#but butcher was exquisite

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Premee Mohammed carrying the entirety of 2024 fantasy with THE BUTCHER OF THE FOREST,

Does anyone have any recs for 2024-25 releases in fantasy or romance that were... actually good? :))))

[armandyke]

As promised, here are my little reviews of the first 10 books I read in 2024. I'll try and post these daily so they should all be done by the end of the week :)

1) Gone to see the River Man by Kristopher Triana (4⭐)

This is a horrible book, and I mean that so positively. I started dabbling in the extreme horror genre last year. I read Cows by Matthew Stokoe, a couple of Aaron Beuregard’s books, plus a few others… You know, they were fine. I think I rated them all somewhere around 2-2.5 stars. 

Anyway, the point of all that was to say that this book was the first extreme horror I read and really enjoyed. It was pretty much exactly what I’d been looking for when I first got into the genre, which is to say, it’s gruesome, twisted, depraved, but underneath all of that there is a good story. Without giving too much away, this book follows Lori, who for the last few years has been exchanging letters back and forth with a serial killer in prison named Edmund Cox. In one of his letters, Edmund asks Lori to go to a cabin in the woods to retrieve a key, and deliver it to the titular River Man. Lori accepts the task, bringing her disabled sister with her, and finds herself embarking on this gristly, supernatural quest which digs up a lot about her and her sister’s dark past. 

I really enjoyed this book, especially the way Lori’s past is slowly revealed as you go through the story. Several times throughout the book Lori switches back and forth between being a sympathetic protagonist and an unlikeable one, but you never lose sight of who her character is and what motivates her. I rated this 4 stars, and the only reason I dropped that last little star was because I felt like we moved through the concluding scenes quite quickly when I would have liked to explore everything just a little bit more. If you’re into extreme horror and haven’t read this I really recommend it, and if you’re into horror and looking for a gateway into the more extreme stuff, I think this would be a good pick for you too. There is a pretty big trigger warning that needs to be given for this book, but because it’s one of the big major twists, I’m not going to explicitly list it here. Just know that if you have specific triggers you avoid in horror books then you should look up the warnings before diving into this. 

2) Skeleton Crew by Stephen King (4⭐)

I have a few short story collections that I’ve read so far this year and I’m not gonna go into too much detail about them. Generally I rate short story collections around 3 stars because there’s almost always some stories I liked and some I didn’t. So for these I’ll try to just sum up the overall vibes and maybe give some honourable mentions to a few stories I particularly liked. 

All that being said, I actually rated this particular collection 4 stars, and I think it’s my favourite short story collection of the ones I’ve read. Definitely my favourite Stephen King collection so far though God knows I have a load more to read at some point. If you’re thinking of picking up one of his short story collections I’d recommend going for this one. Some particular highlights for me: 

The Mist: A group of people find themselves trapped in a supermarket as a mysterious mist descends over the town. Not just any mist, but a mist with creatures. This one is just a great read, and I’m pretty sure you can also buy it as an individual short story.

The Jaunt: A dad explains how teleportation came to be invented, and all the ways it can go wrong. Five stars no notes this one fucked me up for days.

The Raft: A group of teenagers find themselves stranded on a raft being stalked by a creature in the water. I do enjoy a creature. Can you tell?

The Man Who Would Not Shake Hands: Exactly what it says on the tin. You know exactly where it’s going but you’re still having fun. 

Gramma: A boy is left home alone with his sick grandmother, terrifying chaos ensues. Just some classic Stephen King horror and suspense. 

3) The Butcher by Laura Kat Young (5⭐)

Oh man, this book. I read her other novel, The Collector, last year and I think I rated it 4.5 stars but this one was a 5 star for me. Laura Kat Young is so good at creating these unique but believable dystopian societies, and what I love about this one particularly is that it isn’t a modern dystopia, but feels more like it’s set in the 1600’s Salem witch trials era. I’m gonna try not to say too much about what the book entails because I really recommend reading it for yourselves, but to briefly summarise it: this story is set in a society where any and all crimes are punishable by dismemberment, ranging from fingers and toes for petty crimes to full arm and leg amputations for more severe or repeat offenders. The main character, Lady Mae, is about to take over the position as The Butcher from her mother, meaning she is the one who will be responsible for performing these amputations. 

Lady Mae and her mother are outcasts in this society, effectively becoming scapegoats for the common people to direct their anger at for the barbaric punishments rather than rising up against the authority. But as time goes on and punishments become increasingly brutal, we see Lady Mae begin to question her belief in the system and battle between the decision to fight or flee. 

The book is able to explore the way class and power structures influence crime, and questions how crime is viewed and punished by those in authority compared to the common people. It weaves in religious aspects (questioning of the authority in this society is referred to as ‘blasphemy’ and is the highest possible offence, punishable by death) all while telling a beautiful and entertaining story. As I said, this got 5 stars from me and I really recommend it.

4) The Hollow Places by T.Kingfisher (5⭐)

T.Kingfisher is quite possibly my all time favourite author. Her writing is beautiful, her characters are beautiful, her worlds are beautiful. It’s rare for her books to get anything other than 5 stars from me and this was no exception. This is actually probably my favourite of all her books I’ve read. It’s just T.Kingfisher at her absolute best and perfectly encapsulates everything I love about her writing. 

The premise of the book is pretty simple. Kara, known affectionately as Carrot, moves into her eccentric uncle’s museum, and discovers a hole in the wall that leads to another dimension. As you do. But guess what? There are creatures. Now you’re fucking talking. 

And the creatures? Oh, the creatures. Without giving too much away, this opening at the museum leads Carrot and her friend Simon to a sort of between worlds (the comparison the book gives is to the Wood between the Worlds from The Chronicles of Narnia) and this between place is occupied by interdimensional creatures that can bend and warp reality to their will. If these creatures find you, they will either eat you, or play with you, and you better hope they eat you. 

The body horror in this book is delicious, the creatures are unique and terrifying, the characters are real and hilarious, and the story is just beautiful. I cried at the end. Incredible. Loved it. 5 stars no notes.

5) Salem’s Lot by Stephen King (4.5⭐)

I feel like I don’t really need to go too much into the Stephen King books on this list. Both this one and the other further in the list are pretty well known classics so I’m not gonna sit here pitching them to you. It’s Salem’s Lot. Like, you get it. It’s the one about the vampires. 

I gave this 4.5 stars rather than 5 because this is one of those Stephen King books where he goes off on a tangent about something and I end up skim reading trying desperately to get back to the plot. Love the guy but God he can yap. I’m trying to find out what these vampires are up to and bro is dictating the town's archived history to me, like good for you for having all this world building but sometimes I don’t need to hear it all. 

6) The Shuddering by Ania Ahiborn (3.5⭐)

This was a bit of a mixed bag for me and I can’t really put my finger on exactly why. The premise is pretty simple: a group of people are stranded in a mountain lodge in the snow and, you guessed it, there are creatures. Oh yeah, baby.

By all accounts this should have been an easy winner for me because I love creatures and I love an isolated snowy setting. I think my main hangup with this book was that the characters were all fundamentally unlikeable, and I couldn’t work out if that was intentional or not. With the exception of one character, they were just a bunch of rich white assholes, and without giving too much away, the one character I was rooting for never even got a conclusive ending. 

Other than that it’s a good read and I do recommend it if you’re a fan of creatures in the snow. The gore is really well written, the creatures are fun, and the story isn’t as predictable as you’d expect from something like this. The character I thought was being set up as the final girl ended up being the first one to die so, you know. Overall I initially rated this 3 stars but I feel like maybe that was a bit harsh. It’s more like a 3.5 I think. 

7) Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt (5⭐)

I bought this book because Stephen King blurbed it and I wasn’t let down. This was really good and a really cool concept. 

The story is set in a town haunted by a witch, but set in the modern day. The town has completely cut itself off from the rest of the world, essentially enforcing a quarantine to keep the witch a secret, and they have high tech surveillance everywhere to keep track of her. She’s mostly benevolent and just wanders around the streets or occasionally appears in people’s homes, but the small glimpses they’ve had of her powers in the past have left everyone terrified to intervene with her. Now though, because the kids in the town have only ever known her as benevolent, they are starting to push boundaries and end up unleashing something terrible. 

At its core this is a book about paranoia and mob mentality, and it does an incredible job of building up the suspense right through to the climax. Everything in this story feels believable, from the decisions of the town authorities to the acts of brutality committed against the witch. The whole thing is just beautifully written and sent me on some major face journeys as I was reading. I gave it 5 stars and I really recommend it if you're a fan of suspenseful horror. 

8) Nothing but Blackened Teeth by Cassandraw Khaw (3.5⭐)

I think my biggest gripe with this book is that it needed to be longer. This is maybe the first novella I’ve read that I really felt needed to be a full novel. I loved everything the book was doing, but everything went by so fast there was barely time to enjoy any of it before you’re speeding on through to the conclusion. 

The story is told from the perspective of Cat, a young woman spending the night with a group of friends in a haunted house in Japan where they are haunted by a ghost bride. It’s really difficult to explain more than that because there was so much happening but so little was explored. The dynamics between all the characters were tense and high strung but barely explored, and the haunting itself lasted maybe a few dozen pages before coming to an abrupt conclusion. The book is only 120 pages long and I really think it needed to be twice that length. 

All that being said, the writing was good and I’ll definitely be checking out more of this author’s work in the future. If you’re looking for a really quick read, though, then maybe check this out. 

9) Exquisite Corpse by Poppy Z Brite (4⭐)

Just as a side note here, I’m aware this author has come out as a trans man, but I couldn’t find any information on whether his pen name has been updated. From what I can see, his books are still being printed under the name Poppy Z Brite so I’m sticking with that but yeah, the author is a man.

I enjoyed this book a lot. I wasn’t aware it was queer horror going into it (I just picked it up because I liked the title, sue me) so that was a pleasant surprise. Nothing better than cracking open your cannibalism serial killer book and finding out that it’s also gay, and I mean that with all my heart. This wasn’t advertised as an extreme horror book but I’d say it definitely classifies, there’s very graphic gore, cannibalism, and necrophilia in here so please for the love of god look after yourselves. But if you’re… well, not into that stuff, but if it’s something you can handle and are interested in reading then definitely check it out. 

Essentially the book is about two serial killers who cross paths and kind of, find a kindred spirit within one another. It’s not a romance, don’t get it twisted, but they begin this sort of intimate affair of sharing and exploring each other’s methodologies and reasons for doing the things they do, which all culminates in them working together to target what they consider to be the perfect victim. 

Because of the time period, setting, and nature of the book the AIDs epidemic is very present throughout the story, with the killers acting as an allegory for HIV. It’s definitely a lot, so if that's something that could be triggering for you then give this a miss.

10) Good Girls Don’t Die by Christina Henry (1⭐)

To cut an incredibly long story short: this was bad and I rated it 1 star. I have an entire essay I wrote on this book which I’m planning on turning into a video at some point.

[helenofblackthorns]

who is this man. why does Charles seem nice here what is going on

[exquisitetomarrymortcorpse]

I’m SO excited for this!! Thank u for your hard work and excitement for this so far!!

😭😭😭 no, thank YOU!! everyone has been so supportive and friendly 🥹 you’re all so cool 😮‍💨😌 this corpse is only as good as its murderers 😌😌😌

[hrefna-the-raven]

Stay with me?

Masterlist - Horror masterlist - Misc.

Art the Clown x female reader

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: As his eyes fell upon your slouched figure on the red bench, rolling your eyes in boredom at whatever your friend was prattling on about, Art realised he had either made a grave mistake or stumbled upon something incredibly right.

Notes: don't worry, the toilet seat is closed, no Art "art" in this oneshot 😂

Reader: female reader, female genitals, no pronouns except you

Art continued to blink in disbelief, his body frozen mid-movement. This was not the usual scenario he found himself in, and his mind struggled to grasp the reality of being pinned down on the toilet seat of the small pizza place, with you straddling him.

It was always the same, he'd pick a girl, or two, obviously flirt with her, she'd be crept out, run, scream and then he'd butcher her, slowly, make a funny spectacle out of it and call it a day. The perfect plan for an evening's twisted entertainment. But tonight was different. As his eyes fell upon your slouched figure on the red bench, rolling your eyes in boredom at whatever your friend was prattling on about, Art realised he had either made a grave mistake or stumbled upon something incredibly right. In that very moment, when your gaze met his for the first time, an inexplicable and unfamiliar pressure gripped his chest—a warning and an irresistible urge all at once. Before he knew what happened, his body found its way to the seat on the opposite side of you and your friends. He rested his elbows on the table, placing his chin in his folded hands, while a wide smile adorned his black painted lips, revealing his decaying teeth. Little did Art know that the first flutter of butterflies had already emerged within you when you spotted him outside the quaint restaurant. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been this genuine surprise that washed over his twisted mind when he spotted your charming smile directed at him. His hands fumbled on the tiny ring on your finger, as if they couldn't believe you had actually accepted it and that, in return, you gifted him a tight warm hug.

Art's head fell back against the cold tiles, his mouth gaping in a silent moan, eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling when you sunk down on him. The way your wet cunt swallowed him completely, your greedy walls clenching around his throbbing length, it would classify perfectly under "exquisitely divine" or at least whatever someone as rotten as Art might deem as such. He was a creature of many pleasures, ranging from the bloodiest to the most macabre. However, this was novel to him, prompting his mind to consider adding this sensual discovery to his usual repertoire of amusements. His gloved hands shifted to your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh, guiding your movements and urging you to quicken the pace. Art took a deep quivering breath, teetering on the precipice of that sweet release that beckoned him to surrender but instead he tried to focus on his surroundings. The soft fabric of his costume pulled around his feet brushing against his skin with each movement, the hum of the flickering light above casting dancing shadows upon the cabin walls around the two of you while the luscious melody of your moans cradled his rotten heart.

Fingertips gently grasped his chin, guiding his head downwards to meet your gaze once more. Sinful delight danced across your face as you whispered his name in a seductive murmur. A fierce fire blazed in your eyes as they locked with his and he suddenly felt like burning away underneath your gentle touch. Art's body tensed for a moment before finally tumbling into the abyss of the pleasure you had unveiled before him. Countless images flooded his mind, filling every crevice of his thoughts as he came undone. You followed soon after, your lips crashing on his in a passionate kiss. As you pulled away, a blissful expression adorned the beauty of your face and your hazy eyes stared into his distorted soul, a firework exploded throughout Art's entire body. The others in the restaurant felt as far as the faint murmurs behind that closed door and in this moment, only you existed. You became the new center of his universe, his beloved muse whose every touch and sound granted him visions of a world painted in blood. He had to keep you, all to himself and, somehow, it felt only natural to him, as if this decision had been engraved in stone since the beginnings of Hell. Art tilted his head slightly, observing with curiosity as you climbed off him and cleaned both of you up. You took an exaggerated bow and held your hand out with a mischievous grin as if you invited him to take it and stand up. He gladly accepted, lifting himself up and kissing the back of your hand with a wide smile before pulling up his costume. He mimicked a sigh, shaking his head while a genuine happy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It became undeniable how it delighted him that you had chosen to join in the pantomime from the moment you realised he wouldn't communicate in any other way. The gleeful joy and that hint of a mischievous sparkle in your eyes proved that you were more than willing to play his fun little games with him.

Art led you to the mirror, exhaling onto it before he hastily scribbled something in the mist on its surface.

Will you come and stay with me? 🤍

You nodded and chuckled, playfully tapping his shoulder.

"Did you really believe I'd let someone as delicious as you leave again?"

He feigned a thoughtful expression before shaking his head. His fingers entwined with yours and he guided you out. Both of you walked past your friend, out of the pizza place, disappearing into the dark of the night.

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[senualothbrok]

Hello my friend!! Regarding your amazing “Tight Fit” fic from @daisyofwaterdeep’s 10/10 scenario, I’m obsessed with how Gale would act around Tav after the whole debacle:

Just adorably a mess. Shy, flustered. Stumbling over words.

Trying not to mention it in conversation. Trying to act normal. Occasionally failing on both counts with verbal flubs: “I wholeheartedly support whatever Tav decides. Our leader knows breast—BEST! I mean best!” etc. etc.

Praying Tav doesn’t hate him. Trying not to get aroused every time Tav smiles at him.

Going out of his way to be extra kind to Tav while simultaneously trying to avoid her.

Forcing himself not to daydream about it during the day, thinking about it literally every night. Reimagining every detail while in his bedroll. Instantly so hard he has to finish himself off or he won’t be able to sleep.

Climaxing so hard he’s legitimately concerned about his orb.

Berating himself internally, reminding himself he needs to learn some damned self-control…but then recalling Tav’s breath on his neck, the feeling of her fingers eagerly stroking him, and any hope of self-control is instantly lost

Would love to hear your and/or @daisyofwaterdeep’s thoughts 💖

Hello my dear friend! I 1000% agree with your thoughts on this and I have written something to describe how I think it might go. Hopefully this is enjoyable!

A Generous Portion

Summary: Gale is a flustered mess after you are locked in a room together. Sequel to A Tight Fit.

Set in early Act 1. Featuring matchmakers Karlach and Astarion, gentleman hero Wyll, I've-had-it-up-to-here Shadowheart, and oblivious Lae'zel.

Word count: 1.7k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Blushy, flustered, awkward Gale. Sexual tension.

****

“Gale.” Wyll's voice is warm with delight. “You've outdone yourself.”

Gale beams as he passes a steaming plate to Wyll. The stew Gale ladles out is thick and rich, and your stomach rumbles at its buttery fragrance. He grins as he hands out generous portions to a nodding Shadowheart, a grunting Lae'zel. 

“It’s not every day that we cross paths with a butcher.” He bobs his head. “A good cook makes the most of every opportunity.”

You see none of the uneasy stiffness of the past few days, none of the squirming mania that has possessed Gale whenever your eyes have met. Karlach claps before she takes her plate from him, and he gives a playful half bow that makes you smile.

“Besides, a hearty meal is the best cure for a weary body and mind. And as far as hearty meals go–”

Since the last time you were alone, Gale has been avoiding you. He has fled from every look and conversation, as though it were a matter of survival. And yet, you have often felt his attention on you, stripping you bare. You feel it now, as his focus flits over your outstretched hand, as he serves you.

“–There’s nothing like some good Waterdhavian sausage.”

His eyes meet yours. Panic flares in his face. He jerks his head, a grimace clenching his features as he flinches away. You settle back in your seat next to Astarion, feeling strangely guilty. Astarion's smirk does not escape you. Nor does the bright flash of Karlach's eyes.

For an eternity, there is only the scraping of plates, the soft stirring of bodies. The sizzle and hiss of the campfire, punctuated by little hums of satisfied chewing. The stew is exquisite, and you almost forget the crackling tension around you as you devour it. It spills from your lips, trickling down your chin in your haste. You wipe it away with your fingers, sucking them clean, wasting nothing. 

When you look up, Gale is staring at you. He spins away, clearing his throat as he examines his stew with obsessive intensity. The flush of his cheeks makes your core swell with memory. The ghost of his hardness twitches against your fingers. You shift awkwardly.

When Wyll breaks the silence, you look at him with a newfound appreciation. 

“This is delicious, Gale,” Wyll says politely. “Truly delicious.” 

Relief surges in Gale’s frame. “It's my pleasure.” 

“We're spoiled to have you cooking for us.” 

You have never been so grateful for Wyll's courtly upbringing, his natural tact. You send out a missive of frantic admiration with your eyes. Wyll’s gaze flickers to yours for the briefest instant before returning to Gale.

Gale is chewing his lip, composing himself. His furrowed brow eases. He waves his hand in an approximation of dismissal.  

“I try my breast.”

You drop your spoon. Astarion bursts into laughter. Shadowheart buries her face in her hands.

“Best!” Gale is fully crimson now, his pitch higher than you have ever heard it. “I try my best!”

“I can't watch anymore,” Shadowheart murmurs under her breath. Karlach jostles her quiet. There is an excruciating pause. You glance at Wyll, pleading.

Wyll's jaw feathers as he leans forward, his smile tight and wide. 

“And tell us, Gale, where did you learn to cook?”

Gale combs frenzied fingers through his hair. His gaze darts around like a fish evading a net. 

“I learned from the best.” His words are slow and strained at first, snowballing as he recovers. “My formidable mother. A master cook, who could work miracles with modest and extravagant ingredients alike. She taught me everything I know.”

Wyll hums approvingly, patiently. You are beyond thankful to see Gale’s breaths levelling, his voice lowering to its usual timbre.

“In fact,” he draws himself up, “the last time I made her a meal, she said my food might even match hers.” 

Wyll lets out a courteous titter. “Well-deserved praise.”

“Your food is pleasant even to a Githyanki palate,” Lae’zel remarks matter of factly. She seems oblivious to tonight’s disasters - or perhaps indifferent to them.

“Awesome grub, mate.” Karlach gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Can't get enough.”

With each affirmation, Gale’s body uncoils a little. The alarming scarlet of his skin is fading to its usual golden bronze. You are desperate to give him relief. You nod furiously. 

“I love your food. I’d eat anything of yours.”

All heads turn to you – vistas of disbelief, delight, despair. Karlach lets out a guffaw as Astarion snickers. Shadowheart and Wyll press their hands to their temples. Lae'zel stares at Gale with disdain as he begins to cough, clutching his chest. He hacks and heaves, until you are genuinely concerned that he is choking.

“Are you alright, Gale?” 

“Fine!” he gasps, his hands whipping around him in frenetic arcs. “Absolutely fine!”

Anxiety seizes you as a flash of lavender peeks through the opening above his chest. Hurriedly, you pour him a glass of wine, moving forward to kneel beside him. 

“Well.” Astarion springs up, gesturing to Karlach pointedly. “This is as good a time as any for that thing you mentioned, Karlach.”

For a second, Karlach looks just as confused as you feel, her brow scrunched as she considers. The recognition that blooms on her face is like victory. She leaps up to join him.

“Right! That thing! That I wanted to show you. And Shadowheart. And Wyll. And Lae'zel. Right now! Somewhere else!”

She pulls them up in turn. You stare at each of them, bewildered, imploring. Gale wheezes beside you. 

“What are you–”

“Must dash!” Astarion calls out, grabbing and jostling at arms and elbows. “Places to go, people to be!”

You glare at your companions’ retreating backs. When Gale takes the glass from your hand, his fingers brush against yours. He looks away as he throws the wine down with a groan.

*****

“Are you sure you don't need anything?”

“Yes, I'm fine, thank you.”

“Because if you need anything, I can–”

“No, I'm quite alright, Tav. Thank you very much for your kindness.”

The politeness between you is painful. Gale’s hands jolt from his lap to his sides, his fingers rippling and fisting. You suddenly realise how close you are, your face an arm’s length from his knee, your eye line parallel to the crook of his…

You lurch back, perching on the log opposite him. Gale’s features writhe as he fumbles at his robe. He looks absolutely miserable. You cannot help but feel stung. Your friendship and affection for him had come so easily. You cannot say you do not miss it, and the promise of what it might become.

“Would you rather I left?” you ask finally. “If I'm bothering you, I can go.”

Is it shock in his widened eyes? Disbelief? You cannot tell. He shakes his head with surprising force. 

“No, Tav. You never bother me. You could never...”

He trails off, gaze fixed on the campfire with a fervour like fear. You sigh. You cannot skirt around the edges of it any longer.

“Gale, have I done something wrong?” 

He looks up then. His eyes quiver, sunlight on a brown sea. 

“Have I upset you in some way? Because if I have, I apologise. I never meant to cause you any distress, or any kind of offence–”

He winces, as though you have struck him. 

“Of course not,” he exclaims, a little too loudly. He bites his lip. A stray strand of silver falls over his eye. You ignore your urge to brush it away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You could never do anything to upset me. You're...”

Something in his tone simmers beneath your skin. It is breathy and hoarse, and you are reminded of the way he had moaned over your parted mouth as you grasped the bulge rising between you. Your skin throbs as your gaze drifts over the fullness of his cupid’s bow, the hard curves of his chest, the shadowed dip between his legs. You swallow.

He whirls away from you, as if he can read your thoughts. It is your turn to clear your throat now, to stare into the campfire as your face burns and you battle against the images that flood you. When, without warning, he jumps up and bounds away, you do not have words. Rudeness is a trait you did not think Gale possessed. You sit, stunned, wondering what to do with yourself.

You are taken aback when he returns from his tent. He stoops and stumbles slightly as he takes a seat beside you, close enough that his scent of sandalwood and sweat sends your head spinning. With gentle deliberation, he places a basket in your lap. You marvel at the peaches that fill it, sunset-blushed and plump, ripe to bursting. 

“Gale,” you breathe. “What is this?”

He rubs at the back of his neck. “Forgive me… but I couldn’t help but overhear you and Lae'zel the other day.” His throat bobs, his crow’s feet crinkling. “You were telling her about the food you love most, so when I saw these peaches at the market, I couldn’t help but…”

It takes all of your self control not to throw your arms around him. You press a peach to your nose and close your eyes, breathing deeply, savouring its fragrance, sweeter than the sweetest wine. The tickle of its down, the feel of its flesh, firm and soft at the same time. A little gasp of joy escapes you.

When you open your eyes, he is smiling - beaming - at you. He looks away quickly.

“Thank you, Gale,” you manage. “This is incredibly generous. How can I ever repay you?”

He dips his head. There is the hint of an arched eyebrow, a sideways curl of his lips, as his dark eyes flicker back to yours.

“Your pleasure… is all I desire.”

For a while, you simply look at him, speechless from relief, beauty, gratitude, yearning. The air around you is taut to snapping, the space between your bodies at once too much and too little. You open your mouth and sink your teeth into the peach in your hand. It bursts into a spurt of nectar, coating your lips and chin and fingers, sticky and smooth on your skin. You let out a small moan.

He trembles. A purple haze flares as your tongue follows the trail of juice winding down your fingers, catching the drips on your wrist. You lick your lips as he watches, still and rapt. Laid bare.

You hold the bitten peach out to him, an unspoken offering. He hesitates for an eternal moment before he leans forward, bathing you in his indigo glow. 

He holds your gaze as he bites down.

*****

Read the sequel, A Perfect Storm

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[cordidy]

First night with him...

We are not in the realm of puuuuure smut BUT these are adults activities so please, MDNI 🙏

MC is experienced, fluff, a tiny bit of smut ?, goofiness cuteness and flufiness

Not proofread, I needed to get it out of my head ! Oh and english is not my mothertongue so I take any advice and critics

The others are coming too ;)

It was happening ! Finally !!!!

Rafayel had never been that excited in his whole life as he was getting everything ready. After weeks if not MONTHS of pleading, bargaining even BEGGING on his knees ! (which he complained A LOT about after cause they were hurting !) you had finally agreed to indulge him !

You only had 1 single request, a deal breaker of a sort.

"Not the face".

At first he had been puzzled. Never before had he received such an instruction, especially for this, but he had agreed. These were your bondaries and he would NEVER cross them.

The moment you said yes, he had started the preparations. He wanted this moment to be PERFECT. You were his love, his bride, his Muse, you deserved the best experience ever ! Especially for a first...

"Do we really have to do it here ?" you asked, a bit embarassed.

"Of course ! It's the best place for it !" he had answered, installing everything, focused.

Perfect, it had to be perfect.

Soft lights ? checked

Flowers ? checked

Comfy pillows ? checked

"It's just....I was thinking about somewhere more....private...." Not that you were especially shy but still, a beach ?

"Trust me, you won't regret it" he reassured you with a smile.

"But what if people....hum....see us ?"

"Had Thomas privatize the beach for the night" he was clearly not fully with you as he was arranging the scene "besides, look at that moon ! It sooooo much prettier than the studio and you deserve the best. Go on now, strip !"

Thank God the weather was so nice you thought as you laid on the sea of blankets and pillow under Rafayel's loving gaze, entirely naked.

Perfect...

"And now, let me work my magic love...." he said, sitting behind the canvas, grabbing his palette, ready to imortalize you so the whole world could worship you the way you deserved.

While you loved the guffy idiot you were dating, seeing him so serious, so focused as he started to paint was an entire whole thing and you could feel yourself smiling like an idiot cause that man was YOURS.

After 2 hours of posing though, your body started to ache a bit and, based on the frown on Rafayel's face, he was not satisfied.

"Can we take a break ?" you asked him, startling him. He was painting you and yet it felt like he had forgotten your presence enterily as he often did when he was working.

"Hum ? Yeah sure...I could use a break too" he said absently, still focused on the canvas.

Something was off.

The piece was exquisite. Not that you ever doubted him, of course, but you had mainly seen him paint scenery and seeing yourself on the canvas...

"I know I know....I can't put a finger on it it's frustrating !" clearly, he was not satisfied with his work. "Sorry love, I promised you a masterpiece and you get....this...." Surely you were made at him for butchering your image like this... "It's....lacking" he added, frustrated, rubbing his eyes.

"Maybe the issue is not the painter but the model..." you said teasingly, trying to ease the atmosphere before putting your finger in paint and poking his cheek.

You poked him again, this time with another color, and again, and again and before you knew it, the two of you were litteraly fighting to paint the other, laughing like two idiots.

Paint, paint EVERYWHERE.

On the lights.

On the flowers.

On the comfy pillows.

On your two bodies, intertwined under the moonlight as you were making love for the first time on that beach...

He was already painting when you woke up.

Painting you.

The melancholic painting of a woman, waiting for her lover lost at sea, was now replaced by a colorfull one, your body, covered in paint, laying layzily under the sunlight.

Rafayel was smiling this time.

He finally had his masterpiece.

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Two - Butchered Tongue

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 3.7k

a/n: a little late but here we are :)) I’m so grateful for all the nice people who have reblogged and commented!!

warnings: mentions of an orphanage, dead mums and Benji is still a little drama queen

song: Butchered Tongue - Hozier

chapter one

Benji hates the capital.

It stinks and it is always busy, with narrow dark alleys that lead nowhere and depraved people lining them.

His life has been ripped from him and handed into your hands. Hands free of calluses and scars, not a speck of dirt caked beneath their nails and yet, no matter how delicate and weak, they hold his fate.

He isn’t meant for a knight’s life, all honour, no freedom. And least of all he is meant for the life of a knight in this godforsaken city, which seemingly offers nothing but sin and tragedy.

Benji has always found the king to be terribly unlikeable. A slimy little man, who had been quick to put to the torch what his ancestors had built up in this realm. He had forgotten just how severe it all is, with his home so far removed from this but now, as he stands next to you, he thinks he could just vomit. He won’t of course, he isn’t like you, with your weak demeanour, to faint at that little bit of sun.

Today you still look pale, though you’d spent the last three days on bed rest, days which he had to spend simply waiting around in front of your chambers.

He was almost glad when he was informed that you were to visit one of the city’s orphanages.

In your hands you hold a woven basket and you listen to the nun introduce you to the children, with little humility.

He doesn’t understand why all the realm is always fussing over you, so far you have yet to live up to any of the tales that have been spun around your name.

Well except, perhaps, those of your beauty. Though it may pain Benjicot to admit it, it is clear as day that you are exquisite.

But still you do not seem as clever or as kind, let alone charming, as he had been led to believe, to him.

He hopes that you are vain and offended enough to want to be rid of him by the end of the week. He would likely be exiled then, but it seems a better destiny than spending the rest of his life devoted to some strange girl he’s only just met.

He had refused all marriage deals before this, and in this scenario he would never be able to bed anyone again. Truly an awful thing for a young man of his age to behold.

Uncomfortably he shifts from one foot to another as Sister Linda continues to rattle on. He’s avoiding to look into the sad faces of abandoned children, so he regards you instead, boring holes into your frame with all his might.

You are wearing the same smile he’d seen you wear during the knighting ceremony. Practised and detached. It seems quite unbelievable that anyone should fall for this masquerade of yours, but apparently it works.

You’re dressed in the colours of your house, though a paler version of them. Lilac. It has only very thin sleeves and he can see the fading imprint of his fingertips on your arm. He had gripped you a little harshly during your little incident, too much taken by surprise to consider his own strength, and then, of course, he was immediately praised for being the perfect pick for his position, so eager to protect his princess.

He should have just let you tumble to the ground, he thinks. But his instincts had betrayed him.

You do not shift every few minutes like he does. You’re very still, hands gripping a woven basket filled with gifts for the children and only every now and then do you react to something.

A humble laugh here, an interjection of a ‘thank you’ there.

Your brother had informed him that you do this every week with a different charitable institution. Much to his dismay, he would have to accompany you to an infirmary next time. As though the city itself didn’t spout enough risk of infection.

It is so foolish, to have you, of all people, visit all these poor souls, give them your feigned smile and a present which leaves not even the tiniest of scratches in the wealth of your father’s house.

Pretentious is what it is. You’re nothing more than a third-born woman, you hold no importance to the politics of the land.

The nun finishes her ode to you and you bow your head graciously. “Thank you, Sister,” you say.

The old hag blushes, like a little girl and Benji simply cannot help the little scoff that escapes him.

Your head shoots around, eyes widened as though you had forgotten about his presence at all, but you compose yourself quickly.

“Ser Benjicot, would you help me hand out the baskets please?” You ask, voice dulcet and melodic. You had chosen a different path than him, after your near catastrophic first meeting.

You have settled on greeting him with exaggerated sweetness.

A farce, he knows it. It is just a question of time before you would tire of it and go crying to your brother that you want a different knight.

He nods at you and the children are quick to line up, each of them eager, with glowing eyes.

You kneel down before them, dress skirts puffing up around you and begin to give them their gifts. There are toys and clothes for the winter time and little cakes and he wonders how in god’s name this is to be of use for longer than a blip in time. They’d outgrow the clothes and they’d fight over the toys the moment you would leave.

It is money which they need, money that currently adorns you in gold and fine silks.

Most of the younglings do not speak to you directly, too shy or too worried about what to say but some grin at you in that untamed way that only children do.

You ask them if they would like a hug or not and they all say yes.

Benji keeps giving the next basket to you, slowly emptying all the trunks that had travelled with you on your carriage. He is about to hand you the second to last one when he finds a little girl perched in your lap.

A redheaded small thing, fragile with scuffs and specks of dirt all over her. Her hair is matted.

“She just arrived this week,” Sister Linda tells him, despite him not having asked. “She’s refusing to take baths.”

He looks at the nun and then back at you.

Surely, you must also notice that stench radiating off the girl, even the other kids have taken a step back, but you do not react.

“My mumsy said yer’ a baker of hope,” the little one mumbles, grimy fingers clutching at the pendant which dangles from your neck. It is amethyst, a dark one, set in precious gold.

You laugh, soft and careful and pat her back. “I believe she said beacon, sweetling. I am not much of a talented baker.”

The girl shrugs. “Your necklace is nice.”

You hum.

When your carriage had entered the heart of the city, you had scrunched your nose in disdain, Benjicot had seen it. It is somewhat paradoxical to this interaction.

You lean even closer, dip your mouth down to the girl’s ear and whisper something. Her mouth drops into a big ‘O’ and she nods before slipping off of you.

You twist your upper half towards him, opening your arms to receive the last basket.

The little girl takes it into her hand and then you do something entirely unbecoming and wink at her. She giggles and with that you get up, knees clicking.

When you grab Benji's arm for support, he almost rips it away before coming to his senses.

But you notice his little twitch and raise an eyebrow at him, hand returning to your side.

“I believe we have done all for today, Sister Linda,” you say. “We shall see each other in about two moons, if god allows.”

The sitter curtsies. “We owe you and the king our deepest gratitude. It is always a delight to have you visit, your grace.”

Benjicot rolls his eyes at this and then, reluctant as ever, offers his arm to help you down the stairs.

You ignore it, surprisingly, dress bunched in your hands, and hurry down the hallway, him hot on your heels.

He catches up within two steps, with no layer of tulle holding him back and practical leather boots in lieu of your ornate heels that click along the cobbled grounds beneath you rapidly.

“Are we in a haste?” He asks and you stop only when you’ve reached the door.

“Ah, so he speaks,” you say, with none of the kindness you had just displayed a few moments ago.

You’re right. Holding his tongue is likely more effective in his ploy to gain freedom back.

He huffs and opens the door, you are halfway through it before you turn right back around and this time he can barely bother to rush after you.

Your hands fiddle with something at the back of your neck and then from where he stands he realises that you’ve taken the necklace off and suddenly the little girl appears from the top of the stairs, where all the other children had disappeared from already.

You hand it to her, crouched down to her level once more.

Now he regrets not having gone after you, too far to hear what you tell her.

And just as abruptly as your manoeuvre had begun, it is over again.

“Let us go back now, I am quite famished,” you tell him, not a single look spared in his direction, as you pass by.

Still, he thinks your cheeks are flushed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is quite laborious to not speak.

Especially for a man like Benjicot Blackwood, who is so often quicker with his tongue than his better judgement, who so loved to brag and yell and debate and laugh loudly.

Silence does not suit him.

The only person he has spoken with at court so far, is your brother, if only to request that he isn’t made the full armour of knighthood, a wish that he was granted.

He is almost entirely certain that it is his reputation which allowed him this luxury.

You had addressed the wardrobe change and told him that you were glad that he wasn’t forced into all the steel, the way Ser Rickon before him had been.

Benjicot had only grunted in return.

That is all he allowed himself towards you: grunt, scoff, huff, sigh. Perhaps roll his eyes, or make some other dismissive gesture.

You have yet to abandon your stubborn idea of being patient with him. You don’t chastise his behaviour and you can’t have complained to anyone because in turn nobody has told him to get it together.

As it is now, nobody speaks to him, most courtiers preferring to whisper.

Bloody Ben, they all still hiss behind his back, even though he does not at all feel like him anymore.

Bloody Ben is in the Riverland, in the rise and fall of its hills, buried in its luscious high grasses.

Here he is Ser Benjicot, a trapped up bird.

But he does grow hopeful each day, with every little crack in your angelic facade, with the thinning of your web of false amiability.

When he’d walked with you to the stables this afternoon, you had pushed him to the side to enter first.

Very subtly, maybe not even noticeable to any passerby, but he had felt your well-kept nails in the soft leather guarding his forearms.

And then after, as you had mounted your horse, you had barely waited for him to join you before galloping on out toward the private part of the beach.

Fury, your horse is called, which he thought so ridiculous that he had laughed upon hearing it, but seeing it now, he understood why.

It is bloody enormous. A black Friesian, the kind that is usually bred to the north of the kingdom. And just barely tamed, vehemently refusing to let Benjicot near it.

You’re leaned forward on her now, arms wrapped around her neck, your eyes trained on the sea.

The weather is rough today, strong winds tearing at your hair and coat.

Laughable, he thinks again. Your attire is made to resemble that of the cavalry, deep purple overcoat and a brooch resembling a horse attached to it, right on your chest.

But you are the princess, so of fucking course, your overcoat is embroidered with a golden sun. Of fucking course it is neat and clean. It’s a costume.

Everything you put on is a costume, down to the faces you make.

He’d say he hates you, but then again he has actually hated people in his life before and he doesn’t care that much for you.

“Quit that, will you?” you say, voice raised enough for him to hear you over the roar of the ocean. You look at him, brows pulled into a frown.

He tilts his head, redirects his horse to parallel yours, rather than face it. “What do you mean, your grace?”

You sigh. “Do not act stupid, Ser Benjicot. You look as though you may push me off my horse at any moment.”

He snorts. “I do not.”

“You do. It’s tiresome. I cannot make this feat easier for you, but why do you insist so on making it harder for me?”

This time he doesn’t snort. “Harder for you? Just because I refuse to be your friend, does not mean I am making it harder for you. It isn’t common to be so close with one’s knight. Just because you let Ser Rodrick do all sorts of things with and to you.”

You do not miss the implication of this. “It is treason, what you hint at. It is treason that you should think so lowly of one of the most honourable men in the realm. It is treason to speak of my maidenhood in such a lewd manner.”

Benjicot directs his gaze into the skies. They are grey, waiting to erupt. “I did not say it, did I?”

You huff. “Toad.”

His laugh startles you, he sees you flinch in the corner of his eye. “Too well behaved to even curse properly,” he mutters. “Do you have no emotion left, princess? Was your outburst in the garden the peak of it?”

You do not answer yourself at first, the crashing of waves, the sea gulls, they seem to do so for you. Benjicot wonders if this would be your last straw now.

He decides to push further.

“You are pampered and spoiled. You think you can give away necklaces and make up for it that way. You think that if you’re patient enough, I’ll come to like you as everyone does, but I’ll tell you now, I never will. I am not like the courtiers, blinded by the colours of your clothes and the shine of your royal hair. I do not care for your title or your wealth or your looks.”

He makes a point of staring at her then, surprisingly to find her expressionless and already looking at him. “You are nothing but shackles to me.”

Again you don’t speak. You hold his eyes and for a moment he thinks you would be the one to push someone off their horse

“Get down,” you say.

Benjicot’s smile grows. He’s been told that he smiles like a shark and he hopes you share this sentiment.

“Get down, Blackwood.”

He obliges. He’s done it, he’s hurt you enough. He is triumphant. He is already planning to find the next tavern.

Then you slide off your own horse.

“You have no idea of shackles, you imbecile.” Your voice is laced with venom, angry and acidic. “You are here because nobody wants to tolerate you. You are here because you are a child, a child with an affinity to violence. You are here because with you remaining in the Riverlands, the Brackens would have never agreed to my father’s attempts to finally bring peace upon your houses.”

He towers over you, but you do not appear to mind as you step closer and closer still, so close that he can smell your saccharine perfume emanating from everywhere and engulfing him like a cloud of roses.

“You think it is good that you are feared, but it is the opposite. Good people are good. Good people do not have others crossing the room to be removed from them. You are nothing short of a small babe throwing a temper tantrum. You should consider yourself lucky that somehow you managed to make your contribution to end this foolish bloodshed between the Brackens and the Blackwoods, even though you worked so hard to keep it alive. Perhaps God will be gracious when you go to meet him then, knowing this. I cannot rid myself of you, without having you killed, you are essential to this plan, so unless you wish to meet our Lord himself sooner than planned you must either learn to be civil or learn to be silent.”

You exhale deeply.

“I do not wish to order your execution, I have never had to do such a thing before in my life and it should be a pity that I were to soil my hands on your youthful blood,” you end.

Benji can see the way your chest heaves, the little specks of red that decorate your cheeks. You are nervous but still you don’t waver.

The two of you stand in your positions, you with your arms crossed in front of you and him with his hands by his side.

Useless hands, he realises now. All is useless, no part of him has any power in this play.

He clears his throat and steps back, unsure what else he should do, for what is likely the first time in his life.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Silence it is then,” you say and he can’t help but wonder whether he imagines the tinge of disappointment in your voice.

It is very benevolent of you to not further comment on his indecencies, more benevolent than you should be but you are aware that he wasn’t raised in this pit of snakes. He doesn’t know of the conniving vipers that surround you and he is not learned in making up plans.

The urge to scream gnaws at Benjicot, at the dawning of how final his place by your side is.

There is no way out.

The king and his uncle promised the Brackens that he is no longer a threat to them. He is the debt that was owed and this is his price to pay.

And so is his gratitude for being a wonder boy, for having wielded swords and bloodied himself so early and so well.

“Ser Benjicot?”

He looks at you, upon your horse once more. It is becoming a thing of frequency for one of you to have to look up at the other.

He nods and so the two of you make your way back to the castle.

It is different this time.

He had dreaded it, a few days ago, when the city had come into sight on the horizon, but back then he had thought that he would weasel his way out.

This time, as you approach the castle, he feels himself suffocate.

Garden strolls, orphanages, banquets, infirmaries, this small beach.

You have no idea of shackles.

You trail ahead of him, high up on Fury, no tiara but hair wreathed around your hair in such a way that it is hard to mistake you for anything other than what you are, even sparing your very obvious clothes.

House Aprikate has historically brought forth women of the utmost charm, soft skinned and smiles that ballads are written about and many say it is their princesses that are the backbone of it all. Kind and warm. The mothers of the realm.

Your dynasty is one of greatness, for a century now your house has ruled the kingdom but it is withering now.

The smallfolk grows unhappy, uneasy beneath the sloppy sovereignty of your father.

He is shackled to you and you are shackled to your house and to this place.

And worse so, he has been free before. You have not.

He swallows his ache, as best as he can, still it tastes bitter on his tongue and by the time you reach the stables, he wonders if execution is still better than this appalling place is.

Maybe your father would marry you off to somebody far enough away from this place. A Bracken, for example.

God. Maybe your future husband would dismiss your knight and replace him with a man of his own. Yes that might be his out.

You’re an Aprikate woman, you would marry soon, he is sure of it.

The sun begins to set and paints the skies in shades of magenta and orange when you walk to your chambers.

“I shall take my supper alone tonight, should my brother come by to ask,” you tell Benjicot. “And I do believe it would be best if you do not mention our initial disliking for one another to anyone. The people here do so love to be blabbermouths.”

He nods and gallantly opens the wooden doors to your chambers.

“Goodnight Ser Benjicot,” you say and rush inside.

He glances along the hallway but it is empty, much like your room. He sticks his head in the tiniest bit. “I believe Benji shall suffice, your grace. Ser Benjicot is such a mouthful,” he says, quick and before he can change his mind again, almost stumbling over his own words as he does.

You smile. A good one, a real one this time.

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@knight-of-flowerss

@rebeccawinters

@jhepolie

@majoso12

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on AKI in SF6?

I haven't had a chance to play the game yet and I might do a more thorough look into the newcomers after I do sit through World Tour, but yeah I got some AKI thoughts. Holy shit what a design. Top 15-20 in the series, it is one hell of a different thing to watch it animated by the character's personality and moveset and vibe. We expected some FANG-isms, some Juri-isms, but certainly not that. We expected a cold, even generic assassin, not someone who merrily treats the penal code like a list of chores.

It was pretty funny seeing the reaction to her develop from "oh she's FANG's apprentice, okay I guess, not sure anyone was asking for that", to "is she the new Juri, she's got a really similar vibe", to "holy shit Juri's got NOTHING on her". In reaction to her popularity, SF6 had been doing a lot of great character work on Juri that, while making her much more developed and entertaining as a character (cringe failgirl Juri was such a revelation) and dramatically more interesting as a person, also really limits the extent to which she can be a straight-up villain anymore. Much like how FANG was designed to fill the void left by Sagat, AKI here crashed the scene to fill the void left by Juri, and so she gets to be not just completely 100% horrible (where as Juri is like, 70-80% horrible), but also SCARY in a way Juri never could be. She gets so, so much out of not being designed for sex appeal and coolness first and foremost, she's like the D'Vorah to Juri's Mileena.

She's a horrible, predatory character, and much like Marisa, I don't think she would have been allowed at all to exist the way she does had she debuted prior (you just know they would have not given her those sick ass pants or given her a different haircut or a cleavage window or something stupid like that). The development team for V repeteadly stated that there were ideas for a new assassin apprentice character related to Gen thrown around and that some of those made their way into FANG and Seth, and AKI is the end result of that very long refinement process. She's the resident freakshow character in the tradition started by Blanka and Dhalsim, and she's the outrageous over-the-top counterpoint to the more traditional martial arts like Chun-Li or even Jamie (much like Adon, or Necro). She's the understudy of the kung fu assassin villain, and in a way akin to Menat she's the young new apprentice of a prior character who acts as a stand-in for that character on the roster and driven to prove her worth before said character, while also being a modern do-over of said character.

(And for the record I actually like FANG quite a bit, a lot more than most of the other V characters. He played like garbage and his execution was lacking and couldn't make up for a terrible first impression in the fanbase, but the design and character and concept I thought were very solid and I'm glad AKI shows they didn't give up on it but took steps to improve on it, I'm glad to see him again in 6).

She breaks new ground for the series by leaning strongly into a horror wraith vibe no other character had before, and she's the Street Fighter equivalent to characters like Voldo, a horrible contortionist slasher villain who doesn't fight you so much as she just passionately and exquisitely butchers you while getting off on it. Her moves are incredible, superbly characterized, she feels vicious and oppressive to watch but still hits that note on FANG's where the playstyle is meant to be tricky but overspecialized and beatable at close range. And while she's designed to be a much more explicitly serious and deadly-looking character than FANG, they even give her goofy little flourishes like blowing bubbles shaped like FANG (and getting pissed if you pop them), his propensity for bird-like arms flapping, and an uncharacteristically childish victory dance akin to Chun-Li's.

She is as cadaverous as Juri is tempestuous, openly referring to herself as a ghost, and when she isn't losing her shit in contorting fits of laughter over success, she has a remarkably chill, upbeat disposition when spouting horrible things to the protagonist or fake poisoning them for laughs. She has an incredibly distinct personality more so than any especially developed inner life, and that's kinda the point: that she has wholly and completely sublimated herself to her role as FANG's tool, by choice and intent of her own, and that's part of why she's a real deal villain.

She was raised by him, she likes what he likes, she is obsessed with everything he is and has done and will do, hates everyone that isn't him, considers him her master and teacher and father and husband all in one, and her romantic fixation and love for him is meant to be deeply disturbing in every way imaginable (and only not a total dealbreaker for me because FANG in no way reciprocates or encourages it or is able to do so, even AKI understands as much), and that they may eventually have to kill each other doesn't deter her one bit.

Despite those surface similarities, there is quite a lot that sets AKI apart from Juri, chief of those being that Juri was victimized by Shadaloo and in response fashioned herself into an instrument of vengeance and turned monstrous as a result, where as AKI actively chose her life and chose being molded by someone else, running away from home and following FANG every step of the way without any regret. Even FANG himself had little choice in his own life, kidnapped as a child and forced to partake in horrible training under which every day could be his last, raised to value nothing but survival at all costs.

Perhaps this in itself is the strength that FANG saw in AKI, that she gets to choose and does so with far greater intent than even himself. That she's someone who could fully understand the horribleness of the Nguuhao methods and lifestyle and want for that and nothing else, to consciously partake in such grueling torture of mind and body and lovingly decide that she can't get enough of it.

And in itself this pairs interestingly with the very idea of giving FANG a dedicated protege sidekick, a character beat that the series has come back to again and again, and takes on an entirely different tone here. I think a lot of what makes AKI's obsession interesting to me in a way these usually aren't, is not just because it's creepy, but because it's ultimately sad and pathetic, and parallels FANG's own craven worship of Bison. It's such a great dynamic, a miserable cycle perpetuated by miserable people caught on the wrong side of that glorification of self-improvement, inner strength and the great heroes and masters who can pass it onto others that the series uses so frequently, and it makes AKI even greater as a character for it: because now we have a true dark mirror for the driving motivation of many of our characters. We have our fucked-up toxic counterpart to every Sakura, Mika, Menat, and Sean out there.

She sees him as he saw Bison and more, and the fact that she is much more threatening and overtly competent and scary than FANG is offset by the fact that worshipping Bison is a wholly different thing than worshipping, y'know, FANG. We comprehend, on some level, FANG's worship, because M.Bison is supposed to be, at minimum, a cool imposing megavillain we're meant to like on some level, which is certainly not true for FANG. SF6 has been very clear on that, that even though he's been given a much slicker outfit, and is keeping a low profile to plot from behind the scenes, this is still very much FANG, every bit the conniving, petty control freak from before.

AKI is a cool, hypercompetent death machine able to scare the pants off the main villain, and she labors desperately day and night, to the point of crying if she fails, to meet the approval of a ridiculous, pathetic man who, no matter how deceptively cunning or dangerous he may be, is only cool to her. Much of why I think FANG worked and was necessary in the first place was because he was designed around the vacuum left by the Four Kings and to contrast them, as what kind of man would it take to work himself ragged running Bison's schemes and being unfailingly loyal to him and Shadaloo, opposite Vega and Balrog's sporadic barely-there alliances and Sagat's outright betrayal. We needed an anti-Sagat, a proper bastard of a Number 2 to run the show in secret. And AKI adds a lot of poignancy to that in that she is much of what FANG can't be, even as she wants nothing more than to be like him.

It's one thing to have somebody who really looks up to and makes an effort to imitate the cool and impressive and heroic World Warriors, or someone influenced by imposing villains like Balrog or Sagat but ultimately decides to carve their own path. It's another thing entirely for maybe THE most obsessive protege character in the series, someone who actively has no identity outside of servitude to her master, to revolve around FANG, the dastardly bird man, who made his debut in a story by hunting down and melting an innocent woman, and grossly and animastically licking her ashen remains off his fingers. What kind of person would decide that this sickening, vile creep is deserving of worship and following until the ends of the Earth?

(art by @remy2fang)

Well, maybe the same kind of person who would consciously look at the likes of M.Bison in the first place, someone they intuitively understand "will reign death on all living beings", and upends their life on the spot towards becoming that man's eternal servant. Someone who seeks self-fulfillment through no other means than the pursuit of strength and knowledge as tools to subjugate others and appease their master. The darkest corruption of the master-student dynamic that defines so much of the series. You couldn't ask for anything more fitting, for the poison specialists.

[ghostofharrenhals]

I love how Arya shows this strong sense of poetic justice since the beginning;

Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. “Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.”

“Just where do you think you are going, Arya?” the septa demanded.

Arya glared at her. “I have to go shoe a horse,” she said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septa’s face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.” — AGOT Arya I

We can also see this on the Trident;

“Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick.

Sansa was afraid. “Arya, you stay out of this.”

“I won’t hurt him…much,” Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher’s boy.”

The direwolf let go of Joffrey and moved to Arya’s side. The prince lay in the grass, whimpering, cradling his mangled arm. His shirt was soaked in blood. Arya said, “She didn’t hurt you…much.” She picked up Lion’s Tooth where it had fallen, and stood over him, holding the sword with both hands.” — AGOT Sansa I

And in the Red Keep;

“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.

“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said.” — AGOT Sansa III

And I think it’s really fascinating how this really comes out to play once she flees the Lannisters and creates a kill list, and word-by-word recreates the situations that got the people on her list;

A man the others called the Tickler asked the questions. His face was so ordinary and his garb so plain that Arya might have thought him one of the villagers before she had seen him at his work. "Tickler makes them howl so hard they piss themselves," old stoop-shoulder Chiswyck told them. He was the man she'd tried to bite, who'd called her a fierce little thing and smashed her head with a mailed fist. Sometimes he helped the Tickler. Sometimes others did that. Ser Gregor Clegane himself would stand motionless, watching and listening, until the victim died.

The questions were always the same. Was there gold hidden in the village? Silver, gems? Was there more food? Where was Lord Beric Dondarrion? Which of the village folk had aided him? When he rode off, where did he go? How many men were with them? How many knights, how many bowmen, how many men-at-arms? How were they armed? How many were horsed? How many were wounded? What other enemy had they seen? How many? When? What banners did they fly? Where did they go? Was there gold hidden in the village? Silver, gems? Where was Lord Beric Dondarrion? How many men were with him? By the third day, Arya could have asked the questions herself. — ACOK Arya VI

“Is there gold hidden in the village?" she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village? — ASOS, ARYA XIII

&

"Can you walk?" He sounded concerned.

"No," said Lommy. "You got to carry me."

"Think so?" The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy's soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. When the man pulled his spear loose, blood sprayed out in a dark fountain. "Carry him, he says," he muttered, chuckling. — ACOK Arya V

“There’s one on the next canal, but he won’t come. You have to go to him. Can’t you walk?”

“Walk?” His fingers were slick with blood. “Are you blind, girl? I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. I can’t walk on this.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know how you’ll get there, then.”

“You’ll need to carry me.”

See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I.

“Think so?” asked Arya, sweetly. — TWOW Mercy

If we ever get Winds or Spring, I sure do hope she gets to kill other people on her list, as I’m curious in how she’d pull it off/recreate the situations!

[brewerssupplies]

Strefan is my main deck, the one I enjoy playing the most. He's a vampire that cares about pinging everyone at the table to generate blood tokens to then cheat out big vampires into play.

You can ping everyone with stuff like Faith of the Devoted which you can use when you discard a card through blood tokens. Cards like Throne of the God-Pharaoh and Sanctum Seeker are also good ways to drain each opponent as long as you swing with at least one creature each turn. Creeping Bloodsucker is just really good as you can get that effect triggered every turn.

You can also throw in cards like Champion of Dusk, Pointed Discussion, and Night's Whisper to draw some cards and lose some of your own life to generate a maximum of four blood tokens on your end step along with the other effects.

You then use those blood tokens to cheat out big vampires like Anowon, Butcher of Malakir, Necropolis Regent, Patron of the Vein, and Crossway Troublemakers through Strefans attack trigger.

I also throw in lords like Bloodline Keeper, Captivating Vampire, Markov Baron, Stromkirk Captain, and Thirsting Bloodlord to pump them up even more.

I've also thrown in Sanguine Bond and Exquisite Blood for the effects they provide and the combo they create.

And finally, my favorite card in the deck: Markov Enforcer! If you can cheat them in with Strefan, they can fight without worrying about dying as Strefan gives them indestructible. Cards like Nirkana Revenant and Bolas's Citadel can help you get more vampires out during your second main phase to trigger more fights for Markov Enforcer!

This is the run down on my Strefan deck!

You can find the decklist here!

[thephantomcasebook]

Alicent Just Checking to Make Sure Her Children Aren't Lusting After Her.

Alicent: *Fishing* Aegon ... you don't find me ... attractive, do you? Aegon: *Mid-eating soup* I mean, sure, absolutely ... you're a top tier would. Alicent: *Confused* Ummm ... Thanks? Aegon: *Shrugs and gets back to being all about his soup* Alicent's Apartments Alicent: ... Helaena: ... Alicent: Never mind. The Small Council Chambers Aemond: *Is cupping Alicent cheek intimately* Exquisite ... Alicent: *Blushing fiercely and moaning softly* Aemond, please. Aemond: *Backs away mysteriously into suddenly appearing shadows sinisterly* The Library Daeron: *Distractedly while Reading* Not at all. You've got Gremlin eyes, you're mostly hair, and you always look like a bunny in a butcher's shop that doesn't realize she's the family pet. Alicent: ... 5 Minutes Later Criston: *Rushes into the Library after hearing shouting and crashing from outside* Alicent: *On Daeron's back putting him in a choke hold* Say it! Say I'm Beautiful and you would fuck me! Daeron: *Ramming Alicent back against a wall while trying to pry her forearm from his neck* Never, you melted baby doll! Criston: ... Criston shakes his head and walks away wordlessly, but not before being startled by Aemond who is lingering in the shadows sinisterly.

[honourablejester]

Blades in the Dark Character Concept: Terrifying Fishmonger Cutter

Inspired by a couple of things, but initially the fact that one of the suggested options for ‘a blade or two’ among the standard equipment is a heavy butcher’s cleaver. And butcher wasn’t quite doing it for me, but what about a fishmonger? What about a terrifying fishmonger cutter?

Especially when the fish in Doskvol are described thusly: “Fishing ships ply the coastal waters daily, bringing back full nets of fish. Popular superstition figures the fish to be stray thoughts of the leviathans given form, and many are ugly enough to justify that whimsy. However, once they’ve been sorted and the poisonous ones ground up for soil treatment or disposal, the rest grace the plates or bowls of those who can afford them.”

The stray thoughts of the leviathans given form, and many are ugly enough to justify that whimsy, huh? You know what vibes that’s giving me? Dredge. The aberrant fish of Dredge. And the fishmonger (and poor dockhand) who so wanted to try them, and what resulted from those attempts. Weird fish. And a weird fishmonger to go with them.

So. The playbook will be Cutter. Cleavers and boat hooks and filleting knives. This is going to be a terrifying physical combatant.

And again, because this is me, and this is a haunted coastal setting over here, they’re going to be spooky. So let’s go Tycherosi for heritage. Not recently, mind you, they’re not a fresh transplant, their family has been terrifying the Docks in Doskvol for, oh, let’s say a century or so? They’re old blood, demon blood, but they’ve been around the city for a while. And … speaking of old blood. The devil mark? They don’t bleed blood. Or cry tears, or sweat sweat. It’s all ichor. A strange, black, shiny substance, dark stains of squid ink from their pores and down their cheeks and from their wounds. If you cut them, do they not bleed? Ha! Well. Not quite.

Background will be Trade, of course. A dockside fishmonger. One who takes the catches off the fishing boats, and not the fancy ones heading for the rich houses, but the weird or simply ugly ones destined for the merely well-off. It’s an old trade in the family, preparing the sea’s bounty. Perhaps they’re no longer a fishmonger because of rumours of contamination in their wares?

Actions dots. They get two in Skirmish and one in Command from Cutter. For their heritage … let’s give them a dot of Hunt. There’s an unsettling sense about them that they’re watching you, following you, that they know who you are. For their trade, we’ll give them Wreck. They are a butcher, after all, if usually of fish. And then for our free dots, lets go with one more in Command, as I feel like they’re good at intimidating people, and maybe one of Prowl. They’re surprisingly decent at lurking.

For their special ability, while something like Savage would definitely work, make them extra terrifying, I’m actually going to take Vigorous instead. They are full of a strange, rude health, a fearful salty effervescence that gets them back on their feet faster. Is it in their blood, something from the same strange source as that ichor? Or is it something they ate? Some further gift of the deeps? Heh.

That will be the vice, I think. We’ll call it Weird, although there’s an argument for Pleasure. But strange things, strange fish, show up in those nets sometimes, and our fishmonger is something of a connoisseur. Are they safe to eat? Almost certainly not. But the taste, and the experience, is just exquisite. Their purveyor, of course, is an old friend, a certain hooded proprietor of a half-flooded grotto tavern near the docks, where strange passageways lead to stranger chambers. All the oddities that come up in the nets wind up in their care sooner or later.

For friends and enemies … Our friend will be Sawtooth, a physicker, and a fellow experimenter on the effects of strange delicacies upon the flesh. He’s carved us quite prettily in our time, in mutual search of answers. And our enemy … Mercy. A cold killer. She’s carved us quite prettily too, in a different sense, and at some point we should quite like to return the favour. We weren’t supposed to get up, of course, but she hadn’t quite planned for our rude health. Next time, both of us shall be better prepared.

I keep saying ‘they’ and ‘us’, instead of ‘she’ or ‘he’, and I think that’s because they’re quite ambiguous. A strange androgynous thing, compact and dense with muscle, with a snarl of ink-dark hair and an unsettling look in their faintly protruding eyes. Almost always encountered in shirtsleeves and trousers, with a stained, heavy apron of eelskin over top. Their favoured blade is a cleaver, with a boat hook acquired from the docks when they need a heavier weapon. And for their scary weapon, a stranger blade still, that shines slick with a dark ichor, but beneath the surface of the blade. Slick and faintly phosphorescent within the metal of the blade.

Their name is Arlyn Grine, alias Oilslick, and they are a deeply unsettling dockside Cutter.

[armandyke]

Would love to hear about the books u read in 2024, surprise bests, biggest disappointments?

I think I will do a multi part post over the coming weeks with reviews of all the books I read since I have about half of them written up already. For now I'll just say my two absolute favourite reads of the year were Botanical Daughter by Noah Medlock and Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova. Two very different books but both of them permanently altered my brain chemistry.

Below are my ratings for all the books I read and as I say, I'll try to post more in depth reviews over the next few weeks. My aim this year is to try and do proper reviews of the books I read as I'm reading them instead of having to go back several months later lmao.

Oh, and because it's something I'm always looking for specific recs for, I've highlighted the books with queer rep (that I remember) in pink, and the extreme horrors/books I advise checking trigger warnings for are marked with a lil skull.

1) Gone to see the River Man by Kristopher Triana (4⭐) 💀

2) Skeleton Crew by Stephen King (4⭐)

3) The Butcher by Laura Kat Young (5⭐)

4) The Hollow Places by T.Kingfisher (5⭐)

5) Salem’s Lot by Stephen King (4.5⭐)

6) The Shuddering by Ania Ahiborn (3.5⭐)

7) Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt (5⭐)

8) Nothing but Blackened Teeth by Cassandraw Khaw (3.5⭐)

9) Exquisite Corpse by Poppy Z Brite (4⭐) 💀

10) Good Girls Don’t Die by Christina Henry (1⭐)

11) The Devil Makes Three by Tori Bovalino (3.5⭐)

12) Starve Acre by Andrew Michael Hurley (4⭐)

13) The Dead of Winter curated by Cecily Grayford (3⭐)

14) Off Season by Jack Ketchum (3⭐) 💀

15) Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt (3.5⭐) 💀

16) Dead Inside by Chandler Morrison (4⭐) 💀

17) The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum (5⭐) 💀

18) Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (4⭐)

19) Caraval by Stephanie Garber (2⭐)

20) The Grip of It by Jac Jemc (4⭐)

21) Thirteen Storeys by Jonathan Sims (5⭐)

22) Nod by Adrian Barnes (4⭐)

23) How to sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix (5⭐)

24) Among the Living by Tim Lebbon (2⭐)

25) 19 Claws and a Black Bird by Augustina Bazterrica (3⭐)

26) House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson (4.5⭐)

27) Song of Kali by Dan Simmons (DNF)

28) The Way of All Flesh by Ambrose Perry (DNF)

29) A House with Good Bones by T.Kingfisher (5⭐)

30) A Botanical Daughter by Noah Medlock (5⭐)

31) Cujo by Stephen King (5⭐)

32) The Dark Net by Benjamin Percy (3.5⭐)

33) The Dinner Guest by B P Walter (4.5⭐)

34) The Cloisters by Katy Hays (1⭐)

35) Diavola by Jennifer Thorne (5⭐)

36) Piranesi by Susanna Clarke (4.5⭐)

37) Nettle and Bone by T.Kingfisher (3.5⭐)

38) The Hatching (3.5⭐) Skitter (1⭐) and Zero Day (1⭐) by Ezekiel Boone

39) Come Closer by Sara Gran (4⭐)

40) Black Sheep by Rachel Harrison (5⭐)

41) The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden (DNF)

42) Wranglestone by Darren Charlton (3.5⭐)

43) Piñata by Leopoldo Gout (4⭐)

44) Everything the Darkness Eats by Eric LaRocca (1⭐) 💀

45) Bury Your Gays by Chuck Tingle (5⭐)

46) The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice (I didn't rate this because this was less like reading a book and more like studying for an exam)

47) The Ghost Woods by C.J Cooke (4.5⭐)

48) Dark Matter by Blake Crouch (3.5⭐)

49) Too Late by Colleen Hoover (DNF)

50) Alice by Christina Henry (1⭐)

51) The House of a Hundred Whispers by Graham Masterton (3.5⭐)

52) All the White Spaces by Ally Wilkes (4.5⭐)

53) Violent Faculties by Charlene Elsby (4⭐) 💀

54) Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin (3.5⭐) 💀

55) Such Sharp Teeth by Rachel Harrison (4.5⭐)

56) My Throat an Open Grave by Tori Bovalino (3.5⭐)

57) Bloom by Delilah S Dawson (4⭐)

58) Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella (DNF)

59) Out There Screaming curated by Jordan Peele (3.5⭐)

60) The Watchers by A.M Shine (4⭐)

61) Whalefall by Daniel Kraus (4.5⭐)

62) My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham (3.5⭐)

63) Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix (4.5⭐)

64) Incarcerat by Garth Marenghi (4⭐)

65) Feast While You Can by Onjuly Datta and Mikaella Clements (5⭐)

66) The Whistling by Rebecca Netley (4⭐)

67) Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield (4⭐)

68) Scuttle by Barnaby Walter (DNF)

69) Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova (5⭐)

70) Revival by Stephen King (4⭐)

71) Blight by Tom Carlisle (3.5⭐)

72) The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw (5⭐)

[multifandomthoughts]

TW: AFAB Reader, one mention of the word “girl”, unprotected sex, biting, arms being restrained

MINORS DNI

Chop. Chop. Chop.

That’s the familiar and comforting sound of your cleaver hitting your cutting board. In a isolated town, you’d expect to be a butcher with competition. But to your surprise, you’re the only one. Day after day, customers line up at your storefront, asking for various cuts of meat.

The community was so tight knit that you knew everyone’s name, and what was going on with them. It was always a pleasure to have someone come up to you for a purchase and be able to see what’s going on. Lately, according to your customers, some of the livestock had been going missing, and citizens were concerned.

Including you. You sourced your meats from the freshest farms in town. You wondered how this will affect your business when you realize that you’re out of twine for the meat. Wiping off your cleaver, you begin to walk down the street.

Clouded by your thoughts, you don’t see where you’re walking and you smash right into someone. They’re dressed very exquisitely, with what seems to be a purple silk suit and dress shoes. They stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re surprised you’ve never seen them before. Especially when your eyes drift to the large parasol they’re carrying. You shout out a “Sorry!” But they don’t seem to notice.

You shrug and visit multiple storefronts until you find the twine that you need. You return to your storefront and finish up for the day, making extra sure to tightly lock up. The next day you arrive at the storefront before the sun is up. It’s always been your routine to give yourself a little bit of extra time to open up.

You notice a figure across the road seems to be staring at you. It’s eyes meet yours, and they begin to saunter over towards you. “Is this a robbery?” Your eyes dart around to see what possibly could be used as a weapon. Scooting towards the back, you grab one of your rustier cleavers, hiding it behind your back as the shape moves closer.

Finally as you’re about to take a swing, you notice it as the person you bumped into before. Sighing, you drop your cleaver and relax. “I’m sorry I frightened you….” The stranger states. “I’m new to this town, and should have figured that arriving at the crack of dawn would definitely throw someone off.” “Who are you?” You stammer out, your voice still a bit breathy with fright. “My name is Sanji, I’m a new restaurateur in town. And just like you, I work early hours.”

You nod, listening and picking up your cleaver. “So, Sanji was it? Is there something I can do for you?” Without missing a beat, he responds. “Yes, in fact there is. I was wondering if you could package me up a few pounds of sausage and pork. I was planning on making a blood pudding to put on the menu.” You nod and then go to package the meat. Once you’re finished, you head back over to Sanji, handing over the meat with a smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Sanji?” You ask politely, glancing carefully at his red irises. “No, that should be it.” And with that, you wave softly and say goodbye.

This seemingly normal interaction would become a daily occurrence for you, and you started to grow fond of Sanji’s company. He even invited you to his restaurant to try some of his dishes, particularly his blood pudding. You thought it was strange tasting, but you chalked it up to the fact that you had never tried it before.

Something about him was a little off, which you weren’t able to put your finger on. Nevertheless, you became closer and closer with him, even beginning a budding relationship. Eventually, you two would begin to go on dates. You had a bunch in common with your professions, and from that, a certain closeness blossomed.

The day he invited you over to his place, you were a bit nervous. Sure, you had gotten to know each other very well, and had even shared a kiss. But this was a whole step forward in your relationship. You arrive at his doorstep, a bit tired from work. You never understood why he was mainly around at either dawn or dusk, but you sure as hell weren’t going to ask now. Knocking on the door, you rock on the balls of your feet, waiting for him to let you enter his humble abode.

Stepping inside, your eyes immediately wander to the walls. They’re covered in intricate wallpaper, and upon the paper lies a myriad of framed art. A bunch of which, is quite erotic. “I see you staring, would you like a tour of the house?” Your heart skips a beat, and you nod. He takes your hand and leads you around his house.

You’re quite surprised how much beautiful art he has in his house, some is immediately recognizable, while some is not. Going through the kitchen, you lay your eyes on many intricate utensils, dishes and machines. You have never seen such innovation before, and as much as you want to stop and stare, you are quickly tugged to the next room.

Eventually, you’re led to the bedroom, the final stop of the tour. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat. The thought of intimacy swirls in your head, and you’re excited. Sanji sits you down on the edge of the bed as he sits right beside you. “So….I believe you have an idea of why I brought you here.” Sanji pauses a moment, clearing his throat before he continues. “And I’m excited to give it to you. But there’s something I must talk to you about.” You’re a bit confused and tilt your head. What possibly could there be to talk about.”

“I must confess, I’m not entirely human. Thus why you only see me at odd hours, and why my teeth poke out of my mouth when I speak.” He could see the gears turning in your head as you finally realized what he meant. “You’re a vampire….is that why you asked me to package all that meat for you?” “Yes, that would be correct. But my darling, you don’t need to worry about me biting or sucking your blood. Unless you want that?”

“Maybe I want you to bite me….gently.” You retort. “Alright, I can do that. Now…why don’t you thrill me? You give a small chuckle and passionately kiss him, placing your hands on his stubbly chin. You can feel Sanji laugh softly as he begins to roam his hands over your body. The kiss becomes even more passionate as your tongue pokes his lips, asking for entry. You slip your tongue inside his mouth, as you moan simultaneously.

Sanji pulls away with a devious grin. “Are you sure that you’re okay with me biting you? I can’t promise that I won’t draw blood, but I can promise that I won’t drain it.” You nod enthusiastically, and Sanji’s smile seems to grow even wider.

He pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it on the ground, leaving you in your bra. With an almost maniacal laugh, he bites your shoulder, leaving a sizeable mark. “Now everyone will know who you belong to…” He teases. “Hey, that’s not fair! If you take a piece of clothing off of me, I have to do the same for you.” You retort. Sanji grunts, removing his mouth from your shoulder. “I guess you’re right, it is only fair.” With a lunge, you grab onto his shirt, pulling it over his head, almost ripping the fabric in the process. “Be more careful next time, okay? Silk is expensive…..”

You couldn’t help but stare at his muscular body, his arms the most muscular part. Being a chef probably helped him to acquire them. Your hands begin to roam over his chest and shoulders as you attack him with another kiss. You can feel him smirk again as his hands reach your ass, giving a gentle squeeze. You let out a sharp moan, loving the way you’re feeling. You can feel his hands move from your ass to your hips, and before you know it, his thumbs are running up and down your inner thighs.

Feeling a familiar heat in your body, you begin to squirm. “Oh, you’re being such a good girl….” Sanji coos. He can’t help but inch his thumbs closer and closer to your crotch. You can feel yourself getting wetter and that soon turns into you grinding against his hand. “Do you want your pants off so I can touch your sensitive flesh?” Nodding your head violently, Sanji rips the fabric off your legs.

His hands continue to rub your thighs, and as he keeps getting closer to your crotch, you gasp before he starts going further down your thigh. The teasing was fine the first couple of times, but you’re beginning to get needy. Eventually, you can’t take it anymore and yell at him to just fuck you. Hand immediately going over your mouth, you feel you’ve crossed the line.

Lucky for you, your partner clearly doesn’t think the same. Removing the final piece of fabric covering your lower half, he begins to roll his finger around your clit, as you let out a loud breathy moan. “Someone likes that….would you like it if I put my finger inside you?” You nod your head vigorously, even shaking slightly in anticipation.

“Very well then.” Sanji comments, slipping a finger inside you as you begin to grow wetter and wetter. The combination of your clit being rubbed and being penetrated by a finger causes you to cry out in pleasure. “More!” A firm nod comes from Sanji as he speeds up his thumb, pulling his index finger in and out of you.

“If he keeps this up” you think, “I’m going to come undone…” All of a sudden, Sanji stops. You pout and groan at the lack of pleasure and look up at him. Pulling out his finger, he goes up to your chest and begins to undo your bra, throwing it to the floor. He begins to bite at your chest before going back to fingering you. You squeal with delight, almost grinding against his hand as it slowly sped up.

As soon as he started, you can you feel the coil in you begin to snap, as you grind against him faster. “Ah, I’m gonna!” You shout. “Go ahead darling…” Sanji says, his voice dripping with lust. The coil in you snaps as you cry out, riding your orgasm. Taking a second to breathe, you sit back up, trying to stabilize yourself. The room begins to spin, no doubt from sitting up so quickly.

“Was that good for you darling?” You nod, taking a deep breath. You once again lunge at Sanji unbuttoning his pants. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing, darling? Not that I mind, I’m fact I welcome it.” “I wanted to return the favor….you made me feel so good…” You retort.

With his pants unbuttoned, and a swift yank, you pull both his pants and his underwear down. Despite being a vampire and having his choice of anyone, it was clear that he rarely did this. Across his face, the undead equivalent to a blush rises to his face as he put his fist to his mouth.

Looking down at him, you’re impressed with what you see. Toned and hairy legs, a happy trail, both leading to a gorgeous cock. Biting your lip, you look him in the eyes. “May I have the honor of making you feel good?” “Of course darling…”

And with that, you push Sanji down and climb over to him. Pinning his arms, he growls with delight as you sink down onto his cock. He lets out a howl of pleasure before letting out some frankly ragged words. “Feisty…I like that.” As if to turn him on even more, you begin to bounce on him at varying speeds. Feeling his arms twitch, you tighten your grip to restrain him even more.

Slowing down a little bit, you sink your teeth into his shoulder, just as he had done for you. He lets out a sound you can only describe as a giggle and a moan. You continue to bite him in more places, leaving marks that will be sure to last.

Speeding back up, you notice that he’s bucking and whining a bunch more. God, you love it when men are vocal. To elicit even more of a reaction, you sink even deeper into his cock than before, which leads you to let a loud moan.

Removing your hands from his arms, you scrape down his sides, leaving even more marks as you continue to pound him, tears of pleasure leaking from his eyes. You can feel him reaching the end of his rope as he begins to buck and thrash.

You can feel that familiar coil tightening within you, so despite the tightness starting in your legs, you go full force on his dick. “Oh god darling…I’m so close….” “It’s okay, you can cum for me…” As you bounce on him a few more times, you can visibly see his body let go. Eyes rolled back into his head, arms shaking, legs bucking…then a warm sensation between your legs as you orgasm together.

Breathing raggedly, you sit there in the glow of each other’s bodies as you lay your head on his chest. It’s a welcome respite as his chest is ice cold from being undead. Slipping his cock out, you sigh as you relax with your lover. “Darling…you did so well, you made me feel so good. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that good.” You hum in contentment, responding “You made me feel damn good too….”

“Now darling, will you stay the night? I hoped that our first time would be a good one, and that you’d stay.”

“Anything for my love.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

I absolutely adore the chef/sommelier au and always find so much comfort in your writing. i have a few questions/prompts if you’re interested in any of these:

1) how did they meet? were they part of the same circles and crushing from afar until they finally had the chance to work together? or did they have a more classic meet cute?

2)Ava mentions that she knows Beatrice prefers to eat in the kitchen rather than the restaurant and I would be curious about any backstory behind how Ava came to learn this.

3) one of those foodie travel adventures where they eat their way through X city or cities

ok so this is no1 but has hints of the other two (which i love & will maybe write later!)

also i guess... this turned into platonic bea & lilith are in love. who knows lol

//

you've known beatrice for so long now, you really should've seen this coming.

for as annoying as she is, she's remarkably talented — something that had made you frustrated with her, and yourself, for years during culinary school. beatrice's food is true to who she is: wholly precise and quietly playful, elegant and creative, and really, really warm. thoughtful. surprisingly fun. you've always been able to tell: your technical skills are the best in the world, better than hers or anyone else you've ever met, and your palette is exquisite; you run a kitchen with quiet authority, and each dish comes out on time, exactly as it's supposed to. you are very good at your job. but beatrice makes food — elevated chinese and european fusion dishes, whatever she's most interested in at the moment — that makes you want to cry in its capacity to comfort. not that you would ever admit it, but you have stepped away to the bathroom on a handful of occasions to do just that.

she's more your sister than anything else — your little sister, you make sure to remind her — and so when chef superion had essentially ordered — encouragingly — beatrice into opening her own restaurant after five years of being chef de cuisine and, really, being the quiet driving force behind those three michelin stars, it hadn't even been a question to you that you would go with her. that you would help with the menu and everyday operations; the design and hours of operation; the sustainable sourcing for all of your dishes that she's always been so invested in. that part, while exhausting, had been fairly easy: mary and shannon, who own an urban farm, had been thrilled to partner, and you came up with a collaborative menu together. you were able to secure local seafood from a few suppliers, local ethical meat from your favorite butcher. camila, admittedly your favorite chef from superion's, young and absolutely kind, had agreed to come on and do pastry. you and beatrice had hired yasmine as your sous, trustworthy and smart.

you've been elbow-deep in planning — food, interior, front of house, all of it — for months. you're pretty sure beatrice works, like, twenty hours a day, and doesn't do anything but that. she eats takeout quickly in the kitchen, standing over a trashcan. every friday you barge into her condo and force her to eat greasy pizza and watch reality tv and share a joint. a year or so ago she had asked you to buzz her hair for her and you still do now, weekly, because she's neat and confident and loves efficiency and, according to many, many women unfortunately saying this to you directly whenever you drag her out for drinks, it's hot. she takes you to doctor's appointments and picks up your dry cleaning; she's the only person you let sharpen your knives for you, and the only person you'll share a bed with overnight if you're too drunk or stoned or tired to go home. she never says anything, never minds, just grumbles when her alarm goes off and grumbles sleepily in chinese while she makes herself an espresso.

and so, really, it's your fault. you should've known. you're not sure how you should've known, but you definitely should have.

'so,' you say, lowering yourself into the chair across from her immaculately neat desk in her office in the back, 'i think i found us a sommelier.'

your drinks menu is one of the last things you have to finalize, and beatrice has been so fucking picky about who to bring on to do so. cocktails hadn't been that hard; hans is competent and creative. but the wine pairings have been a pain in your ass: one sommelier was too old to have fresh, exciting ideas; one was a cis white man so beatrice automatically vetoed that, which, honestly, you didn't hate and definitely should've seen coming.

'and who is it?'

'ava silva,' you say, flick open your tablet to his profile: ava is young and renowned already, and has experience with local, natural wines and restaurants all over the world, especially europe, brazil, and east asia. she is, you realize later with a heartfelt deep annoyance, beautiful.

'ava silva,' beatrice repeats. she reads through ava's profile, her accomplishments and accolades and references. 'they worked with taian table.' beatrice hums. 'i've heard of them.'

'yeah.' you force yourself not to roll your eyes at her reluctance.

'ava is available to meet for a consult?'

'tomorrow, if you want. i can take care of the oyster tasting if that helps.'

she laughs, and you let yourself crack a smile. 'i don't even want to be a part of your oyster tasting, lilith.'

'just because i have fun —'

'sleeping with our supplier better not backfire on us, that's all i have to say.'

and maybe you should've realized right then, when beatrice's eyes lingered on ava's professional headshot on her website, on her impressive accolades. 'i am a consummate professional,' you tell beatrice.

she shakes her head, fondly, and leans back in her chair, runs a hand over her hair. 'fine,' she says, 'i'll take the meeting with ava.'

'great,' you say, relieved in the moment. 'what's the worst that can happen?'

/

very soon, unfortunately, you find out: beatrice is fucking insufferable. ava is even more insufferable, flirting with horrible humor and fond, relentless teasing. beatrice is, somehow, blushing and stumbling around like a schoolgirl, despite her attempts at being a serious, focused chef. she burns her hand on a pot, sets a towel on fire, and spills a red wine reduction all over her favorite apron the first time ava is coming to try a few dishes on the menu.

'jesus christ,' you say, maybe a little bit of a prayer, 'what the fuck, chef?'

beatrice groans. 'ava is... pretty.'

she says it reluctantly, like it's terrible to admit. ava is definitely annoying, but even you have eyes. 'yes, we all know after having to watch you fumble around during one meeting that you think ava is pretty.'

'and,' she says, a blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck, 'he's smart, and funny, and has an amazing palette.'

'well, he better.' you deflate a little; it's disarming to see beatrice this nervous, especially when it has nothing to do with her food being reviewed or rated. 'listen, beatrice,' you say, trying your very hardest to be gentle, just this once, 'this menu is gorgeous. i came up with eighty percent of it —'

'— you did not —'

'— so i can assure you that ava will love it, and that we can pair wines that will be excellent. and don't tell anyone i said this, or i legitimately will kill you, but you're an... impressive person. you're a remarkable chef. ava would be a fool to not see that.'

beatrice lets out a big breath. 'okay.'

'plus, it's kind of fun to see you trip all over yourself because of a crush.'

'i'm going to go change now.'

'yes, because you spilled because of a crush.'

'see you later, lilith.'

'yeah, yeah,' you say. 'i'll make sure to overcook the egg noodles, just for you.'

/

it's your fault, for sure, because you said yes to doing the food at their wedding — to make it worse, excitedly. it's gorgeous and it's a huge pain in your ass because there's, like, every cool chef in the world there, and a ton of Wine People, and beatrice has been traveling with ava filming something, so you've been running the restaurant. but still, beatrice gives you a hug and ava, terribly, kisses your cheek. they're both beautiful, and their backyard is full of edible flowers and herbs and vines with wine grapes. at one point, beatrice snags you by the hand to dance with her, which you protest for posterity and eventually give up on, as you always would have anyway. as you always have.

'thank you,' she says, 'for this. it's the best meal i've ever eaten.'

'i'm certain that's not true.'

she shakes her head; she's tan and has more freckles than you've ever seen on her, stretching across her cheeks — they'd gotten to film in brazil, apparently, where ava is from. but here it is, really: the whole world, right there, and beatrice has chosen to love you. she's chosen to want you as her sister, and you have always chosen her back.

'i'm really glad you're happy.'

'thank you,' she says. 'i am so happy.'

you roll your eyes. 'i know. it's nauseating.'

'lil.'

'after all of this, i want two weeks off when you're back from your honeymoon.'

'done.'

'well, a positive outcome, at the very least.'

she laughs.

'it's my fault, anyway. if i had just found a less beautiful, boring, straight sommelier...'

'i'm going to go dance with my wife now,' she says. 'love you.'

'yeah, yeah.' you squeeze her hand, linger for a moment in how softly she says wife, just because it's gentle and sweet and you don't hate seeing her this happy. 'love you too.'