s hand was still in his hair. It was bliss.

“Yes.”

Hob’s smile was warm and the tiniest bit possessive, and something in Dream that had been holding him up for a long time, that should have been proud and indignant and resisted being bound, thrilled at it instead, and wanted to bare its soft throat. Part of him wanted to punish Hob for his audacity in going along with this, wanted to punish himself for this most unbecoming behavior, but the part that had felt Hob’s daydreams and his forgiveness and now the touch of his hands had seized control and thrust him forward into the river of his own arousal. And Dream found himself enjoying the current so much that he no longer cared onto what rocks it might dash him.

Again, he thought: Hob would not let that happen.

“I’ll have to be careful not to abuse it then,” said Hob. And he let go of Dream’s hair, and Dream, unaware of how much that touch had been holding him up, swayed forward until his face was pressed to the juncture of Hob’s thigh, where he was growing hard under his jeans.

“I know that you would not,” he said. Hob had always let him go. Even when he didn’t want to.

“Up you get, then,” said Hob, and hauled him to his feet. Dream went easily, surprised into movement. “We’re not doing this here. You’ll kill your knees.”

“My body is not human,” Dream said.

“Still.”

They were face to face, now, and Hob’s expression was so soft for him, even with the heat building in his eyes. “You would take care of me?”

Hob rubbed up and down Dream’s arms. “I would. I would take care of you.”

Dream leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips, and then, caught by the hunger that latched under his ribcage, captured the rest of his mouth as well in a growling, starving kiss. All that heat and hunger filled him up and he followed it in a way he had not let himself for an eternity. He chased the lingering taste of wine from Hob’s mouth. Curled himself into the warmth there.

Hob kissed him back, tongue and teeth and the wanting of a hundred-plus years. His hands slid up over Dream’s shoulders to his neck, held lightly there, and with that hold he pulled Dream backwards through the kitchen, their lips connecting with less and less grace as they went.

“Better get somewhere more comfortable before I lose my wits entirely,” Hob said, between breaths. “I’m feeling less compassionate towards your knees by the second.”

Dream cared not where they were; he followed Hob blindly. Overcome by touch and taste and the sound of Hob’s breath and all things that were so so so loud after a century of silence. And it was perhaps because he was not aiding at all in their trajectory that they crashed into the wall by Hob’s bedroom door instead of making it over the threshold. Hob’s back hit the wall, and Dream hit his chest, catching himself just quickly enough that he only came nose-to-nose with Hob instead of smacking their foreheads together. Which would have been terribly undignified, not that Dream was feeling particularly inspired by dignity at the moment.

“Look at you,” Hob breathed, running his thumb under Dream’s eye. Then added, eloquently, “Fuck.”

Dream nipped at his throat, then sank again to his knees in one smooth motion, dragging his hands down Hob’s body as he went before letting them land in his own lap. He looked up at Hob, feeling spectacularly unclothed for all he was still wearing his jeans, shirt, socks even, but without his coat or his cloak or his shoes. Rare, for him to be so bare, since. Hob, too, was dressed casually, barefoot in his jeans and long sleeve Henley, and it made Dream feel on more equal footing. No attempt at pretenses.

Kneeling there felt like the right place to be, at that moment. Dream left that feeling to interrogate for later.

“This is really not a good look for me,” Hob said, breathing unevenly as he took Dream’s face in his hands again. “Get my oldest friend back and not only am I getting into your pants, but I’m not even doing it in a bed. It’s a bloody good look for you, though, fuck.”

“You like seeing me thus?” said Dream, as Hob nudged at his lips with his thumb. Dream opened his mouth, let Hob press his finger to his tongue.

“Yeah, of-bloody-course I do, Dream, you’re gorgeous like that. I only—” he bit the thought off halfway through, biting his lip so hard it turned white.

“Trust that I would not be here if I did not wish it so.”

Hob softened. “I know. I’m just reeling a bit. Fuck.”

“Your mouth gets filthier as you get emotional,” Dream observed, gratified that he was able to make Hob so.

“Yup, ‘fraid it’s my first—” he jumped as Dream pressed him to the wall by his hips, took the button on his jeans in his teeth and pulled it open— “first— fuck— language. Anything respectable’s from later, if it was ever there at all. Sorry for the filth, Your Majesty.”

Everything in Dream jumped to hear Hob call him thus even as he was on his knees. “I don’t mind.” He pulled Hob’s zipper down, too, salivating as it revealed the heaviness of Hob’s arousal, still cradled in his briefs. “I know by now what kind of man I am taking as my lover.”

He meant this in many ways at once and he hoped Hob understood.

Hob cupped himself through his underwear. “Can I…?”

Dream nodded. In fact, he wished very much that Hob would. Whatever he was thinking. Anything.

Hob pulled himself out, and then Dream was faced with his cock and— he had never actually been in this position before. He could summon the experience, of course—Dream contained all memories of intimacy, all wet dreams, all fantasies—but that was not the same as feeling the rush of pained arousal happening to him, the need to open his mouth consuming his body. The newness made it all the more startling and intense, but for the first time since regaining his freedom Dream leaned into newness, into intensity—and pressed his lips to Hob’s cock.

Instantly, another kaleidoscope of sensation: heat and sweat and pressure as Hob gasped and jerked forward involuntarily, nudging the head of his cock properly into Dream’s mouth— and then there was the heaviness of him on Dream’s tongue and Hob’s hand going to his hair, and Dream wrapped his hands around the strong muscles of Hob’s thighs to balance and it was all very, very much. A noise loud enough to banish the quiet of the basement that he still sometimes heard, echoing within him.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, petting his face, and Dream hummed an assent, and took him deeper. Straining in his own pants, enjoying the play between his own arousal and Hob’s. Enjoying hanging there with no relief because it made everything prickle louder on his skin. He took Hob deep, then pulled off again, taking a breath that was more for Hob’s benefit than his own.

“I am,” he said, voice already with a rough edge to it, “I think, very well indeed.”

Hob laughed. “God, you. You have no idea what I want to do to you. Or, maybe you do, what with your—”

“I can sense dreams, not all thoughts, as such,” Dream said. He imagined the noise if he heard every passing thought of every being around him. “That would be maddening.”

“Dreams already sounds maddening, you mad thing.”

“It is true that I have rarely been accused of sanity or reason,” Dream admitted, and Hob laughed, head tipping back against the wall.

“Nor I, apparently. I cannot believe I interrupted you sucking my dick to have this discussion. Curiosity really does kill.”

“Curiosity has kept you alive, Hob Gadling,” said Dream, pressing his lips again to Hob’s cock. “And I am grateful for it.”

He took Hob in his mouth again, humming at the taste and weight of him, and Hob swore above him. What would you do to me? Dream wondered. Given the liberty?

As if he had heard the question, Hob started rambling, eyes falling shut. “You have no idea how pretty you look like that, on your knees. I don’t take it lightly. I don’t. I know you’re a king, I know you’re— and you make me mad, you make me want more, how could I possibly be given more than this? But you know me. One day, if you’ll have it, I’ll tie you up properly. And I know, okay? I know, you’ll have to trust me. If you really want to be on your knees. You make me want awful things. Beautiful things. Fuck—”

This last bit came as Dream took him deep enough to bump against the back of his throat, possessed by the image Hob had spun, and Hob let out a strangled gasp as Dream swallowed convulsively around him, nearly choking on it.

“Dream, I—”

Dream knew he would come, and leaned into the sensation. Bitter spend flooded his mouth, spilled down his throat and over his lips, and as he rode through Hob’s orgasm with him he let Hob’s daydreams bump up against him. Images of Dream on his knees again, naked this time, rope wound around him in intricate patterns, holding him there. Hob’s hands on the knots. Bound by kind hands rather than those that meant him harm, held in place to rend nothing from him but pleasure. And steadiness. Captured from the rough currents of himself.

He moaned as he let Hob’s spent cock slip from his mouth, shivered once and then again, out of control as Hob’s imaginings and his physical sensations and Dream’s own arousal battered at him. Hob fell to his knees before him, said “Dream,” with so much broken longing in it—haven’t you had me already? Dream thought, aren’t you having me?—and kissed him, hands cradling his face. Dream felt he must be vibrating at the pitch of the universe itself, so elemental was his wanting, and Hob gave him what he wanted. Of course he did.

He lowered Dream to the floor, cradling the back of his head, braced himself over Dream with their chests pressed together. His weight should have been oppressive, but wasn’t. It merely held him in place, easy and steady.

Their gazes met. “You would—” Dream’s voice was rough— “bind me? Gently? Hob Gadling?”

“Only so,” said Hob, eyes dark, cheeks still flushed, and Dream shivered again. “But right now, I just want to make you feel good. Okay?”

“Yes,” Dream breathed.

Hob braced himself on one arm and reached between them, undoing the button on Dream’s jeans with some difficulty. Dream should have made his clothing vanish to make it easier for him, but found that he wanted Hob to do it for him, to work for it, and to take care of him.

Hob’s hand wrapped around his prick, and Dream startled. Hob’s grip was warm and deft and Dream was very close to the edge already, and then Hob kissed him. Tender and hot, like he had been waiting to do this for a very long time. Waiting, always waiting for Dream.

He bit down on Hob’s lip as he came, clutching at his shoulders for steadiness, feeling rushing through him to the point of pain, to the point of whiteout. Far too much released all at once. All the sensation he had craved, blinding as the noontime sun.

Hob worked him through it as he shook, and gradually came back to himself. Everything was pleasantly staticky then, and Hob's weight was grounding as he let himself sink fully onto Dream, blanketing his body on the floor. And then Hob kissed him again, gentle and sweet. This was a lot of kisses for a being who had not been kissed in a millennium, and Dream whined, overwhelmed, winding a hand in Hob’s hair like he could perhaps manage to keep him there.

“There's a good love," Hob was murmuring into his cheek. "You’re so needy, aren’t you? I love it.”

Dream of a century ago had bristled at the mere implication that he needed anything, but Dream of today, pinned under Hob’s weight, was forced to concede that he did. Was forced to admit that he liked when Hob called him such, because Hob always qualified it with and I want to give it to you. And he realized that Hob had done so then, too, only Dream had been too blind to see it.

Still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, he curled a leg around Hob’s hip, drawing him closer, and Hob chuckled as he complied. “I’m regretting the floor,” he admitted. “Your poor knees.”

“I reiterate that I am not human,” said Dream, “and am not bound by human bodily limitations.”

“Oh, but you could be,” Hob crooned, stroking a hand up and down Dream’s side under his shirt, “couldn’t you?”

A smile tugged at Dream’s lips. “Hob Gadling, do you wish to see me colored by your lovemaking?”

Hob sucked a mark on his neck. “Maybe.”

Dream shifted his form just slightly to let the skin there bruise.

Hob sighed. “God, you’re a marvel.”

“Careful,” Dream cautioned, as the words caught somewhere within him that he hadn't known was lacking. “A man might feast on such compliments.”

“Feast, then. You’re too skinny by far.”

“I thought I was pleasing to you.”

“Oh, you are.” Hob gathered him up in his arms, rolled them so that Dream was on top and no longer pressed into the hard floor. “You are, darling.”

Darling.

The mania that had possessed Dream had subsided, but he found himself still hyper-focused on Hob’s arms around him, the smell of his sweat when Dream pressed his face into his throat, the warm rumble of his voice. So much missing sensation. He did not know how to reel all of the parts of himself that had spilled out back in, but perhaps if it was only here, that was okay. He could stay unspooled across the floor, unwound and directionless, wrapped around Hob's hands, until he was forced again by his responsibilities to go.

He wormed his way further into Hob's arms and said, “I think I would like to stay for a while, if that is alright.”

Hob pressed a smile into his hair. “Love, I would be terribly sad if you didn’t.”

[thedansemacabres]

wines for some theoi

feel free to send asks for theoi not listed! and of course, this is my personal opinion from my wine knowledge.

A fun wine for any theoi of importance are blends from Rapsani, which is located on Mt. Olympus.

Aphrodite: commandaria, which is made from the mavro and xynsteri grapes. Along with Moschofilero, for its striking, romantic, and rose-garden aromatics.

Apollon: for those who see him as a sun god, straw wines, and for plague Apollon, Botrytis wines such as Tokaji. For a more Gaulish Apollon, Vins de paille. The cretan wine Dafni could also work for being named after Daphne

Ares: sparkling reds, such as Lambrusco for their striking nature in carbonation and red hue.

Artemis: natural wines, those made with the yeast upon the grape skins, or traditional orange wines for the "wild" aspect of them.

Ariadne: traditional Cretan wines, such as Shiraz, Vidiano, Vilana, Thrapsathiri, Malvasia, etc.

Dionysus: all wines, but Retsina in particular.

Eros: romantic reds in general, I do not have a particular wine for him.

Helios: some ancient authors said one should not offer wine as he shouldn't be drinking on the job, but who listens to that? Straw wines and Sicilian wines match his nature as a sun god, though mead also holds a special place in my heart for him.

Hephaestus: Sicilian wines, for their volcanic nature, especially those around Mt. Etna such as Nerello Mascalese

Hera: aromatic reds and roses, such as muscat d'asti, and for Hera of Samos, Samos Vin Doux

Herakles: Agiorgitiko, for its home in Nemea, where he bested the Nemean Lion.

Hestia: table wines such as Chianti and Prosecco, though I have always found her in orange wine due to orange wine being a common style of the ancient world. Agiorgitiko is the most popular Greek wine, and as such I also see it with her in her ability to unite the hearth.

Hermes: wines from central Greece, but I would also argue Greek Chardonnay and Syrah for their international travel to Greece.

Pan: Savatiano, for its origin in Central Greece

Zeus: as Hestios and a household god, table wines, and very light wines, such as vignoles. Pyment could also be lovely for his love of bees.

[mistressofduskanddawn]

Wines for the Daedric Princes

Azura: Light rose and sweetened whites, especially gewürztraminer, for its lovely rose scent and taste.

Boethiah: red light bodied wines that remind one of spilled blood; cabernet sauvignon and pinot noir.

Clavius Vile: wines of deeper nature and deception, a buttery chardonnay or meaty sweet port, complex blends and vintages unseen yet a deal for what they may be.

Hermaeus Mora: natural wines in which their secrets are hidden, you will never know how the wine went through its fermentation.

Hircine: natural wines, made from wild undomesticated grapes within the wilderness. The hunt for them alone is one of his pursuits.

Ithelia: obscure, indigenous wines that fathered the modern wine world yet remain locked and lost to time. Gouais blanc and other such forgotten yet vital varieties.

Jyggalag: traditional wines, bordeauxs and such, that invoke the order and tradition of old world wines.

Malacath: Table wines, those of the lower class, longstanding for their value. Wines enjoyed with food, considered weak yet have been a table of human culture for ages.

Mehrunes Dagon: Syrah and burnt wines, wines made from the regional smoke that lingers within the bottle and upon the tongue.

Mephala: Wines of controversy and disguise, such as a purple pinot noir or the market-changing jackson Chardonnay. Cold-hardy hybrid wines as well, such as Chambourcin, that seek to change the market itself.

Meridia: Bright wines, light and full of life, such as a cold region chardonnay or vigonier. Sparkling wines as well, brimming with light and air, such as prosecco,

Molag Baal: brutal, tannic wines, such as Cabernet Franc, the colour of blood and barely drinkable, begetting suffering for the drinker.

Namira: Old wines, sherries and noble rot wines, filled with age and decay.

Nocturnal: blueberry wines that invoke the night sky, full bodied reds made to invoke mystery such as petite syrah.

Peryite: noble rot wines, saturnes and such, made from the botrytis bunch rot in such a way that a wine become dried of water and therefore sweet.

Sanguine: All wines, truly, but especially those of higher ABV meant to draw in indulgence.

Sheogorath: wines of chaos. peeps wine and other such creatures.

Vaermina: Muscats and sweet wines, to lure one into a drink yet end up blacked out due to overindulgence, the slow draw into more until sleep.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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60 for 🧟:

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You calling your own kid uncool?” Buck asks. “That’s pretty harsh.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “My kid is very cool. Cooler than me. He tells me all the time.”

“Oh, damn. That is pretty cool,” Buck concedes. 

They wander through the house. Everything looks so normal. Like maybe the family went to work or school one day in the beginning of the outbreak and just didn’t come home. Beds are made. Everything is relatively clean. There’s a funky smell coming from the fridge, which they avoid. But the pantry is loaded with old snacks. Potato chips. Crackers. Cookies. And even better? This is an affluent fucking home. There’s a wine cellar.

“When was the last time you had a drink?” Eddie asks as they stare at it. Bottles upon bottles of vintages, all in a neat little rack. 

Buck tries to think. 

“March? April?” He guesses. “We only really gathered liquor that could be used to gather wounds.”

“Yeah, same probably,” Eddie says. 

“It would be dumb to get drunk and, like, potentially dehydrated right now, right?” Buck asks.

“It would be,” Eddie agrees. 

There’s a pause. 

“But, like…” Eddie adds. “I’ve… Well…”

“What?” Buck asks. 

“Not, uh, had any fun like that since high school.”

“Since high school?” Buck gapes at him. 

“I got Shannon pregnant, married her, then joined the army,” Eddie reminds him. “And then the world ended.” 

“So we’re getting drunk, is what I’m hearing,” Buck says. 

“Could we?” Eddie asks. “Before I have a child in my care again?”

Buck grins at him. “Well… I hope you like red. The white isn’t exactly chilled.”

Eddie’s resulting smile is beautiful. 

▪️▪️▪️

They find a bottle opener and don’t bother with the fine crystal the home’s previous owners kept in the cupboards. They each grab something they like. Zinfandel for Eddie. Syrah for Buck. 

“I don’t actually know, really,” Eddie admits.

[whilereadingandwalking]

The Devourers by Indra Das is a richly written, artistic fantasy telling the story of shapeshifters who have lived in India since the Taj Mahal was first being built. A young professor named Alok meets a mysterious stranger who insists he's half-werewolf. He asks the professor to type up two manuscripts for him—manuscripts that tell the story of a human woman named Syrah who lived 200 years before them, a woman who became the object of a shapeshifter's deadly desire.

It's a book about greed, about a relentless, single-minded desire to violate and conquer. It is slow-paced yet difficult to put down, a slowly unspooling mystery, a mythological story that feels epic, historical, bloody, visceral. It's impressively new and feels very grounded in a sense of its own ancient folklore. It reminded me of NK Jemisin's talent for carving a world that feels convincingly, terrifyingly real and old.

I will mirror some reviewers' thoughts that at times the descriptions of bodily fluids could be a bit much. The amount of "piss" I understood, they're animals, there's a certain marking of territory. But there was so much of it. Part of me also wondered how necessary Fenrir's part to the book really was. The narrative picks up tremendous momentum once we begin Syrah's story, and I struggled to get a sense of what Fenrir really wanted. I almost wonder if it would have been better for us to get his journals within her portion of the narrative.

Still, I've been wanting to read this book for a long time, and wasn't disappointed. The explorations of trust, sex/physicality, gendered violence, and queerness, alongside an interpretation of werewolf as a being with two selves, two skins, was fascinating. I really enjoyed this read despite its difficult topics, and am so glad to have finally gotten to it.

Heavy content warnings for sexual assault, body horror. Also for homophobia, violence, physical abuse.

[cornus27florida]

Stories about Frederick's outfits in CPC

Frederick, the youngest Plaid Prince with the green color motif. The one that had outfits mostly in green color as well, with the exception is his academy era where he wear blue uniform with white tie. This post gonna entertwined some CPC story points regarding Frederick's outfits. For the starter of the everything, let's talk about his trademark Green Plaid Jacket (I have a theory about how the color of his jacket becomes murkier the more he knows about the engagement)

First we have standard male undergament outfit in the CPC universe, a pair of grey trousers and a pair of black boots in monochromatic style. His color is green, and motif of Plaid as part of Plaid Kingdom. His jacket like his brothers as have a pair of golden shoulder pads and a golden trim going down the collarbone part, with a three straps of golden cover with huge black buttons. The inner white shirts of the Plaid Princes modeled to each ones' character (Lance's carefree, Blaine's fancy)- which for Frederick he buttons up to his neck, making him distinct from his brothers, who leave their collars open. There's only some occasions where his collar opened, and all of those events is related to Gwendolyn in someway (discussed in later part of this post). The inner white shirt of him is a simple one with 3 white buttons, that the top is open

^ Second, we'll go from this comment from the webtoon - exactly from episode 146 when talking about how Frederick and Whitney now are like blank canvas and not related to their respected kingdoms. Here the most interesting part imho but also the longest, I do rereading and - voila?

I do rereading and realizes that all of intimate moments of gwenderick had him not wearing Plaid jacket 'properly'.. The comment from Sage person is very pretty close, most are having his jacket displace in some way - some where he opening it like to taking out his lucky charm the newt eyeball - while some didn't have him to wearing the trademark plaid jacket at all like wearing Jamie's change outfit, gala outfit etc

Here the list of episodes where Frederick not really looking like a Plaid Prince, or wondering if Plaid way truly for him!

2nd middle part and the center of the post

after math of amusement park (wears Jamie outfit) ep29

ep33-34 not only time when Fred realizes how kind Gwen is BUT also his beliefs like "innocence, kindness won't matter in this world-cuz I bullied due that". Where Frederick backstory been told, and @alexandersimpleton mentioned before that's interesting for little Frederick wears pastel

balcony serenade (ripping his own sleeve to treats Gwen) ep39

wear green suit that not Plaid at Lance's BD party -ep49

Although just in dream, bonus short ep 4 & (s3) short 4 + his pajama although in plaid motif but open around heart

Frederick realizes what he wants (he likes Gwen) , put his jacket like a robe or as the outer (ep70) - double as him meets his inner child. Another example of him opened up. Frederick's inner child outfits also coincidetally not him as a Plaid prince but with the uniform (the start of his innocence tainted) and little prince (which he thinks the most fits to him, his gala outfit that becomes blatant foreshadowing) - and I somehow have a feeling, that we're see Frederick's inner child again somehow it's happening

ep74 the portrait duel, his upper top not properly put as the usual - he duels with Leopold that showing his conviction

ep82 very important ep as we had monologue that Frederick realizes Plaid way isn't fits to him - he still wearing his Plaid jacket compltely but had flashbacks where he shown to not wear properly, or in the real time having the jacket in messy state + funny pose lol

ep89 he offers his waterproof jacket to Gwen, makes him with white shirt - also hints of his self-sacrifice tedency "I'll go instead"

slightly opened up when he had talk with Syrah (ep90)

ep92 the confession Downpour (part 2), Frederick opening up his jacket to takes out the gala ticket for Gwendolyn

ep100 Frederick opening up his upper jacket to take out the newt eyeball that becomes his lucky charm

ep106 Frederick confessing to Gwendolyn that he thinks she's beautiful with the upper part of his jacket opened

Frederick might not know but Gwen imagines herself with him without his trademark plaid jacket like this; ep112

the gala arc since ep 120 with him as the tiniest prince, and with that along with his brothers - become foreshadowing

since season 4 part 2, we have Fred without his jacket completely which symbolizes him as the 'blank canvas'

The last part, gonna be entertwined with another theory 0.0

Frederick = the tiniest prince = little prince

Let's see that webtoon comment image back, one conclusion that I find very interesting that will related to Little Prince :

"In order to create closer and healhtly relationship with Princess Gwendolyn - Frederick needs to distance himself to being a Plaid Prince, and as long as he still keep the idealism (along with toxicities) of the Plaid kingdom he can't reaches Gwen. Gwen needs to see for who he actually is, and Frederick should become who he actually is - the true him"

This, goes hard with the epilogue part of the Little Prince.. Because the story ends with Little Prince looks like he's dying as he get bitten by the snake (and in the CPC, this refers to the Giant Serpent - that keep recurring in Frederick's dreams) so he could returns to his home where his lover the rose there

this means, in order for Frederick could 'return to his lover' = 'reaches Gwen' - he needs to be bitten by the Giant Serpent

The bite (be it literal or metaphorical), will make the little prince looks like he is dying - with several interpretations of little prince even thinks that scene as the prince attempting suicide. The CPC never show explicit suicide attempts BUT implicit scenes happened, with the recent example from Frederick himself that dares 'hissing' Blaine to kill him (ep158). I feel the incoming foreshadowings of some ugly dark scenes in the future that will happen, as Frederick doing something similar to what he dares to Blaine but now to the real Giant Serpent - but it seems won't ends well.

[ Here my further analysis about TGS, which likely Leland ]

So.. Frederick will and need to 'die' like the little prince then?

Me and @meritre24601 hoping for different take as seen the death not be literally as passed on from the real world but metaphorically. That's already happened canonically during the CPC intruder arc as the one that die isn't Renée but the bad parts of the CPC - with Nell's explanation...

This mean the metaphorically death. Frederick as the Plaid Prince is the one that die as bitten by TGS - but right after that he rebirth as simply "Frederick". Rebirth and transformation are good symbolism of snake/serpent that @saemi-the-dreamer wrote. As he indeed 'die' but got rebirth for new transformation of his life, where he's showing the true him that shown cleverly by LambCat in throughout series from his outfit, he could finally reaches Gwen - the happy ending of their reunion that we are hopes ;-;

[cursed-princess-club]

cpc characters and how i think they would play the hit game team fortress 2 (the most necessary post i've ever made)

abbi: i definitely feel like she would come from overwatch because i can see her really liking the overwatch characters. sadly i dont know a lot about overwatch but YOU SEE WHERE I'M COMING FROM. she plays demoman and is really good at landing pills :) also DEFINITELY goes all out on her loadout. probably spends a lot on hats. speaking of hats

monika: she likes the hats and ABSOLUTELY collects then... the pocket pyro she would totally have... but would reasonably get too scared of playing in public servers, i too would be afraid of the sweats yelling at me. when she does play i'd see her on mann vs machine with the club! otherwise i feel like she'd play sniper because she avoids more people that way lmao

prez: she's a spy main. enough said. she's just... so spy vibes. watch any jontohil spy video and tell me that isnt prez... she loves overthinking spy gameplay and getting into the enemies minds and stuff. uses stock loadout primarily but would definitely experiment in the other weapons because she is a spy sweat. i cannot emphasize this enough but she's literally that one spy in each game that everybody hates. dominates the leaderboard probably. has a really simple loadout, maybe like a single hat or something. she keeps it simple

syrah: plays any class in the most annoying way possible, needs no further elaboration (she's the scout that dies a lot)

saffron: honestly... pyro. saffron on pyro. let him set shit on fire. i feel like he'd play the defense classes tbh!

frederick: ENGIEEEE!! ENGINEER!!!! he starts playing engineer because of the lack of people who play him. engine being the underrated backbone of the team. uncle dane's descriptions of engineer would vibe with frederick i think. playing engineer is like playing those restaurant managing games, and when you go engineer... it's like you're in your own little world during games, managing teleporters and dispensers and stuff. Frederick

whitney: medic once he figures out how the game works. he just likes supporting his team. also really hard to kill for some reason and it probably annoys the other team a lot. let him play battle medic even

jolie: heavy weapons guy...idk why... but what if... she likes the cosmetics heavy has and has the pajamas one (i have the pajamas one :3)

aurelia: plays any class in the most toxic way possible. she loves it. definitely shit talks on vc

renee (with accent): I THINK SHE'D LIKE SCOUT... she loves picking out cosmetics and dressing up her character like a doll. truly this is the spirit of tf2

prez again: SHE'D TOTALLY BE A SOLDIER EXPERT TOO ACTUALLY

thermidora: she doesnt play but i think she would like medic because he is a funny little guy :)

nell: scout lowkey. the hit and run playstyle, just zippin in n outta there. maybe she'd like it

curtis: the one who taught prez how to play spy. the tfclassic player, the og.

[nochuelinha]

Too Sweet - Chapter 6: Fermentation

The next morning at the apartment was a bit awkward. Questions flooded my mind. Did I really ask her to kiss me? And now what? My head is pounding so much, but the way she took me in her arms, it was so Ellie-like, I'm screwed. I slept in the guest room, the bed softer than mine. I'll ask her where she got it. I got up and headed to the bathroom. There were small tubes of toothpaste and disposable toothbrushes. Ellie was very prepared for visitors.

The smell of fresh coffee was practically making me float to her kitchen, where she was comfortable in sweatpants and a tank top from a rock band, her hair slightly damp and slicked back. She looked beautiful.

"Good morning, Els," I greeted myself, sitting on one of the stools and admiring her. Ellie turned around with a smile and came to me

. "Good morning, Sweetie, may I?" She asked, holding my face gently. I nodded, and she kissed me. Much softer and sweeter than yesterday's make-out session, but it was good nonetheless. "I'm making coffee, I know you prefer something sweeter, lucky for me the coffee maker can do various types of things," she laughed, returning to her activities.

Breakfast with Ellie was so natural and familiar, between conversations and smiles, that it seemed like we did it every day. I spent a few more hours with her and then went home. Sara wanted to go out for a walk this afternoon, it's been a while since the last time we went out together. We decided to go to an immersive Monet exhibition, with 360-degree projections and a wonderful soundtrack. I took several photos and sent some to Ellie.

"You two are quite close, aren't you?" Sara suggested with a gentle tone. I looked at her, and she pointed to my phone. "I was a bit apprehensive when I thought you two might not get along, I'm glad it turned out to be the total opposite," we were sitting in a diner now.

"I find it hard not to like Ellie," I smiled at the waitress who came to bring our orders.

" Well, that's true, but it can become a problem when you fall in love with her," Sara said, now serious. I looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. "Ellie is amazing when she's in love, but she has a collection of ex-girlfriends. I know it's hard to resist her, but I hope that if by chance you two end up together, it'll be more enduring. You two mean a lot to me," she took my hand and looked into my eyes with great affection.

"Even if things aren't long-lasting with Ellie, I'll never stop being your friend," I told her with all the sincerity in the world.

She smiled mischievously, "So, are you two having something?"

I blushed. "We kissed last night and spent the morning together. I'm not going to label it; I don't even know if it will continue," I replied honestly.

To my happiness, things really flowed. The meetings that initially were exclusively for wedding preparations turned into precious moments for us, filled with kisses and hugs. Visits to vendors became more than that, full of laughter and varied conversations. Being with Ellie is incredible.

Today we're going to a wine tasting, Ellie invited me a few weeks ago. I got dressed as best as I could, chose a black dress, heels, and did a more elaborate makeup. Ellie, as always, looked impeccable, gave me a peck on the cheek, and we headed to the tasting.

"They usually start serving from the lighter ones to the fuller-bodied ones," Ellie said while holding a glass of white wine, her other hand resting gently on the small of my back.

It was a fascinating journey through the different flavors and aromas that the world of wines has to offer. We started with Sauvignon Blanc and Riesling, and that explosion of freshness and fruitiness was like an irresistible invitation to what was to come.

As we moved on to the reds, each glass revealed a new dimension of sensory pleasure. The Cabernet Sauvignon with its dark fruits and oak notes, the Malbec with its unique combination of fruits and earth, the Syrah with its complex interplay of flavors that awakened my palate, and the Tempranillo, a delightful dance of red and dark fruits, spiced with oak and earthy tones.

Ellie's presence by my side certainly made the experience even more special. Her knowledge and enthusiasm for wine added layers of appreciation with each sip.

After the tasting, Ellie smiled and said, "I think we found some really incredible wines today, don't you think? It was a wonderful experience to share it with you. I loved seeing how you engaged with the different flavors and aromas."

"It was all so amazing, Ellie. Thank you for inviting me," I smiled at her, and she gave me a peck on the cheek. We went for a walk afterwards; the night was quite cool, and there were many stars. The tasting took place at a winery, and the landscape was beautiful with several vineyards.

"I think we're quite similar to the wine production process, you know," Ellie's tone was gentle. "We've spent several weeks together, gradually harvesting our feelings."

"We might be in the fermentation stage, I guess," she chuckled.

Ellie really has a poetic way of seeing things, doesn't she? Her comparison between the wine production process and our journey together is so insightful and touching. It's true, over the weeks we've spent together, we've experienced moments that are like ripe grapes, ready to be harvested and transformed into precious memories and feelings.

And when she mentioned that we're in the fermentation stage, it was as if she recognized the process of growth and transformation we're experiencing. Just like wine, we're developing, allowing our experiences to blend and evolve into something even richer and more complex. It's a beautiful metaphor for our journey together.

As we walked through the vineyards under the gentle glow of the stars, I felt a sense of serenity and connection with Ellie, as if we were truly aligned in our feelings and thoughts. It's a moment to appreciate not only the beauty around us but also the depth and richness of our own journey. And I couldn't be more grateful to share this with Ellie by my side.

As we walked through the vineyards, enveloped in the magical atmosphere of the night, the tension between us was palpable. Every glance, every touch, seemed to carry a pulsating electricity, heightening the anticipation of what was to come.

Suddenly, Ellie stopped and turned to me, her eyes burning with desire meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart race. She didn't say a word, but her gaze spoke volumes, conveying all the longing and passion burning within her.

Without hesitation, I surrendered to the moment, allowing myself to be pulled closer to her. Our bodies drew near, every inch of space between us vanishing in an instant. I could feel Ellie's breath against my skin, warm and uneven, echoing my own excitement.

Then, in a bold and impulsive move, Ellie captured my lips in a fiery and passionate kiss. It was as if a flame had been ignited within me, consuming me with overwhelming intensity. Every touch, every caress, was a promise of uncontrollable desire and complete surrender.

The world around us disappeared, leaving only the two of us immersed in the fiery passion that consumed us. Under the starry canopy of the vineyards, we surrendered to the heat of the moment, lost in the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that could only be found in each other's arms.

"Sweetie, you always have the best taste," Ellie whispered, her words filled with affection and admiration.

[kanerallels]

Top 6 Reasons You Should Read the Tyme trilogy by Megan Morrison

Reread a fantasy series I love and appreciate, so now it's time for you guys to love and appreciate it too

It's a fairy tale retelling series. Which is always an endorsement in my mind, but here are some more reasons that's great in this series. The takes on the fairy tales are so cool and refreshing, and well executed-- Cinderella fighting for the working class, the Frog Prince going through a redemption arc where he becomes a better person, and the absolutely shaped storyline that Rapunzel has. And most of them (particularly books one and three) combine multiple fairy tales in such a smooth, natural way.

The world building is INCREDIBLE. The tiny details and the way the different countries are introduced are so cool!! And they really go into smaller details, like the main exports that keep the country going, or the traditions of each country when it comes to dealing with loss. The magic systems are SO COOL, too!!

The characters are all really well done-- they're beautifully developed, both as characters and their relationships with each other. Syrah (main character of book three) has one of the best redemption styles arcs I've ever seen where he goes from unlikeable jerk to a caring, kind individual. Even the villains have well thought out motivations and in depth backstories

The romances in each of the three books are PERFECT because you have a slow burn, a couple that get together in the same book but help each other grow in powerful ways, and a book where the main character doesn't get the girl. The trope breaking! The following of the tropes but in just the perfect way! The level to which I am obsessed with Jack and Rapunzel! It's INSANE

All of the books and their stories are deeply intwined. There are cameos and small details in each book that lead you back to the other three, details that pop out and blow your mind at a reread or even the first time around!

It's really funny and charming and delightful writing. And There are these fascinating implications of other stuff going on in the world you're reading about-- stuff that we'll probably never find out about, since the last book was released in 2019 and there's no sign of another, which is really sad

Anyways, this is a super good series, you won't regret it if you read it! Oh my stars and I didn't even mention SERGE MY BELOVED FAVORITE CHARACTER FOR SURE THE FAIRY GODFATHER LEGEND HIMSELF listen just. read this series. Good talk

[wineworldnews]

The World's Most Expensive Syrah/Shiraz of 2024

[alexandersimpleton]

Frederick villain au where he never meets Gwen and never gets the support he needs so he ends up singing this to Leland (maybe Blaine), except without all the romantic allusions obvi. Like, he's singing about how everyone just assumes he's a stupid loser because of his appearance a demeanor. About how, no matter how nice they seem, everyone in this world is a heartless beast that doesn't care about anyone else.

Idk, I'm mainly thinking about that really intense part at the end, like "You are nothing but a monster to me! Less than nothing you're not worth my pity!" just screams villain Frederick to me.

Maybe the very end is him cursing his father with some kind of monster curse. Idk if he'd do the same thing to his brothers, but I'm leaning on yes. He's calculating and wrathful and his only motive is revenge and taking what he's deserved for so long.

Oh and he hates the CPC. At first, if he meets them, he thinks they're the exception. They don't call Syrah a whore. They don't call Aurelia a bitch. He tried to reach out to them for help, thought that if they could be different maybe others could be too. But they refused. They tried to attack him, not because of all the people he might've hurt by now, but because they eavesdropped on him being rude to some lady. He quickly realizes that no, they're not different from everyone else, they just brag about acceptance until somebody does something they don't like.

So yeah, Frederick villain au.

[mslanna]

The Food of Love

A Mortifying Ordel Chapter 3 on AO3

Dinner time. Raphael (PoV) (sorry) Does the devil have money to pay for dinner? How transactional is this whole thing?

The dining establishments in this house were so from appropriate that Raphael took it on himself to find a place with some atmosphere. Tav didn't notice the little sleigh of hand fixated on him as they were. And how embarrassed about it. Raphael enjoyed every moment, finally having his little mouse where he wanted them.

The chosen setting was a dignified rooftop garden, all the amenities of a lush manor under the warm night sky. Tav looked around with a frown but didn't resist when a server helped them out of the overgarment. The server frowned as well, as if the soft fabric of the hooded item offended him.

Raphael glared and the server hurried away, chastened, though maybe not appropriately so. Something for another time. He caught another server by the arm and demanded the best table. It took only a little mental pressure to convince the man this was only right and their due.

The best table was across the whole floor. Tav clung deliciously to his arm, torn between excitement and mortification. He could have eaten them for starters. Raphael took a deep breath. Also something for another time. For later, if Tav was to be believed. He glanced at the mortal who so far had been true to their word every time.

Raphael allowed a surge of excitement at the prospect. A willing Tav was a powerful aphrodisiac. A thought he entertained waiting for them to deliver the crown. A thought more easily entertained after he found out that his little mouse had sneakily visited his home and his personal incubus.

That Tav hadn't barrelled into his home again, demanding he stop, had finally convinced Raphael that they were in no shape or place to do so. Trapped in this realm, it was no wonder Tav had not come to demand satisfaction. Raphael wondered how well the ghostly touch travelled between Faerûn and this world.

If only he knew what happened to Tav's memories. They were charming enough without them, but the devil missed their bravado and reckless faith in physical strength. The paladin he remembered had been ready to go at gods with their war hammer – had done so and won, even.

The server had to watch helplessly, as Raphael pulled out the chair for Tav himself. He would pull out any trick he could think of to hasten their memories' speedy return. He sat down opposite Tav who was now torn between looking at him and the spectacular view over the roofs of the city. The sun neared the horizon and bathed the sky in hues of deep orange and light reds.

"A fitting environment to get reacquainted." Raphael ordered a well-aged Syrah barrique from the wine list. "Not quite as fitting as my House of Hope, of course. But we will make do, will we not?"

Tav's mouthed worked in silence for a while. He could almost see the words line up inside their head and tumble away before they reached their lips. It didn't matter. He had time. And watching those lips gave him pleasant ideas for the evening.

"It's beautiful," Tav finally said, pulling their eyes to the setting sun at the last moment.

"It is indeed." Raphael felt no need to mirror them. His eyes rested on the familiar profile. "So tell me, apple of my eye, what have you been up to in this – parochial place."

Tav blushed. Any emotion Raphael had suspected under their collected façade was now openly displayed. A welcome change. It made working them so much easier. The devil smiled tightly as the opportunities of the night unfolded before him. A playground of his very own, with only his rules and will determining the path and pace.

"Not much," Tav finally replied. Their eyes roved, not daring to settle on his face, not wanting to settle anywhere else. "Been working on the costumes for the convention mostly. And work…" They drift off.

"Do go on. I am curious to know what a hero of your calibre is doing for a living here." It was the wrong thing to say. Tav curled up into themselves, eyes perusing the impeccably white tablecloth.

"Retail." The word was barely louder than a whisper. "I work in retail. Selling clothes."

By the embarrassment emanating from Tav, Raphael expected them to sell something else entirely. Garments did not warrant such shame. Though, being a hero, it was a decided step downwards.

"Judging from your reaction, I assume you would like to leave that behind?"

They looked up and their eyes plead with the ferocity of a trapped animal that has nowhere to go. It was too easy to be fun. But the thought to leave them behind, trapped and beaten down, was surprisingly unbearable.

"I can't." Their tone is subdued. "I need to pay my bills and for retail jobs its bearable."

"Have you never considered to return?" Raphael raised a brow.

"Return to what?" Tav laughed. Once.

"To Baldur's Gate, of course. The city needs its hero. Your disappearance caused quite the vacuum."

The arrival of the wine saved Tav from having to answer immediately. They watched in silence as the sommelier uncorked the bottle. Raphael took a sniff and gestured to the man to attend to Tav in this matter.

His mouse took their time, probably to have longer to come up with a plausible denial to his request. Raphael watched, drinking in the face he missed for such a long time. Coming here, to earth, had party been fuelled by the desire to be elsewhere. The bigger, and more important part, of course, being to show all devils he could do it.

Tav accepted the wine, casting a shy smile in his direction. At some point they would have to decide if they were charmed or intimidated. Raphael could work with both. When the server had left them again, he raised his glass. "To our fortuitous reunion. May it be to our mutual satisfaction."

Watching Tav's face meander through all kinds of emotions to settle on embarrassed arousal was worth it. Raphael smiled into his goblet, mischievous delight carefully hidden by glass and wine.

The menu arrived and he perused it, keeping an eye on his delightfully unsettled companion. They were not quite what they had been, but with Tav's memories, their indomitable spirit was certain to return.

Tav's eyes kept searching the pages until they lowered the leatherbound booklet.

"Carpaccio for starters?" Raphael asked.

Tav opened the menu and hissed, eyes panning up to his. The ensuing jolt was pleasant and reminiscent of their meetings in Faerûn. "Nothing you like?" Raphael asked politely. They could go somewhere else. This whole word was ridiculously easy to traverse.

"Have you seen the prices?" Tav asked in a stage whisper. "Do you have money, Raphael?"

He nodded with a reassuring smile. Money was no problem if you reaped souls for a living. He stored the implication that Tav did not have even this kind of money away for later use. "Do not worry your head about it, little mouse. It will be my treat."

They snapped their mouth shot, worry carving lines into their forehead. "Oh, please. I will not ask anything in return you are not willing to give." He let a hungry smile slip only to watch the as the bright pink on their face deepened into ox blood red.

"Oh my." The words were almost to quite to hear.

"I am just adhering to the plan you sketched out for the night," he replied smugly.

"I didn't think of, of," Tav hesitated deliciously, "Of the sex as payment."

"Then do no think of this as subject to charges." Raphael caught their eyes and held them. "Have I not promised you dinner?"

"For the crown."

"Which I have."

Their eyes brightened and a smile coursed over their face strong enough to light the universe. "You do?"

"I had to collect it from the bottom of the Chionthar, but yes." He revelled in their obvious delight at his success. Tav had been cooperating on a business level before. Yet this was more, not just a necessary alliance. They were truly invested. Maybe losing their memories for a little wasn't the worst that could have happened.

"Why are you here then?" Tav asked, eyes narrowed and forehead scrunched up. "Shouldn't you be conquering the hells?"

Raphael put down the menu. Not that it mattered. He knew what he had an appetite for and the restaurant would cater to it, regardless of their menu. "All in good time. The hells are a place of procedure and due process. Changes need time to settle."

He saw that they were not satisfied with the answer, just swallowed the remainder of questions. Most curious. "Have you chosen?"

They nodded a little reluctantly. "Thank you. I – I don't know what to say. It is really kind of you. This I mean." Tav gestured vaguely at their surroundings.

"No less than you deserve." Raphael raised his glass and Tav followed suit. If he kept this up, their face would stay admirably flushed for the whole evening, A good exercise for later. But their smile was genuine and pleased.

"I think I want noodles but they all sound so good." Tav returned their eyes back to the menu.

"Ravioli Tartufo?" Raphael suggested. "A side of tomato with basil?"

Tav chewed on the inside of their cheek. "It does sound delicious. And I do love truffles. We share the side?"

"Of course." He couldn't get enough of their tentatively hopeful assertion. Every move Tav made was done as if he'd pull the rug out under their feet any moment. Proving them wrong would be its very own pleasure. And the gratitude would be wholly gratifying.

"Thank-," They interrupted themself. "I sound like a broken record. But I am grateful and things like this don't happen to me. I have no idea what to do. Or say."

"Just be yourself. Do not think too much." Raphael smiled. "Maybe try to remember who you were."

Tav smiled and looked at the menu. "Ravioli Tartufo it is. What will you have?"

Something this place cannot mess up. Raphael refrained from uttering his thought. "I think I will have risotto. With artichoke and fennel." He observed Tav but they did not react in any way to his choice. Oh the choice he made for them. Poor, oblivious fool.

He ordered and topped up Tav's glass. "So tell me about our encounters."

Tav hid behind their glass and took a guilty gulp. "We didn't meet. I am so very sorry. But we didn't. I'd remember. Sheesh, would I remember you."

"Obviously, you do not." Raphael licked his lips. Their sheer want was a treat. A side Tav tried to conceal in Faerûn. He'd make sure it stayed in command once their memories returned. "But tell me what you do know."

Tav hesitated and were once again saved by a server. He took their order. He returned with warm bread and tangy olive oil that occupied Tav's complete attention. The face of utter bliss they made eating was a study Raphael would not forget.

Watching Tav eat was its own, unexpected pleasure. The little runt seemed utterly unfamiliar with decent food. The fare in this establishment was acceptable, certainly, but nothing Raphael deemed worthy of anything but faint praise.

Still, Tav closed their eyes to sample the wine, hummed with appreciation and looked at him dreamy and pliable. A promising start to his endeavour. The starter arrived and as Tav put the first bite of thinly sliced meat into their mouth, a sound of pleasant surprise escaped them. And that was just the beginning.

Raphael took it for display of appreciation at first. But Tav seemed unaware, they did it. They commented on how good the food was. Something Raphael accepted despite being of a different opinion. It was not worth destroying Tav's enjoyment over that. And yet, every so often they'd moan is f their mouth was stimulated by more than food.

It made for arousing entertainment and he found his thoughts drifting to the tantalising prospect to elicit such sounds himself, without the help of food. Tav returned his smile, still talking and waving their fork around. At least it was empty this time.

"So what I am saying," Tav thankfully lowered the offensive cutlery, "is that I don't remember remember anything."

"You know the House of Hope," Raphael pointed out. The concept of games of pretend was not unknown to him, it seemed just utterly unlikely to be part of one.

"Yes, because I was there. In the game."

"And talked to me."

"Well."

"You remember your words."

"I remember so many different replies." For a moment sadness flitted over their face. "You can be very mean."

"And?" True curiosity coloured his tone. "Were you?"

The rush of colour to Tav's face was glorious. Raphael picked up a bite of his artichoke from his plate and smiled in anticipation. Tav fumbled and stumbled with their words, but they spoke the truth for some strange pact they had with themselves. He would not discourage this delicious advantage.

"To see what you'd do." Tav ducked away shortly, shoulders dancing an apologetic shrug. "I never kept them as what happened. I always went back and chose something else."

"And you do not think the inability to stray from your preferred path might be an indication of what your past holds?" Oh they grappled with this concept. Tav fought and the battle between hope and dejection was ongoing. They wanted this, wanted him. Raphael chewed thoughtfully.

The role of saviour was his favourite. Sometimes manoeuvring people into their own doom took finesse, but was he really to blame if they were steered so easily?

Maybe their clear calling had been Tav's shield in Faerûn. In this world their path was less obvious. And Tav stumbled along, looking for fate.

"I don't know." Tav didn't sound convinced or even intrigued. "Just because I want things to be a certain way, doesn't make them so."

"That is where I come into play." Raphael smiled. The effect on Tav was palpable, a taste that mingled perfectly with the food.

Tav returned the smile, yielding to their perfect future of a moment. "So you will take me away from all of this." The gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "Grant me a life of pleasure and leisure while suffering my obvious shortcoming of not being useful for anything really."

"I will find uses for you. Do not worry. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is no small asset. Special talents or no." He'd have to tread carefully, dance around their insecurities to convince them that they did the right thing. Tav in a righteous mood or fury was a sight to behold; one he'd have again.

[thedansemacabres]

Hi! I hate to come into your ask box randomly but could you give some devotional wine recommendations for Poseidon? Thank you! Love your blog btw

do not apologise, I greatly appreciate it! I’m glad people like my wine things. I’ve worked very hard for my other degree (I get it next year!) I love sharing wine things—and I also adore Poseidon myself.

Poseidon invokes, to me, that heavy richness of some wines—some that most people may not enjoy for their weight and earthiness. Some that come to mind are:

Old world, Provence Syrah. Very different from new world, this is a lighter bodied herbaceous wine.

California Cabernet Franc. This is a hard, earthy, tough wine. I enjoy it, but many people do not anymore. Excellent pairing wine.

Cabernet Sauvignon. A child of Cabernet franc, but much more mild. A very popular wine, it is California’s signature grape.

New Zealand Sauvignon blanc. These are very aromatic, intensely bell pepper flavoured wines. Earth shaking, I suppose!

A personal one, but hybrid wines—if we take earth shaker more poetically, hybrids have been changing the game for winemaking. Chambourcin is my personal favourite, especially as a rosé.

For sea colours, I do know that blueberry wine is produced in Maine.

There is a winery named after him in Napa Valley. I haven’t personally tried their wines, but they do appear to have a decent Chardonnay.

Thalassitis wine, “wine of the sea”, a Greek wine I think is befitting.

Sea water wines. A very rare technique in the modern era, but there are wines made with sea water—such as the Ocean vermentino white wine. Along with this, there is an ancient style involving sea water is Coan Wine. This wine is not sold commercially to my knowledge, but if you are interested in making it, feel free to reach out and I can direct you to some tips/supplies.

Corinth does produce wine into the modern day, so some classic Greek wines from the region would also be perfect for him.

[deldeldel90]

gwenabbi except it's in a multi-player Minecraft world (basically the CPC is an Modded SMP in mc---Prez started it after much convincing by Syrah);

Abbi is on that grind, strip-mining and collecting resourcing, building houses made of solid diamonds. She leaves lil pranks for her friends (think Skeppy akshsksn), tries to explore all the freakin' modded biomes, building massive totems and putting up signs- there are no censors in their lil server- for her pals.

Abbi and Gwen form an alliance bc Gwen's a SUPER awesome builder- you know those aesthetic Minecraft houses on Pinterest? Yeah. That's her. She has so many cats, dogs, bees. She's the type to spend hours learning how to perfect fireworks and banner designs.

Of course, they move into a shared house- oak plank, spruce wood, and flowers on the balcony. Two stories. There's a iron-block penis outside in the garden.

Gwen and Abbi's Minecraft beds are first your classic bunkbeds. And then, the pink and turquoise are next to each other.

(this au could be like HS!MODERN!AU or it could literally be just them. In literal Minecraft, with the video-game mechanics and shit!!)

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC CHAPTER 154

Blaine and Lance 😭 I feel bad that their scene in this chapter gives me hope.

I know this isn't a good time for this but OHO?? 👀 Suzanna why does it seem like you're only worried for Lorena? Maria is there to, you know.. *COUGH COUGH*

Are..are they putting the bandage on the armor..?

Nah they did Lorena dirty by putting that freaky mask on her 💀 I say, Let her bite!

Wait so Leland is planning to rule 2 kingdoms at the same time? Or is he going to give the Plaid throne to Blaine? I don't think Blaine is in an exactly healthy mental state though.. Uh but it's Leland anyway. What did we expect.

I just can't imagine him wearing pastel ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

Can you imagine him wearing pastel? I can't.

Haha everything might be going along with Leland's plan right now, but the second Frederick's crew came in, Well we'll see what happen :)

Speaking of the Omniscient Clam, I'm still wondering what connection it may have with green eyes and a piece of paper that is seemingly inside the green eye?

Something related to golden, green, and paper would be Frederick because of his golden hair, green eyes, and his love for book (paper, especially considering the ripped papers from his past in his dorm).

I remember theorizing something about this, but I forgot :') maybe if I remember it later I will post it.

Oh wait so he's planning to leave Jackie in the prison/dungeon to die? Well that was expected but still..damn, Leland 💀 (i wanted to say a dark joke but nah)

FREDERICK BEING A LEADER!! I knew his management skill would come in handy in this war thing!! Is. Is Aurelia going to melt the whole door..? Wait no nvm I think she's just gonna melt the side lol. Really thought she was gonna melt the whole door there 💀

Hm, I wonder if Prez's birth pill is working. I mean, I dunno. The side effects are accurate to what was prescribed in the label, but who knows. Maybe she's gonna transform into a giant spider mid-battle? Or maybe, half spider?

Oho? I see Saffron is blushing haha. The probability that he might have a crush on Syrah is hilarious to me considering their past. Or maybe it's another plot twist and is just going to be something silly?

Uhh okay I can never understand politic/royalty stuffs so I might need someone to explain this whole parliament thing to me..

LANCE. I BELIEVE IN LANCE. Right now he doesn't have any confidence, but I have hope that when Frederick break in, he's gonna join him.

Okay, allow me to be a Blaine fan real quick:

THAT'S! Those eyes are filled with pain! I can sense it jekwwmw he. I love him okay. This panel gives me hope. I think Maria will at least forgive him a little? Considering her sympathizing expression.

Uh, limoncello is an alcohol, right? Okay limoncello is made of lemon zest. Correct me if I'm wrong because I'm too tired to research. Anyway, lemon peel is highly flammable. So I'm just guessing here. Are they going to make fricking molotov cocktail?! THAT'S SO COOL. But at the same time who in the world knows how to make a molotov cocktail there? Whitney? The old guard? Syrah?

JAMIE AND LEOPOLD IS HERE!! Took them long enough lmao. And this whole time, Jamie knows?? I guess that explains why he never says anything even tho Gwen was thinking about the cpc while making the brownies.

Seeing her reminds me of the theory in discord about how this woman might be Lance's mother because of biological similarities.

I wonder what Isolde is preparing? Maybe something related to that parliament thing?

Ughh that's all for today I'm so sorry but my eyes really hurt right now from all the screen times I'm sorry again uh I'm gonna sleep now.

Mono out! (Not exactly in to hear your thoughts because I'll be asleep but go ahead! I'll read it when I'm awake)