#but it's probably limited to my taste buds

[funforahermit]

so i'm guessing the answer is no, but i'm gonna ask anyway:

is it normal that rooibos tea (with oat milk, that might be relevant) tastes slightly of fish?

[dan-crimes]

I gotta complain abt being a picky eater here for a sec cuz I'm lookin @ all this stuff on the breakfast menu and there's always the SAME ingredients in all these SAME food items and it would be SO much easier if I could just order food without having to think of all the stuff I DON'T want on my food cuz I always gotta put in so much effort to look into every single ingredient in every since food item that I order bcuz I DON'T LIKE MOST FOODS !!! SMHH !!

[bamfkeeper]

Blue Helpers.

RQ: 'Can I request reader (established relationship with night crawler) where reader is sick and the barmfs get so worried and try to take care of her, along side hurt' - @lillycore

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader | warnings: Sick/illness themes

a/n: Doing quick little requests because I've been busy, I'm sorry 💔 I hope you enjoy this little drabble. Unedited. ;; wc: 1.0k

You coughed violently, your body shaking with each forceful expulsion of air.

As the fit subsided, you sank back into your bed, pulling the comforter tightly around you in a desperate attempt to find comfort. The pressure in your sinuses was relentless, a constant ache that seemed to radiate through your entire skull. It had been years since you'd fallen ill like this, and the sudden onset of sickness a few days ago had caught you completely off guard. You thought it was maybe food poisoning, but there was no way food caused you to be this sick.

Since then, you'd been confined to your bed, your body too weak to do much more than sleep fitfully and endure the various symptoms plaguing you. The combination of fever, congestion, and overall malaise left you feeling utterly gross, as if your own body had betrayed you.

Your persistent coughing didn't go unnoticed. The little blue imps were curious and concerned, cautiously making their way into your bedroom. They climbed onto the bed, their large yellow eyes blinking rapidly as they observed your weakened state. Their usual energy subdued with worry as they saw just how weak you were, radiating illness from your body. They stretched out their tiny arms towards you, but maintained a respectful distance, unsure of how to help or what to do. The bamfs huddled together at the foot of the bed, their gazes never leaving you as they tried to make sense of your condition.

It was clear to them that you were unwell - your pale complexion, the sheen of sweat on your brow, and your labored breathing were obvious signs. In their limited understanding, they couldn't comprehend why this illness had rendered you so completely incapacitated, so unlike your usual vibrant self.

One of the bamfs chirped softly, its tiny feet pattering across the bed as it approached you. It nuzzled against your cheek, its velvety body held a comforting warmth that provided a momentary respite from the discomfort of your fever. The gesture brought a weak smile to your face, despite your illness.

"Ach, kleine Schätze...bitte, give them some space," Kurt gently admonished, his voice a soothing murmur as he entered the room carrying a steaming bowl. He placed the bowl on the nightstand and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. His golden eyes met yours as he spoke softly, "Liebe...you must be feeling dreadful. Your temperature is quite high."

He reached out, his cool hand brushing against your forehead in a tender gesture. A reassuring smile played on his lips as he continued, "But fear not, I've brought something that should help."

Kurt lifted the bowl, wisps of steam rising from its contents. "I've prepared some Kartoffelsuppe for you," he explained, his voice warm with nostalgia. "It's a special recipe, freshly made and piping hot. My mother used to make this very soup for me whenever I fell ill as a child. It always seemed to work wonders."

You lifted your head weakly, mustering a faint smile despite your exhaustion. "It does smell good..." you murmured, the aroma of the soup tantalizing your senses. With some assistance from Kurt, you managed to sit up a bit more, your body still feeling fragile and unsteady. Kurt adjusted himself to sit closer, carefully holding the spoon out for you, his movements slow and deliberate to ensure your comfort.

As the spoon touched your lips, you savored each small sip. The soup was a symphony of flavors, each taste bud awakening to the rich, comforting blend. The warmth of the liquid spread through your body, contrasting to the chills of your fever. You knew you probably shouldn’t be eating hot soup with a temperature, but the soothing heat of the soup in your belly felt like a balm to your ailing body. You couldn't help but appreciate the deliciousness of the meal, a small pleasure in your current state of discomfort.

"Ugh, it's delicious, Kurt..." You sighed, savoring the food and relieved your stubborn stomach was accepting of the meal instead of instantly making you vomit it all up.

The bamfs huddled around you, their large eyes filled with concern as they observed Kurt feeding you. Their tiny forms pressed close, offering what comfort they could through their presence. Their simple minds grappled with the concept of your weakness as they witnessed Kurt carefully spoon feeding you.

If you were too frail to feed yourself, how could you possibly manage anything else? The sight of you in such a vulnerable state clearly distressed them, their usual playful demeanor gone as they made soft whining sounds against you. Their attachment to you was evident in every worried glance and gentle touch, they had become so needy for you ever since you and Kurt became an item, and they hated seeing you hurt in any way.

After finishing your meal, Kurt excused himself to fetch some medicine, leaving you to rest and recuperate. The bamfs remained gathered around you, their concern evident in their actions. With an eagerness to assist after seeing Kurt giving you food, they took it upon themselves to tend to your needs in his absence.

Their tiny hands struggled but managed to lift the large glass of water, offering it to you for a refreshing sip whenever you tried to reach for it yourself. They replaced the cool, damp cloth on your forehead after the rag had become too warm, splaying it on your forehead perfectly each time. The sweet things even attempted to massage your aching muscles with their small, three-fingered hands.

These loyal little imps refused to leave your side, their presence a constant and unwavering. When Kurt returned, he found you curled up on your side, surrounded by a protective cocoon of blue bamfs. They had nestled themselves against your belly and back, with some even perched atop you. Their warm, sleepy bodies provided a soothing heat, carefully balanced so as not to overheat you in your fragile state.

This living blanket of bamfs offered both physical warmth and emotional comfort, even with the few that had managed to weasel their way under your arm like teddy bears.

Thanks for reading <3

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight | Photos on Pinterest, Bamfs from Nightcrawler 2014

[etfrin]

⤷❝TEASE | Ethan Landry❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | semi public (movie night), hand job under a blanket, dom sub undertones, masterbation (male), cunnilingus | lmk if I missed anything!

⇢☾Pairing: Ethan Landry x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: You have been edging the poor boy for awhile, then finally you allow him to go to his room for relief before checking up on him and finding he needs your cunt to cum :D

⇢☾A/N: i need a whiny, needy, subby, desperate, filthy Ethan, lol <3 oh and happy birthday Jack Champion!

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune >

You supposed that you were being a tad bit of a tease when you squeezed his cock harder than you should. His teeth sank into his bottom lip to stop that desperate whimper that wanted to escape. But he couldn't let the sound play out in the room, not when the room consisted of all of your friends, their attention on the movie.

Your attention however was on Ethan, you were watching him from the corner of your eyes, his forehead having a sheen of sweat, his lips red from biting and his ears equally crimson. You ponder if his tip was this red as well, the hard cock twitching in your fist.

He lets out a whisper, “Please.” “Please what?” “Wanna cum,” he whimpers, so needy that it makes your heart wonder if you're pushing him to his limits. “They'll know,” you hush.

He turned to you, his hips bucking into your fist, not enough to be obvious to others but enough to give him momentarily relief. “Don't…” he whispered, his eyes wandering towards Chad and the others. He knew he was probably going to get teased by Chad if they realized him and you left to be in his room.

But you have been edging him since the beginning of this film, your hand snaking into his jeans, gripping his cock like it was your right. Your fingers formed a tight fist around his hardening length just the way he liked and when you started to stroke his length, slow at first then a tad faster before changing your pace again and again until he was a mess. His mind scrambled, not even caring that you both could get caught.

“Please,” he whispered again. “Baby, please, I can't- I can't-” He pleads. “Go to your room and finish yourself,” you coo, “I'll cover for you.”

He gives you a thankful look before he slips away quickly from the blanket and speed walks to his room, shutting the door softly. It doesn't take you long to come up with an excuse that he's sick and you go to check on him.

You knock on the door, the tap style that was only known by you and Ethan. He opened the door, wide enough that you slipped inside. You find a spot on his bed to sit down, your eyes on his hand that was desperately stroking his cock, the red tip profusely letting out pre-cum which Ethan used as lube. It was as obscene as it could get. Ethan was so easily worked up, it was adorable.

“I need you,” he whines, he was on his knees in front of you. His head on your thighs, his face nuzzling into your inner thigh like a cat finding solace in their owner’s lap.

“You have me,” you tease him, a Cheshire smile playing on your lips. “No,” he whimpers, pathetic and shaky. “Need you,” he whispered again, his lips now latching onto your inner thigh, his sinful mouth sucking the skin.

“My pussy, you mean,” you said. He nods in reply as you unbutton your shorts for him. Meanwhile, his hand was still stroking his cock at a slower pace than before, his pre-cum coating the floor.

He pushes your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees. He groans at the sight of your dripping cunt, “Thank you, baby.” He dives in, his mouth finding your clit and sucking the bud with fervor.

The moment his tongue swipes over your folds, tasting your juices in his mouth. He could feel his eyes roll back, you were heavenly and he spilled all over the floor.

His cum made a mess on the ground while he made a mess out of you with his tongue. Your hand finds a home in his curls, pulling him closer, suffocating him with your pussy just how he likes it.

It doesn't take long for him to make you cum on his face, his lips shiny with your arousal, chin covered. His eyes glossed over and his dick was hard again.

You wondered if you should play with him or let him fuck you. You decide on the former.

[luvhughes43]

instagram official | blake hughes au

blake hughes masterlist

blake.hughes

liked by nicohischier, jackhughes, trevorzegras, and others

blake.hughes life lately :)

view all comments

jackhughes suit jacket looks a lil familiar...🧐

blake.hughes oh really?😁

nicohischier whoevers jacket it is has really nice taste! liked by blake.hughes

trevorzegras 🤭🤭

user00 wtf are u giggling about?

blake.hughes wait trev do u know?

trevorzegras yea jack called a mandatory ft a few days ago

blake.hughes omfg??

trevorzegras im happy for u goldie!

user01 BLAKE WATCH OUT!!! THERES A MAN BESIDE U!!

user02 blakes got a bf? omg im so happy for her

user03 monroes the cutest cat omfg

user04 wait can we acknowledge trevor calling blake goldie? what is that

user05 its been a thing for awhile now! he started calling her goldie after she won olympic gold! he mentioned it in an interview or something i think

user04 NICO NICO NICO

nicohischier

liked by blake.hughes, john.marino97, trevorzegras, and others

nicohischier Happy Holidays!😈❤️

view all comments

jackhughes 🔥🔥

blake.hughes 😈

user09 using the "😈" when soft launching ur teammates sister is crazy

user10 waittt who's he dating?

user09 streets are saying hes dating blake hughes! she recently posted a soft launch AND she was caught liking thirst edits of him😭

user10 oh theyre so unserious😭😭

comments on this post is limited

blake.hughes added to their story !

nicohischier posted one minute ago!

liked by jackhughes, blake.hughes, lhughes_06, and others

nicohischier the best december :)

tagged: blake.hughes

view all comments

blake.hughes :)

blake.hughes you make me beyond happy

nicohischier Du bringst mich zum Lächeln❤️

jackhughes nice but was the last pic really necessary?

nicohischer my bad

lhughes_06 does this mean I get to call you dad now?

jackhughes no

_quinnhughes no

user17 BLAKE???????

user18 OMFG ITS CONFIRMED THEY BOTH POSTED

user18 at the same time too like thats soulmatism😭🙏

user19 nicos reply in german... im gonna kms theyre so cute wtf😭

blake.hughes posted 1 minute ago!

liked by nicohischier, _quinnhughes, trevorzegras and others

blake.hughes my nico<3

tagged: nicohischier

view all comments

jackhughes … yours🤨

jackhughes pretty sure he was mine first bud

blake.hughes right but out of the two of us, who does he spend his nights with?

jackhughes WOAH?????

trevorzegras i think he’s ALL of ours

jackhughes no

blake.hughes no

nicohischier my girl❤️

trevorzegras 👽🍿

blake.hughes ok

_quinnhughes FINALLY🙏

jackhughes ?

_quinnhughes i’ve been waited for MONTHS for them to go ig official you don’t understand

jackhughes how tf did you find out so soon? Dawson literally told me like 2 weeks ago

_quinnhughes I know everything.

jackhughes alright mr. “i don’t really consider myself someone who knows what’s going on”

_quinnhughes they probably could’ve made out in front of you and you still wouldn’t have realized… mr. “I didn’t know there was a city in New Jersey”

trevorzegras Trevor ZEGRAS🧡

user20 in every pic of blake and nico hes always touching her in some way... like he loves her so bad they are my parents

user21 THE WAY BLAKE LOOKS AT NICO IM GOING TO JUMP OFF A BRIDGE THEY LOOK SO IN LOVE

user22 oh to be a fly on the wall when jack found out about the news...

user23 bro was definitely pouting he has such intense middle child syndrome

user24 MY NICO... MY GIRL??? ?OHHH ITS SO OVER THEY'RE SO DAMN CUTE

user25 i'm so glad that blake is happy after everything that happened... she deserves it the most<33

user26 NICO AND BLAKE ARE FR DATING??? WHY WHY WHY WHY

user27 ? get serious

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Epilogue

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: Complete

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** WELL. It took an embarrassing amount of words and an embarrassing amount of time but this is it. This is the end. Who likes happy endings? I like happy endings. For the record, I had this in my ears while writing most of this chapter. The talent of some people, I swear. Speaking of talent, the art at the end of the chapter is by @raphaels-little-beast! ***

“I have nothing to wear.”

“I fail to recall any instance where that was ever a problem.”

“It's a problem now because you said I should wear a proper outfit at a wedding.”

“You have quite literally my entire wardrobe at your disposal to pick from. Certainly you’ll be able to find something to your taste within the next three days.”

“I did, and you said no. Like I don't look fetching in a leather coll--”

“The entire wardrobe with the exception of that drawer,” Raphael cut Haarlep off before they could speak entirely too much. “I'm certain you can manage.”

Haarlep huffed. “It's more than one drawer,” they muttered, but had enough sense not to press further. They only sighed, rather dramatically. “So many limits. This was not in my contract,” they lamented, but still leaned over to kiss Raphael’s temple, a hand braced against the throne’s armrest. When they spoke again, it was in a whisper against his hair. “You’ll make it up to me tonight, won’t you, my pet?”

Barely looking up from the treatise he was reading - it was time, he suspected, to revise some of the agreements in place with the Fourth; Lady Fierna would probably be more receptive to it than Lord Belial - Raphael let out a hum. 

“That can be arranged,” he replied, in the thoughtful tone of a ruler promising to give proper consideration to an official petition. He felt Haarlep smile before they pulled back. 

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that,” they said, sultry as they could be, and off they went to rifle through Raphael’s wardrobe. He watched them leave the throne room, a faint smile still on his lips, until a voice rang out.

“More wine, my lord?”

Raphael had almost forgotten the servant’s presence. He turned and held out his cup with a nod. “That would be appreciated.”

There was much to be garnered from observing how steady - or unsteady - a servant's hand was while pouring wine. In the first days and weeks of his reign, when few knew what to expect - eternal debtors least of all - their hands had shaken badly enough it was a wonder there had been no spillages.

It was nothing new to Raphael; his own eternal debtors back in the House of Hope had been for the most part terrified of him, at least those with some sanity left. It had pleased him, then. He'd savored their fear like a fine vintage; it was only right that they feared their master. To them, he was a lord. Their lord, to be feared and obeyed, admired as he'd always known he deserved. Until he could make other fiends bow to him, until he could strike terror and awe into every single one of them, those wretched souls would do.

Yet now that he was indeed one of the lords of the Nine Hells, he seemed to have lost the taste for it. Not for having others bow to him or fear him - that he'd never quite tire of, he suspected - but he found that striking terror into beings who could be no threat to him had lost its appeal. Terror served him well to prove a point and nip a potential revolt in the bud; a fearsome reputation was useful to keep other archdevils at bay. But with eternal debtors, he would rather take in the awe. And that was so very easy to obtain.

The hand pouring his wine did not tremble. Raphael nodded before pulling back the cup. He did not drink right away; he glanced at the wine, settling back against the backrest of the throne. “Do remind me, what wine is this?”

“Exeltis Ice Wine, my lord. It is-- was -- from the late Justiciar’s private stash.”

“Hmm. He had taste, that much I do owe him to concede.” Raphael gave the wine more time to air out before he drank, gaze shifting back to the treatise. “Do give word to the kitchens I’ll be dining in my quarters. The master of wardrobe and a guest will be there as well - my consort as well, perhaps. If their search for an outfit doesn’t take them all evening.”

“Of course, my lord.” The debtor - a half-orc with half his scalp burned off - bowed his head. “Anything else they should know?”

“Don’t skimp on the seasonings on the wereboar roast. Yesterday’s axebeak fillets could have used more flavor,” Raphael replied, but he was already focusing on his reading once again. Now that he was whole, food was once more an indulgence rather than a necessity. He did not miss hunger, per se, but he had to admit eating was not quite as satisfying as it was when it had a need to fulfill. “As for the wine, I want two bottles of Utterdark.”

“I’ll let them know, my lo--”

The door leading to the throne room was pushed open before he could finish, the bang followed by heavy steps. The servant recoiled, turning to look towards the entrance. Still drinking from his cup, Raphael lifted an eyebrow.

Whenever any fiend was summoned by the Lord of the Eighth, there generally was a protocol to follow. Particularly important guests would be escorted and announced by the chamberlain or the steward; that was not the case now but even still, some decorum was expected. Bowing before the throne - how deeply depended on the rank - and greeting him as ‘my lord’ was considered the bare minimum from anyone except other archduke. 

None of that seemed to have crossed Yurgir’s mind in any way, shape or form. 

“All right, I’ll bite. What sort of game are you playing?”

Raphael sighed, and gestured for the servant to leave. He did, quite hurriedly, giving Yurgir as wide a berth as he could while Raphael looked back at the orthon. 

“And a good afternoon to you as well, commander. As I'm in a fine mood and no member of my court was here to witness your atrocious lapse in etiquette, I'll do you the favor to pretend you have addressed me with the respect that befits my station. Only this once. But you may further test my patience at your peril, if you're so inclined.”

Yurgir’s glare made it rather clear he had a few choice words for him, but he was clever enough not to test his patience after all. When they had last met, Raphael had defeated him, if barely, in his weakened human form. Now he was whole again, more powerful than he’d ever been, and they stood in his kingdom. He remained silent, and Raphael smiled. 

“Good. Now, what seems to be the matter? You were paid in full for your services in the Fugue Plane, were you not? And you have much enjoyed the hospitality this citadel has to offer in the past days.”

A grunt. “Yes. And I thought that was the end of it, but then you sent this note-- ”

“A perfectly reasonable offer, I think. Is it not? I could use someone with your expertise to guard my private quarters.”

“You could have a gelugon to do it, or a pit fiend--”

“I could, yes.” Raphael finished the wine, vanished both the empty cup and the treatise in a burst of flames, and stood from the throne. “But I’d rather have someone with no connection to other court members, or to my late sire, taking on that duty.”

Yurgir snorted. “Last time you had me under contract, I turned on you in your own house.”

Raphael chuckled, walking down the steps from the throne. “Not very wise of you to remind me of that specific mishap.”

“Didn’t think for a second you needed reminding. So, why would you think I wouldn’t turn on you again if given the chance?”

“I do have a couple of reasons. The first being, of course, the much more generous contract, which you are free to sign or reject without consequences. And the second…” Raphael smiled, and stepped closer. The brief flare-up of fire, and he stood before Yurgir in his human form, head tilted back to look him in the eye. “Back then I had not yet bested you in combat as a mere human, had I?”

This time, Yurgir laughed. “Hah! You have my respect for that, yes. As much as it pisses me off.”

“How very flattering.”

A snort. “I don’t do flattery.”

“You obviously don’t do irony either.”

“Are you looking for a guard or for a jester?”

“As amusing as watching you dance was, I find this court has enough jesters as is. Am I to take it that you’re accepting the offer?”

“You’re to take it that I’ll think about it.”

“Very well. I’ll expect your answer in a tenday’s time,” Raphael replied, but he was already rather certain he knew the answer, and that he’d get it much earlier than that. Orthons were not known to spend days on end mulling over the ramifications of their choices, after all. 

Yurgir did not bow or say anything before he turned to leave; once he signed the contract, of course, he’d need to get into the habit - but they could discuss such fine details at a later date. With a sigh, Raphael turned back to his throne, and changed out of his human form once more.

He had some work yet to do before he could dine… and he didn’t have to wait long before Adonides stood at the doors, clearing his throat. He’d barely had time to sit back on the throne, really. 

“Lord Raphael,” he called, bowing his head. If using that title for him left a bitter taste in his mouth, he did not let it show. “The Steward of Avernus is here to see you.”

Raphael smiled. “Do let her in,” he ordered. Much like with Yurgir, he knew he had that contract in hand; the agreement with Bel may be informal - formally, only Mizora could ultimately relinquish ownership of her warlock - but the Lord of the First would not jeopardize such a fruitful cooperation over a single mortal soul, however gifted.

As many things in the Hells and outside them it was, in the end, all a matter of price; that meeting was indeed pure formality. Mizora would make a demand, they’d bargain, and he’d make a fitting concession. 

Frankly, he’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t come to bargain. He knew her to be shrewd and relentless; he fully expected her to make him work for that victory. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

“... Anyway, the Shadow Thieves had been trying to get to this Mrel Alkam for years. As Durge and I do have some experience killing vampire lords among other things, we offered our assistance in exchange for-- well. Calling off their assassins. Which was a bit of an overreaction in the first place, the Cloakmaster was not going to miss some coin..”

“Heh! You’ve certainly made a habit out of destroying master vampires. What of the spawn?”

“We killed the ones who fought, directed those who didn’t towards the Underdark. Quite a few of them - seeing a spawn with no master gives them this funny idea that they could be the same, too. We told the Shades they got away despite us giving chase, and they bought that. Suckers.”

“And that is why they gifted you that beautiful vest you showed us?”

Astarion shook his head, laughing. That was by far the most pleasant track to Baldur’s Gate yet, he thought, in the sun and without a tadpole in his brain, no fate of the world resting on him, no prospect of going to the Hells, no Cazador awaiting at the end of the road. “Oh, no. I stole that, actually,” he said. “They did not like it, predictably enough.”

Isobel blinked. “Why did you…?” 

“Didn’t think they’d notice.”

“Ah.”

“But they did, so they sent assassins after us. Again. Awfully touchy. Don’t worry though, they were not very good assassins. We got rid of them quickly, didn’t we, love?” 

Walking a few paces ahead alongside Halsin, Durge chuckled and replied without turning. “Heh. They would not have made the cut for Bhaal’s cult, that is for certain.”

“Of course not. Didn’t make a cut on us either, but they made excellent meals. I mean, chasing a vampire and a dragonborn in a place called the  Wood of Sharp Teeth? Not terribly clever.”

Dame Aylin laughed, loud and suddenly enough it caused a couple of terrified birds to take flight. “Hah! As if some assassins could hold a candle to you - challengers of gods, slayers of archfiends!”

“And of vampire lords, don’t forget!”

There was some laughter, and the conversation turned to the upcoming wedding, and to the others they were going to meet at Baldur’s Gate. Dame Aylin seemed to be looking far too much into Shadowheart’s decision to follow Lae’zel in her war against Vlaakith. 

“She may not realize it just yet, but she is drawn to the Moonmaiden, as her parents were,” she declared. “She now wanders through the Tears of Sel��ne, closer than most can ever be to the Lady of Silver - she who guides, wielder of silver light!”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure the lady she meant to follow wields a silver sword, and is liable to use it on whomever calls her a maiden,” he pointed out. His comment was met with a laugh. 

“See, Selûne even guided her to rejoin her love! Those close to the Moonmaiden have a weakness for mighty warriors, that is obvious,” she added, and seemed very pleased with herself when Isobel chuckled and grasped her arm, leaning against her shoulder as they walked.

“That we do. Although who I truly fell for is--”

“The passionate lover? The stunning looks?”

“I was about to say the noble heart, but…”

There was more laughter, and time seemed to fly by as quickly as the road beneath their feet, leading them back to the Gate.

***

There were many things Dalah had not thought nor dreamed she could experience again. 

Her husband by her side, for one, as solid against her as he’d felt back when they still had mortal bodies; his voice against her ear, the rumbling laughter, the earnest look on his face while listening intently to her every word. She remembered cherishing their evenings most of all: sitting before the hearth after the meal and just talking for hours on end. Sometimes he’d settle to listen as she read aloud from her newest book, or practiced playing her lyre. 

Sometimes they’d just sit in peaceful silence, while she kept herself busy with embroidery and he only moved to throw some more wood into the fire. Such peaceful evenings had felt like a dream she’d had once and that, she was sure, she could never have again. 

Obviously clairvoyance was never her calling, because never in her life or death she’d thought she could see such a scene playing out before her eyes - her husband and son playing a game of lanceboard before a fireplace, while she sat on an armchair to put the finishing touches to her latest work, occasionally glancing at the incessant snowfall outside. 

With Israfel in his human form, someone stepping in from outside might have almost thought they had gone through the wrong door, and somehow into a portal to the Material  Plane. Dalah smiled faintly, and turned her attention back to the jacket she was intent on finishing that evening… but she kept listening as they talked.

“While I feel this should go without saying, I ought to tell you that surrendering your soul to any devil is not advisable,” Israfel was saying. “Particularly if you plan on doing so for free.”

“But it wouldn’t be any devil. It would be you.” Rahirek picked up a piece and advanced it on the board. “You hold Dalah’s soul. May as well hold mine and bind me to this place too. I am never going anywhere the two of you are  not.”

Israfel did not look up from the board, but as she glanced up Dalah could see him work his jaw a moment before he spoke, moving his Mystra. 

“... Very well. I shall take ownership of your soul as well. But my offer stands, to both of you. Giving you bodies in your likeness to inhabit as well as riches would be a simple enough matter, should you wish to return to the Material Plane. For any length of time, if not permanently,” he added, before Dalah could speak out to tell him once again she did not intend to leave. “A vacation from the Hells, if you will. I could come see you and bring you back at any time. Promise me you’ll at least consider it.”

That, Dalah supposed, she could consider; seeing the sun, grass, trees once again, the summer breeze and the smells of autumn - anything that was not eternal winter. Maybe… yes, maybe a few brief stays would do them good. She smiled. “All right. We’ll consider it.”

Rahirek chuckled. “Tiring of us already?” he asked, and Israfel smiled.

“Hardly. I don’t think I’ll tire of this anytime soon,” he said, and moved his turret to knock down Rahirek’s Cyric. His smile widened. “Checkmate.”

Rahirek blinked, staring at the board for a few moments, and finally laughed. “Ah, that was a fine trap you laid out for me. And I fell for it. Either I lost my skills in the Fugue Plane, or you greatly improved.”

“I do like to think I have picked up a trick or two since we last played.”

“Good thing I have time to catch up.”

Yes. All the time we could possibly want, Dalah thought, and smiled before she set down thread and needle. There were a few more details to add - she wanted it to be perfect - but there would be time for it later. She stood. “It’s done, or almost,” she called. “Come try it on.”

The jacket fit him perfectly, but of course that was thanks to the finest tailor in Cania and perhaps all of the Lower Planes. Her own handiwork was the gold embroidery up the cuffs and along them hems, with the outline of foxes across the chest and the back of his shoulders. Dalah watched as Israfel smoothed the front, fingers brushing over the embroidery, and looked in the mirror. He smiled, and so did she.

“Well, look at that. My masterpiece,” she said, causing Rahirek to chuckle. She felt him step by her side, the warm touch of his arm around her shoulders. He hardly missed a chance to touch her, as though to make sure she was real. 

“Indeed,” he said. “And the outfit looks good, too.”

“Wh--” Israfel seemed to stumble on his words for a moment before he cleared his throat and turned, acting as though he hadn’t heard the comment. “This is by far the finest outfit I have ever owned. Thank you, moth--”

“Oh, look at you! It’s almost the best you’ve ever looked.”

Haarlep was in the form of a handsome tiefling with storm-gray skin, and was wearing a magnificent doublet of blue and silver as they strode in. Israfel glanced over as he took the jacket off, arching an eyebrow.

“That one? It is… a good choice. I am impressed.”

“Do you doubt my taste?”

“I question its existence.”

“Ah, I cannot blame you. I did decide to become your consort after all,” Haarlep sing-sang, and leaned over to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You did leave some wine for me, didn’t you, my pe-- dear?”

“Mph. There is still some left, I suppose.”

“Aww, you did think of me.” Haarlep grinned, greatly amused by the somewhat flustered look that crossed Israfel’s features, before they turned to greet them as well. Rahirek returned the greeting a little awkwardly, which Dalah honestly could not blame him for. 

Haarlep was no longer as inclined to share details that were best kept private - something about a clause in a contract, if she’d understood Israfel’s mumble right - but they did take… some time to get used. But that was all right, she thought. Rahirek was right when he said time was something they certainly did not lack, an entire eternity stretching before them. 

Until not too long ago, that was something she’d avoided thinking of, for the sake of her sanity; an eternity of servitude, unless destroyed by a devil with a flick of a hand and barely a glance. 

It was not overly rare for debtors to fail a task on purpose, sometimes - to try and end it all that way, even if one never knew whether a mistake would be met with destruction or with torment, an even worse punishment for the rest of that eternity. 

Most still clung to existence one way or another, and so did she. Other than that stubborn desire to keep existing, time was all she’d had. But now there was so much more. Centuries upon centuries, millennia of this: her husband by her side, the yoke of servitude gone, the freedom to come and go from the Material Plane if so they wished. 

And her son - the new Archduke of Cania. She was by no means an expert of infernal politics, but he seemed to be handling things well… and most of all, she thought as she watched him discuss something with Haarlep in Infernal, he seemed content.  

Dalah felt Rahirek’s arm around her shoulders again, and leaned into the touch. She glanced up at her husband and reached to stroke his cheek, causing him to smile back. A stubborn soul who’d refused to let go of her for almost two millennia, until the impossible had happened. Until Israfel had made it happen. 

There was no expectation whatsoever for anyone, let alone a mortal soul, to know happiness in the Hells. It simply was not supposed to happen… and yet Dalah knew no other name for what she felt now.

But then again neither was a cambion supposed to kill an archdevil, and rule in his stead. Israfel was supposed to die in Mephisto’s maw, or fall under his sheer power… but he had not. Once the dust had settled, he was the one still standing. 

“It must have been a battle to behold,” Rahirek had muttered once she’d finished telling him the full story. It had taken most of his first night there, a night they’d spent awake and talking ceaselessly in one another’s arms, part of them terrified the other would disappear if they let go too long. “He was always powerful. I saw him use hellfire, once. He was only a boy, but he killed a peryton that ten armed men struggled to keep at bay.”

“Mephistopheles was powerful almost beyond comprehension,” Dalah had whispered in turn against his shoulder. “I… I barely dared to hope Israfel could come out victorious, even with help.”

She’d felt him chuckle more than he’d heard it, his hand pausing mid-stroke in her hair. “If anyone could pull it off, I’m not surprised it was him.”

“... Heh. He does have a habit of defying expectations.”

“Of course he does,” he’d said, kissing her forehead. “He is yours.”

Ours. He is ours.

His words echoed in her mind now, watching Israfel chuckle in his cup of wine over something his consort had said. She took in the scene, leaning against Rahirek’s side, a smile playing on her lips.

This too I claim as mine.

***

There had been few occasions - none, truth be told - when Wyll had been glad to see Mizora. Wyll could not imagine any situation where that would be different. If there was, one thing was certain: his wedding day was not it.

“Ah, look at you, pet. All grown up and about to enter another devious pact. You’ve come so far and still learned nothing.” Mizora’s voice reached him almost at the same time as the crackle of fire, the smell of sulfur. Wyll ground his teeth, and stopped buttoning his vest. 

At the other end of the room where they’d been preparing for the ceremony, Karlach growled. “What the fuck do you want?”

Mizora barely tilted her head towards her, but her eyes remained on Wyll. She looked the same as always, but for more jewels adorning her horns and neck, ruby earrings at her ears. Steward of Avernus, now, as she was keen to let everyone know. Her lips curled in a half-smile. “Don’t you look dashing! I’m not certain the same could be said of your bride - even the finest outfit cannot salvage that… ”

Wyll scowled, turning from the mirror. She had made herself scarce in the previous months; he supposed she was busy in her new role, and she’d had few, if any, orders for him. He’d started to breathe easy again, and now - of all days, did she have to show up now?

“What do you want?” he asked, and didn’t react at the sigh and shake of the head, at the mutters about how the son of a Grand Duke should be more polite. Her presence was never welcomed and she knew it very well; obviously, she delighted in getting a rise out of both of them. Wyll would try his best not to give her that.

“I’m here to offer my congratulations, of course. And, well, my condolences, considering who you’re binding yourself to.” A brief glance towards Karlach, and then back to Wyll. Another long-suffering sigh. “And to say goodbye, I suppose. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You’ve known all along that there would be bids for your soul, and you know precisely from who. You’re still my favorite pet, Wyll, but surely you understand - everything has a price and your soul, delightful as it is, is not so valuable it cannot be traded.” Mizora cleared her throat.

“Clause Z, Section Nine - the soul-binder may relinquish the contract binding the soul-bearer to a new pact-holder, provided that her liege lord consents and a suitable price is paid to the soul-binder. For the barbarian in the room, this means our sweet Wyll has a new mast--”

“I do believe I can take it from here, Steward of Avernus. If that’s all the same to you.”

Wyll had no idea when Raphael had materialized in the room but ah, seeing him there - standing by the doorway in his human form, dressed in one of the finest attires he had ever seen - was a relief. For him and for Karlach as well, if they yell that left her the next was anything to go by. “You did it? You did it! You son of a bitch, you did it!”

Her outburst caused Raphael to chuckle. “Unwarranted as that last statement is--”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant your dad. Just to be clear,” she added, and Raphael’s lips curled.

“Of course. But yes, I am Wyll’s new pact holder.” He turned to Mizora, nodding his head only slightly. “Now, I do have a few things to discuss with my new warlock.”

A light scoff. “As if it isn’t obvious, what you plan on doing. A waste, if you ask--”

“I did not ask. And I believe there is a Lord Raphael missing from the end of your sentence.”

For a moment, Mizora looked as though she might scoff at that too… but in the end, she thought better of it and simply bowed her head - as little and as quickly as Wyll supposed infernal etiquette allowed her to. “A lapse, Lord of the Eighth, of which I am so very contrite,” she said, her tone light, and turned back to Wyll. “Well. This is where we part ways, I suppose. I’d love to witness the celebrations as you make the worst mistake of your life, but my duties call me back to Avernus. You may not believe me, but I shall miss you dearly.”

Wyll held back a scoff. Would she now? Perhaps. If there was something he’d learned was that devils were complicated; even Karlach’s history with Florenta the Garroter was proof that sometimes, devils truly may take a liking to a mortal… and it very rarely was good news for said mortal.

He recalled all too well how she wore the same smile when she gifted him the Infernal rapier for a job well done and when she’d forced him to make an impossible choice between his father’s life and his own soul, before he could even taste freedom again.

There was so much she’d put him through, and so much he could scream about for days on end… but now, on the cusp of the happiest moment of his life so far, the chains around him already starting to slip away, he found he only wanted one thing: to never see her face again. “I cannot say that’s mutual,” was all he said in the end. 

Mizora only smiled. “Ungrateful as always, mortals. I look forward to getting word of whatever it is you get into next, pet. You cannot be accused of being too boring, at least.” One last nod, and flames flared up briefly before disappearing, taking her back to the Hells. 

As the sense of dread faded, Wyll breathed out before turning to Raphael. It felt as though a weight on his shoulders had been lightened but not yet lifted. When he spoke, it was with the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach that freedom may be snatched away from him yet again, as it had happened before.

“Do you really-- my contract, is it…?” he hesitated. Raphael smiled, lifting a hand. 

“Ah, this contract?” A snap of his fingers, and the contact appeared before him. It exuded malevolence, the Infernal runes on it glowing faintly. “I do apologize for bursting in your quarters before the ceremony, but I figured you wouldn’t complain if you received this specific wedding gift early. Unless you wish me to hold onto it until--”

“No, no!” Karlach blurted out, waving her hands. “Now is good! Now is great, actually. I just-- gods, that’s really it?”

A chuckle. “Oh, it is. Quite the well thought-out contract - Mizora does know her business. And it is the only copy in existence.” He looked over at Wyll, and met his gaze. “A debt repaid, and my gift to you both. Wyll’s soul his own again, to keep or sell all over again however he may desire. Do you wish to do the honors, Wyll Ravengard, or shall I?”

Wyll looked at the runes; for a moment their red glow seemed to fill his vision, as it did on the night he’d first signed it, a boy of seven-and-ten desperate to protect his city. He breathed in and knew he could not bring himself to touch it. “Burn it to ashes,” he finally said. 

“Believe me, no ashes will be left.” Raphael’s lifted hand clenched into a fist, and the hovering contract burned with white-hot flames.

Hellfire destroyed everything it touched and it destroyed his contract too, wrapping around it like hungry fingers and reducing it to nothing, just as Raphael had said. The runes glowed one last time, and were no more; and Wyll could feel it at last, the binds on his soul shattering with one last mighty yank. 

He breathed in, deep, and even the weight on his chest was gone; in his eye socket, the quiet humming magic of the sending stone came to a stop - the matching stone gone, too. Never again would Mizora be able to track him down, or spy on him. But still… 

“Well? Feel any different?” Karlach asked while grabbing both his hands, so quickly her tongue almost stumbled over the words. Wyll turned to her, and smiled. Did he feel different? Of course he did. He was free - he was finally free.  “Yes. Gods, yes - the bounds are gone.”

Raphael chuckled. “Well then, I hope you enjoy your gift. Do forgive the intrusion; I see you have yet to finish preparing for the day. I shall see you at the ceremony shortly, I suppo--”

“Wait,” Wyll called out, turning back to him. “I can feel I am no longer pacted, but my powers are still… here. Are they not supposed to drain away, too?”

“Ah, yes. I am now the source of your power. With the contract binding you to me gone, I am to take that back. But I am a busy devil, you understand,” Raphael replied, and snapped his fingers. His words echoed in the room even after he’d disappeared from sight; Wyll could almost hear the smirk. “I shall make time to take them back in a couple of centuries’ time.”

***

“I hope they reserved front seats for us. And by that I mean, I definitely expect that they did.”

“Tch. The ceremony won’t be long, I’m told. Have you grown so lazy you cannot stand for a short while?”

“Oh, I certainly can stand,” Astarion replied. “For hours on end, too. But I don’t want to. This place is more packed than Durge’s bag of holding and I never enjoyed the press of a crowd.”

Astarion wasn’t wrong: the central square of the Sun District - a brand new district, built entirely by the surviving refugees from Elturel - was definitely full, both of its inhabitants and others yet who had come from everywhere in the city. It was not every day that one got to watch two of the heroes who had saved their city tie the knot. 

They did, as a matter of fact, have front row seats - but they had to go through quite the sea of people first, in great part familiar faces. A very welcomed sight for the most part - seeing Zevlor talking to Grand Duke Ravengard had been a surprise, but not unwelcome; the fact Bex and Danis already had a child on the way, on the other hand, was no surprise whatsoever.

However, one smiling face in the crowd left a bitter taste of bile in Durge’s mouth; it brought back the wet sound of rendered flesh, the cracking of bones, the slickness of blood. Lakrissa seemed happy with the life she’d built for herself, but she still did not know - none but their companions knew - what had become of Alfira. 

I should tell her, one day, and hope she can forgive me.

“Stop.” Lae’zel voice was sharp, and it caused Durge to blink and look back. Set met his gaze, head tilted back. Intense as always, wasn’t she? “I see you’re getting that look again. The regretful one. This is not the day for it; this is the day to celebrate.”

Durge chuckled, faintly. “I have missed you,” they admitted, gaining themself a scoff.

“... Well. I don’t find your company unwelcome, eith--”

“Are you two coming or  not?” Shadowheart groaned, and grasped Lae’zel hand to pull her through the crowd, towards the small shrine that had been built for the occasion. It caused her to grumble, but she did not resist. It got another chuckle out of Durge before they followed, and sure enough there was a row of seats at the front; Jaheira and Minsc were already there, and Gale had clearly just arrived, with Tara comfortably perched across his shoulders.

It was good to see them again - although Astarion did trade places with Halsin so that he wouldn’t sit next to Minsc, as he often said that listening to him for too long made him wish the tadpole had eaten his brain.

“Yours, or Minsc’s?” Durge had asked once, laughing, and Astarion had made a face.

“Mine. Minsc’s was already long gone before the parasite nested in it, I think.”

By the time the greetings were done and they were all seated, with Shadowheart setting about to explain the finer details of a wedding ceremony to Lae’zel, Durge couldn’t help but notice that there were still two empty seats right next to them… and they had an inkling over who they may be for. The inkling was correct; the occupants didn’t take long to arrive. 

“My, my. What manner of wedding is this?”

In his human form and clad in what was likely the most intricately detailed outfit Durge had ever seen - and there they thought they’d made an effort - Raphael was a sight for sore eyes. He was attracting numerous glances; Durge wondered how many more would be looking over, or running as quickly as possible, if they knew just who stood in their midst. 

By his side was a tall tiefling clad in silver and blue, and Durge recognized that glamor as well. They grinned. “And here I thought the two of you would show up fashionably late.”

“I never found anything fashionable about lateness. It is quite frowned upon in the Hells,” Raphael informed them with a chuckle, and looked over at the rest of their companions. It was a little amusing, really, to see the difference between the reaction of those who had been through the Hells with them and those who had… not.

“Oh, um… hello? No hard feelings, I trust?”

“Ah, there’s my favorite incubus! I’ve been told you’ve kept up with the target practice!”

“... Raphael. And… Haarlep, is it?”

“I’m glad you two could make it.”

“Tch. Death did not hold you for long, and you slew your tyrant. I can admire that, devil.”

“Boo and I are watching you!”

Raphael bowed his head. “You may watch to your heart’s content. I do not intend to cause trouble,” he said, taking the seat next to Durge. “After all, it would put a damper on this marvellous wedding. Even the delightful Dame Aylin could see that, and stayed her sword. Not that it would truly kill either of us, of course, not on this Plane. We’d only return home.”

“Almost a shame she didn’t try. I’m actually pretty curious to find out what dying on this Plane feels like,” Haarlep muttered, taking their seat. “But then we’d have missed this.”

Durge smiled. “We did tell her you’re here as a friend, and that if she took her sword to your feeble neck - her words, not mine - you may be less inclined to return Wyll ownership of his soul.”

Raphael laughed. “Hah! She did seem to back down more easily than expected. How fortunate, then, that she does not know Wyll Ravengard’s soul has already been returned.”

“What!” Several heads turned to him, in various stages of surprise and delight. Raphael bowed his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“I am a devil of my word - that much you must concede me. I acquired the contract for his soul, and asked young Ravengard himself what ought to be done with it. He said I should burn it, and I duly obliged. The contract is no more, and he is no longer bound to the Hells.”

The relief felt almost physical, like something being lifted from the pit of their stomach; Durge hadn’t even realized it was there, had always been there from the moment they’d watched Wyll make the decision to give his soul away, all over again, for his father’s life. They smiled.

“Thank you, Raphael.”

“You owe me no thanks. I merely kept my word. Although I certainly do hope he is aware that I do not intend to retrieve it once more should he decide to give it away all over again for his city, his father, or whatever he feels the greater good is.”

“I do believe he has learned the lesson,” Halsin said, in the tone of someone who understood that sort of lesson better than anyone. “Karlach would never stand for it - she made it clear back in Avernus. None should take on such heavy burdens on their own.”

“Mhh. He is a slow learner, but if you did learn, druid, then there’s hope even for him,” Raphael conceded, smiling, and sat back.

Just on time, too: a hush fell as Isobel stepped to the altar before turning to face all of them and then past them, and smile. “Shall we begin?”

There was chattering, a few gasps, the sound of people moving. Durge turned to see that the crowd which could not be seated had parted and there they stood, walking hand in hand towards the altar. Karlach was striking in red and gold, and Wyll looked every inch some kind of fairy-tale prince in silver and purple - horns and all. 

“Ooooh, I want that,” Haarlep whispered, although it was unclear whether they were referring to Karlach, Wyll, either of their outfits, or the entire package. Durge could not blame them: both looked stunning and, of course, deliriously happy. They turned in their direction to flash a grin as they stepped past, and Durge grinned back. Yes, they decided - Lae’zel was right. Whatever may come, they’d face it when it did come. That day, they’d celebrate.

The gods knew they’d earned it.

***

Karlach wasn’t sure how the ceremony seemed to go on for hours and come to a close way too fast at the same time, but somehow it did. Weird, but weirder things had happened; she’d hugged a devil, for fuck’s sake, and it didn’t get a lot more unlikely than that. 

She was vaguely aware of Isobel talking about vows, and love, and overcoming unspeakable hardships to find solace in one another, plus more things she did not quite catch. 

All great things, she was sure - but how was she supposed to focus on anything but Wyll’s face, looking up at her with a smile as bright as the midday sun? She just stared back, not really caring if her face was split by the biggest and most idiotic grin--

“--anything you’d like to say?”

Bwuh?

Karlach blinked, and looked away from Wyll just an instant to realize that Isobel was waiting for a reply, and her brain was blank. Well, she had tried to prepare a little speech and she’d memorized it, even… but now she couldn’t recall a single word. 

Thank the gods, Wyll was more prepared.

“Karlach,” he spoke, holding her hands in his a little tighter, and she looked back at him. Was it her or he got more handsome in all the five and a half seconds she wasn’t looking? “You are the red of the sunrise, the yellow of high noon, and the orange of sundown. If you were a song, I’d never stop singing; if you were a psalm, I’d never stop praying. I love you. Will you be mine - today, and tomorrow, and reaching into eternity?"

There were some murmurs from the crowd - definitely more than a few sighs - and Karlach could only stare for a moment-- is it the engine or it’s really hot here? -- before she got a grip on herself.

“I LOVE YOU TOO!” she blurted out. Maybe not that great a grip on herself, and now she could hear laughs and a few cheers - but Wyll was beaming and fuck, it was all that she could look at. “Oh my gods, I've been dying to say that.” If I smile any bigger, my face is going to crack. “I love you. And I’m getting to live a life with you, and I’m gonna love it, and you, every second of it.”

A chuckle, and Isobel reached to place her hands on their joined ones. "Karlach, Wyll. Through hardship and across Planes, you have endured together - and here you stand in your day of joy. From this moment forth, you are no longer two, but one. One path, one heart, one story yet to be told. Your spirits entwine as the roots of ancient trees, unshaken by storm or time. Your blood sings the same song, a melody only you shall know.”

There was something now, a surge of power washing over her, causing Karlach’s breath to catch a moment. It wasn’t just happiness - it was something else, too, a cleric’s spell. All of a sudden, she felt as though she could take on a horde of werebears, and come out of it without a scratch.

“Let the moon above and the ground beneath bear witness,” Isobel was saying. “Your lives are bound, your fates are woven in the same tapestry. What has been joined this day shall stand for all seasons to come, as strong as the mountains, as endless as the sky. By the will of your hearts, you are bound in soul, in body, for all the days to come.” A pause and she pulled her hands away, smiling. “Go forth as one, and may your love be legend.”

The last words were already lost to Karlach. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Wyll’s. The infernal machine droned in her chest; it sounded nothing like a thumping heart, but Wyll still said he loved falling asleep to it. She smiled, a little breathless. “So, we did it. What’s next, husband?”

Wyll chuckled. “I can’t wait to find out, wife,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

***

“So, you're proper consorts now?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, he’d been calling me such for a while--”

“Durge did mention that.”

“But you know, words are lost in the wind. A contract stays - that’s the way in Baator.”

“Ah, the Material Plane is not that different. That's about the same reason for… you know, all this. Vows before witnesses, with the cleric’s spell and all.”

“I see.” A pause, and Haarlep tilted their head, still in their tiefling disguise. They had a cup of wine in their hand, a pastry in the other. With the rather stringent order not to take anyone’s body that night - much less devour their soul - they seemed intent on indulging in everything else available. “So, are you and Durge doing all this?”

Astarion laughed. “Oh gods, it’s not my style.” Maybe. If they ask, I might. If they ask, I might do anything. Damn it, they got me good. “But ah, if there’s one thing I learned is that you should never say never. We have time, after all.” 

Sitting on a crate with his back against a wall, Astarion took a generous swig from his bottle. Most guests were eating the frankly stunning amount of food served - Raphael had probably had three servings of almond cakes before disappearing from sight alongside Durge - but Astarion couldn’t have any of that, good as the smell was.

No great loss, however. His companions as well as a few guests had been happy to donate to the Astarion Blood Bank fund. All he had to do was pretend, for the sake of the few guests from Wyll’s side who may not be aware of his nature, that he was drinking wine. Not difficult, with most people’s attention taken by the celebrations and the fireworks - neither the Ironhand Gnomes nor Rolan had, disappointingly, caused fires. 

And then, of course, there was the dancing. That had been going on for a while. With very few exceptions - he could see Shadowheart and Lae’zel sitting together some distance away, talking over drinks and probably judging everyone in sight as true soul mates should - nearly everyone had at least a go at that.

Karlach had learned the courtly dance well enough, as it turned out, and stumbled around less than most other guests did while trying to match the movements of the bride and groom. Durge had somehow managed not to step over his feet, too. Astarion hadn’t been too surprised to notice that Raphael was an excellent dancer because of course he was. A small wonder he hadn’t tried to step in the bard’s place, too, to show off a little more.

But then the dancing had changed to… well, whatever Karlach considered dancing, and Raphael had promptly left the dance floor to avoid making a fool of himself. So had Astarion, who was rather content to drink some fresh blood and watch the general flailing; Halsin, he suspected, would dance more gracefully as a bear, and Gale kept having to dodge his elbows. He chuckled at the sight before he spoke again.

“... You know, if we do decide to go through with something like this, I don’t know whether we should invite you. I’m a little wounded, I must say. Surely we should have qualified for an invite when you and Raphael made it official.”

Haarlep laughed at the notion, drinking some more wine. The kind of wine mortals produced did not have the same effect on a fiend as Infernal wine would, but they did seem to enjoy the taste. 

“Had there been a ceremony, you would have been, I assure you. But this,” they added, gesturing towards the ongoing party, “is not how such things work in Baator. A signature on a contract is about it. But I suppose my time with you did rub off me, because I went and got him a ring after all, as mortals do.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “You did? He was wearing no ring.”

Haarlep grinned. “Oh,” they said. “He is wearing it.”

***

“... Well. This is a surprise.”

Durge’s grip around his cock was maddening on its own - something about the scaly texture of their palms hit just the right spot - but when the fingers ran over the ring which sat tightly around the base, Infernal runes etched in the metal, Raphael almost cried out.

The chuckle rumbled in Durge’s chest, against his back, a puff of cold air on the nape of his neck. “Haarlep’s gift?”

“Who else, ” he groaned against the wooden crate he was bent over. A wooden crate in a back alley - what a change of scenery from his chambers in the House of Hope or at the Starspire… and it was half the thrill, really. There was another chuckle, Durge’s breath against his ear. 

“Did you wear it, last time he had you in my form? When I felt you inside?”

Raphael smiled through clenched teeth. “I might have.”

“That was impressive.”

“If you dare credit the ring only--” Raphael bristled, only to trail off when Durge’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck to keep him pinned down. He huffed, trying to turn and glare. The ring had merely helped, of course. It simply made him last longer, without keeping him from reaching orgasm… unless Haarlep spoke a very specific word, in which case he’d be entirely unable to come until they muttered the counterspell. 

Which they usually did. Eventually. If he pleaded his case convincingly enough. Or, as Haarlep put it with their rather inelegant lack of subtlety, if he pleaded long and hard.

“Apologies. You were impressive,” Durge said, and Raphal really hoped they hadn’t noticed how it made his cock twitch.

“Thank you kindly,” he replied instead, his voice just slightly strained. “Do feel free to return to favor at your earliest--”

An oiled finger pressed in with no warning, and Raphael’s attempt at a dignified response faded into a whine in the back of his throat. His head fell back on the crate with a thunk. 

“I plan to. As long as you promise there will be more of that. Through Haarlep, or in person.”

“I-- I suppose I could invite you to my court, in the near future--” A sharp gasp, a groan, as another finger joined the first. “If your performance proves satisfying, that is.”

“Oh, it will be.”

To Raphael’s bliss and annoyance, it was. He did not say as much aloud, but the noises he  barely muffled against the crook of his arm, and the way he arched into it, probably told Durge everything they needed to know. 

He didn’t speak again until they were done and dressed, trying to erase all signs of their little tryst before returning to the celebrations… but what he had to say was not about their performance at all. “Have you given thought,” he asked, smoothing his jacket before brushing back his hair with his fingers, “as to whether you wish to know your old name?”

The question caused Durge to pause and glance over, still buttoning up their vest. They had thought about it, Raphael could tell; they remained firm in rejecting any and all ties to Bhaal, including the name he’d called them… but surely, the question was there.

They were a funny thing, names. Raphael had tried so long to escape his mortal name, and yet now he could not imagine his mother calling him any other way. It was what everyone now called the citadel which had once been named after his sire; it was as close as he could get to reclaiming it without turning his back on everything he had been in the centuries since Mephistopheles had him taken to the Hells. Raphael had been his name far too long. 

He wondered if that was how the former Sharran had felt when she’d decided to hold onto the name she’d taken upon herself in Shar’s darkness, even after turning her back to the goddess herself. But it was a choice she’d made after knowing her old name.

Raphael did not voice his thoughts, and just watched as Durge went to finish buttoning up their vest. There were a few more moments of silence before they spoke. 

“I do not wish to use it.”

“That was not the question. I would not even speak it, or speak of it, ever again.”

Another pause and then, slowly, Durge nodded. “... Then, yes. I would like to know.”

Raphael nodded, and snapped his fingers. A piece of parchment appeared in a burst of flames, hovering before Durge’s eyes; those eyes moved across the letters written on it, took it in… and then, finally, Durge breathed out. 

“Thank you,” was all they said, and that was that. Raphael nodded back; a gesture, and the parchment burned away to nothing like Wyll Ravengard’s contract had only hours earlier. 

Raphael smoothed down his clothes one more time, and smiled.  “Well then,” he said, as though nothing at all had happened. “Shall we rejoin the celebrations?”

They did.

***

By the time the party ended, it was almost dawn. 

Most guests retired to their homes to catch some sleep - no work for anyone until the next day, that was for sure - and Jaheira had to wildshape into a panther to drag a very drunk Minsc away; Durge could have sworn the growl around the mouthful of his jacket sounded a lot like ‘typical’, although it was barely audible through his slurred singing.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were next to take their leave to return to the Astral Sea - or at least try to, because Karlach had pulled them both in a ‘girls’ hug’ and had yet to release them. Lae’zel wasn’t even complaining that much, Durge thought, and turned to comment on that with Astarion - but their eye caught sight of Raphael and Haarlep instead. 

They were on the other side of the square, and seemed to be discussing something. Odd to see them still there: Raphael had taken his leave several minutes earlier, and they’d assumed them to be back in Cania by then. Durge blinked, and walked up to them. 

“Is something the matter?”

Haarlep sighed, glancing over. “He is no fun, is the matter,” they declared. 

Raphael returned the accusation with a withering look. “What I am saying is that jumping off the highest point in the city is the most moronic an idea you’ve ever been able to conceive--”

“Worse than coming between you and a balor in Baator?”

“The second most moronic--”

“And between you and a bunch of barbazus--”

“The third-- ”

“We’re not in Baator, and nothing would happen! I die on this Plane, and wake up right back in your chambers. A quick way home.”

“I can take you back just as easily. There is no good reason--”

“I’ve always wondered what dying on another Plane feels like.”

“Unpleasant, I’d wager. You may ask Yurgir, if you’re that--”

Raphael’s attempt at being reasonable was commendable, of course, but Haarlep was clearly beyond listening; with a quick look at Durge and a grin, they promptly changed their appearance to that of a cambion, and took flight towards the newly reconstructed Wyrm's Rock fortress.

“See you home!”

“Wha-- come back-- nngh.” Raphael groaned, and reached up to rub his face. “I truly can’t take them anywhere,” he muttered.

“I suppose they’ll soon have a new story to tell back at court.”

“Yes. The tale of how I sought to dissolve our union on the grounds they were never sound of mind,” Raphael muttered, and Durge laughed.

“You don’t mean a word of that.”

“... Regrettably, you are correct.” Raphael sighed. “Well. I suppose it is time I return to Cania as well, through less gruesome means. It has been a pleasure to take part in this event.” ‘And to get bent on a crate in a back alley’ went unsaid. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of this little reunion.”

Durge turned, glancing back to see that Gale and Astarion were taking turns trying to stir awake Halsin, now in bear form in the middle of the square and quite obviously in a drunken stupor, while the others watched with clear amusement. They grinned.

“I think I will, yes,” they said, and turned back. “Don’t be a stranger,” they added on a whim.

Raphael bowed, a half-smile on his lips.

“A stranger? Ah, but I could never,” he chuckled, just as flames flared up to take him back home to the Hells, back to Cania, back home. His next words rang out through the crackle of flames, the faint sound of ice scraping against ice, the distant notes of a lyre.

“Am I or am I not the devil you know?”

***

Aaaand it's over at last! Man. I knew this was going to be a long one, but I had no idea just HOW long. Good thing I didn't, 'cause I might not have even tried.

I had SO MUCH fun writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed the read. Thank you to everyone who ever commented/liked this, hope the epilogue didn't disappoint!

*** [Back to Chapter 42]

[Back to Start]

[shinakazami1]

"Love is stored in (un)familiarity": Rhack snippet based on my TFTBL AU

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58404214

less than 2k words This is a snippet of a bigger AU, at the happiest moment of it :^) but before we get there, it will take quite a bit so, I thought I would post this already!

Rhys' bad tastes and Jack being a sweetheart,,,

===

"Heyyyyyy-- pumpkin?" "Yeah, Jack?" Rhys looked over the kitchen counter, trying to remove a stain from the unwanted Skag guest. "What's the question for the day?" "Oh, well I wanted to ask you what you want for dinner but, if you're so insistent - what's your favorite ice cream flavour?" 

Rhys stared down at the man. The last few 'daily questions' were a bit more stimulating. How he got the prosthetic, what it was like to be an Atlas CEO, had he kept the Jack AI, some heavy stuff in general. This felt like a trap, but one that was most welcome. 

"I don't like ice cream. I like frogurts way more." 

Jack stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. The man's face, frozen solid, was enough for Rhys to know something was up. This state was only a few seconds long but that was still more than wanted. The sudden drift to a salesman's smile was also not a sign of everything being okay.

"OK, if you have such a blast destroying your taste buds, tell me at least what knife you're using. I need to know if I should ever let you cook or not. I feel if you'd try to poison me, you'd actually make me healthier, knowing your-" "Chocolate dill pickle." 

Jack seemed frozen solid for longer than before. But something was... different. This exact scenario happened a few times before already but, every time, it left Rhys a bit on the edge. He could imagine the big hands wrapping around his trachea and snapping it if they wanted to. It felt like a matter of time, even if the man before him hadn't made such a gesture before. The eyes were the key difference. They weren't, like a moment ago, staring through a fog at the world surrounding them. The small shines and the relaxed brows didn't keep Rhys off his guards, but they did make him wait for something.

He didn't expect laughter. Not just any laughter - a whole fit. A maniac, full, from the chest, belly moving, spine bending laugh. Hands flying, from thighs to the forehead, to waving in the air, as the big, loud, manic laughter, continued. It caused Rhys to relax - Jack probably was imagining the taste and while he loved it, Jack probably hated even the mental image of it. Something, about watching this man laugh to such an extent, made the warmth spread in Rhys' chest. It was not perfect but, it was nice. It felt like they were used to this. And - to make that happen, Rhys decided to be more confident and say something more. 

"You can't judge a good frogurt just by some mediocre tastes! Why do you need a vanilla when you have Last Night Midnight? It was a limited edition taste that had ingredients making -" "You're not him!" 

Barely, through a dying laughter, Jack, with the help of a chair he was holding on, got those words out of his mouth. Scared, a bit disappointed, Rhys could only stare at the man as he still fought through the teary cackles. Jack, with his hard-working diaphragm, barely got any words out. 

"It's cus-oh, oh kiddo, oh my god - it's not him! My Rhysie - man! Ah, oh my - - loves some citrus-- Cheesy Lemon Zest--lord! Kiddo, oh God your taste is so shit - - Chocolate Flush the most!" 

Rhys let Jack slowly get out of the torturous laughing tone. The warmth was no longer making him flutter. It felt embarrassing, it felt sad and burning through everything he's done wrong till then. If not for him... 

"You're not him." Jack panted, sweat slowly dropping off his forehead. 

It was true. He was not him . 

And it made Rhys feel stupid for being so happy hearing that.

===

For the rest of the evening, Jack spent the time in the kitchen. The new policy of not sleeping together made Jack quite insomniac but, Rhys felt he shouldn't comment on that at all. It felt like a very important thing for him to do by himself. Still, Rhys couldn't stop being worried for the man. Especially after Rhys wasn't let in the kitchen. 

The first sign was Jack telling him to get busy and just do things around the house. Then, it was him not being allowed to even brew some coffee. After enough pestering, Jack made him some and closed the door, telling Rhys he couldn't come to the kitchen for some time. Thinking it was a bad prank, hungry for a snack, Rhys attempted to get to the kitchen with no fruition, especially since he didn't get the fruit he wanted. Being told 'later, kiddo' and given a banana made him feel like he was back at school but he tried his best to not show how it annoyed him. Jack's comments about poutiness not being the stronger weapon said he sucked at it. 

The worst, however, was the moment Jack smashed the door in his face when he was trying to sneak in and take a slice of the pizza they had for dinner. Annoyed, hungry and tired, through the door, he told Jack if he wanted to cook some pot, the kitchen was the WORST place for that type of cooking. Instead of any of the typical Jack-making remarks Rhys expected to hear, the man opened the door, checked his nose he even forgot he was holding, and gave him a heated-in microwave two pizza slices and soda with three ice cubes. 

Apologies coming from that man's mouth felt still like a fever dream - too face-warming. Too weird. But it was important to hear and receive.

"I'm just making something atrocious in the kitchen. Smells horrible - so I'm doing you a favour, Rhysie. Don't stay up too late, we have a few things to do tomorrow." 

Nodding in agreement, Rhys stood up and went to eat what he was given and slowly, very slowly, in fact, prepared for bedtime. Scanning through all his Echo Eye files for some clues hadn't been fruitful for the past few days but there were enough folders to check for eternity. He had that, in a way - just not at the place he maybe would want. Not realising when he stopped seeing the Echo Eye layout, with a droll falling from his left cheek, Rhys slowly opened his eyes, seeing a figure above him. The hand on his shoulder didn't leave many suspects on who it might be but, the cold point on his cheek wasn't as easy to guess. "Open up, buttercup." "Oaaaghaa?", Rhys said very charismatically, obviously. "Come on, it will melt. Just say aaaaa or eeee, both are good. Or even waaaah, just don't do it too loud. We're no longer in kindergarten." "Mmwha waw you tal'in aboth...", Rhys straightened his back and said in the most professional tone. "I'm talking about the ice crea- yogurt, I mean, oh you get what I mean. Taste it." "I ion wanna. I washed my teeth, just.... now...." "Princess, it's 4 am. You're dressed in your clothes, you have one shoe still on and it's only between you and one Skag probably where the other is gone. I want to fall asleep soon but I won't be able to finish this if I don't know, you know like, if I did a good job." "Mm but is athrosiosh...." "To me. Fortunately, there is only one person with good taste in this room, so this should be up to your liking. Now chop chop, I don't want it dribbling off my fingers and staining me for life."

While the metal of the spoon was getting a tiny bit warmer, the trails of the frogurt slowly melting off Rhys' skin made him reluctantly open his mouth and give the cold mass a lick. The familiar taste made his eyes open, while not fully, a lot more, and he grabbed the spoon, eating everything off it.

"How did you find Fran's here?" "Who's Fran." "The frogurt lady. Unless she started selling these goods through grocery shops." "Oh yes, pumpkin. I just spent 7 hours on opening shop-bought creams." "That sucks on you." 

Rhys cackled and yawned. "But, where did you find my Fran's fav?" "Where? Well jee, princess, let me think of every shop being close by. Oh, right - they typically don't have atrocious and horrible tastes. I'd be scared living here if others would like this as much as you." "Mm, so, was this what you got from Elpis?" "I don't think - - My God, please don't act dumb, I'm doing everything in my mind not to kiss you at this moment. No, it's--I worked on it. All day. Based on the description you said. No ice shop here, and no van with fun music around. It's just me, making you a treat." 

Rhys felt his mind open a bit more, finally letting the information he was hearing process. "Wait so - you made it?" "Unfortunately." 

Jack's face was still covered in shadow but, the softness of his voice and the hand, wrapped under the right ear as the thumb was slowly careering his cheek, felt like enough signs the guy was in a good mood. 

"You didn't have to but... How did you get the perfect combination of flavours and textures? It feels just so right." "I had my fair share of horrible meals I had to make in my life to sustain someone." "You truly didn't...have to-" "Yes, and I won't redo this massacre anytime soon. But check the freezer on your 'sad nights ice cream times' or some other shit mood." "No - - I meant the kissing. I mean - both." "... Kiddo I..." 

Rhys' consciousness was drifting back and forth but he knew he was speaking very nonchalantly.

"Come to bed then. You look tired." No one had ever said these words in a more confident, job-winning way. "I need to put the atrocity in the fridge but -- I'll uh. I'll be back." "That would be nice." "Don't fall asleep before I'm back. Wait for me." 

Not even five minutes later, after running what felt like a marathon, Jack came back to the master bedroom and heard Rhys soft snores. Shaking his head and talking about how the guy would get mad in the morning for the state of the clothes, Jack gently joined him in the bed and wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling the tiredness hitting. He didn't mind it, though. The warmth, spreading in his chest, helped him fall asleep easier than the past few alone nights. This wasn't a sweet moment. Probably not even bittersweet. 

But a weird mix of ingredients the guy in his arms liked. 

His tongue was to be examined but... 

Maybe some other time.

[forallnumbersosc]

what type of foods do the silly little aliens eat ?

[great question!!! lemme tag you since this is a screenshot :3 @near-weathered]

Well, since we are a species that lives off of fun and enjoyment, we don't actually need to eat, but since eating is fun, a lot of us do it! Each of us even has our own preferences on what flavors we like, as well as how much we like to eat overall!

Since we have freaky space distorty things going on in our guts, I don't think we can even get full? Four's weird EXIT thing is pretty expansive, but if it has its limits i suppose it would be possible...

As for spice, for me personally, it doesn't really affect me? I have eaten spicy foods but I don't really experience it very strongly... My flavor preferences is sweet things, of course, and I taste it the strongest out of all other flavors! It seems that different flavors seem to affect different ones of us, so there probably is an algebralien or two that can't handle their spice!

I know Four has a bit of a weakness to fire, maybe he can't handle spice either?

Well, while I'm at it, I do want to try out my new human taste buds! Gaty said i should start small, but go big or go home, right?

[alabasteranxieties]

Something shifted

When you're realistic with yourself, you tend to separate women you find attractive into two groups, aiming for modesty. In my league and out of my league.

Many pretty women are of course out of my league. The types of girls you see online, are often out of my league, and many in real life as well. I'm a regular white guy, and I try to nip ego in the bud when I can.

With the rise of hip hop, R&B, the general Africanization of pop culture, and interracial pornography, this new fascination with BMWF couples initially had little effect on me because simply put, the girls in these arenas are WAY out of my league. Girls like that preferring black men has essentially no impact on me. That's how I felt initially anyways.

However, there has been a trickle down effect, as is true with all trends. As this kind of content gains traction, and as mainstream media also pushes this particular pairing, and as women gain more and more independence, empowerment, and proudly state their sexual taste, more and more girls are getting curious, or at least simply open to the idea of a black partner, whether its for a night or for life. I personally think it's great that people are figuring more out about themselves and exploring all options, especially ones that were previously off limits.

I think these seeds are planted initially in women with generally good self esteem. Girls who know they're hot and are having fun with it. However, as women encourage each other to try things out, and more and more, porn just means interracial porn, even more average girls are flirting with the idea of hooking up with black men. Its been a slow progression but over the past 5 years I've seen BMWF couples go from 9/10s, to 8/10s, to 7, to 6 to 5 to 4s… You get the picture. As this trend takes off and truly permeates itself into our pop culture, I see more and more women, extremely normal women, having a preference or inclination towards black men. Even outside of white women, Asian women from Japan, South Korea, and China are exploring this with increasing popularity (sorry white dude, I know Asian girls were your weird little back up plan but things are moving fast and you can't keep up)

This of course is ok! Everyone has preferences, and nobody is entitled to someone's companionship. However, it has also led to a massive decline in my matches on dating apps and the little success I ever had with girls in real life has vanished.

In fact I would make the claim that in casual interactions, a lot of girls treat me a bit differently nowadays. Still polite, but small talk is ended essentially immediately. I am no longer humored and thus my opportunities to turn a conversation into something more have vanished.

The little conversations I could previously start with women, I now see black men starting effortlessly while these same women talk to me like I'm a cashier at their local grocery store.

By default, there is an extreme disinterest towards me now that did not exist for most of my life.

So I find myself in an interesting position. The girls who used to be "in my league" have upgraded, which I guess means girls in general have upgraded their "league".

I find myself not just in a lower league though, but not in a league at all. I've been forced into retirement, quite early might I add.

Now this doesn't mean white guys don't get laid anymore. That's a delusional point of view usually just for fueling fetish material, but SOME types of white guys have absolutely been cycled out at least from casual hookups.

On the flip side, black men who I would measure to be roughly in the same league as me, are absolutely killing it. Not just on dating apps but openly in public, and on social media. A black man I would equate to myself is at times thirsted after by many different types of women. I know this probably sounds like I inflate my own score but I assure you I am trying my hardest to be realistic and modest (and frankly I'm quite insecure anyways).

Fact of the matter is, we previously lived in a world where white guys were given bonus points for simply existing and that's being corrected a bit.

Some white guys were scoring goals because the goalie literally didn't know how to block and now women everywhere have gone to training camp and learned on a professional level.

I am not angry about this, and I prefer not to wallow. If women have decided universally that I no longer should have intimate relationships, I of course accept this outcome. Entitlement is foolish, and frankly I don't blame them. In fact I think it's quite a good thing! If women can decide to filter men like me out, and they've successfully done so, then it sounds like we're making some great progress for Women. People like me are no longer getting women purely out of resource hoarding or fear. I would argue a decent amount of the population only bred through misogyny and oppression and the result are guys like me, who in a natural world would frankly not exist. However, I am here, for many more decades hopefully, and I don't just cease to exist just because I no longer exist in the lives of women. I will most likely not pass my genes on (for the best probably lol) but I'll be kicking around for a bit.

In a future post I will discuss how to exist in this state, or better put:

What do you do when you no longer have a league?

[delirious-donna]

25, 41, and 43 for the asks! I hope you have a great day 💕

Thanks for playing Lyria! 💜

25. perfume/body spray or lotion?

Perfume for sure. I used to be way more into perfume a few years back (probably because I worked in a department store with a wonderful fragrance and cosmetics dept) but I don’t buy as many these days. I have my staples which rotate and depend on what I’m up to. These include but are not limited to… Gucci Guilty, Guerlain Insolence, Dior Pure Poison and Estée Lauder Bronze Goddess. 😎

Years ago I randomly picked up a perfume on my way to Disney World and it became an immediate favourite but sadly I don’t think it’s made anymore 😭 hmu if anyone has seen Thomas Sabo Beach Club. I drained that bottle drrrrrrrry.

41. how do you take your coffee?

Hot - mocha (nothing added)

Cold - iced caramel macchiato (nothing added)

I much prefer tea (I’m a Scot after all, and I drink that black)

43. what’s your take on spicy foods?

I used to hate spicy food, only ever ate the safest of food in terms of spice level. Then about five years ago my taste buds had a refresh and now I really like spice. I eat things I never would have dreamed of and I’m especially fond of the Oriental use of spices.

Pick a number!

[ladylooch]

You'll Be The Death of Me

A/N: I miss these two, so here is a lil smutty love for your Sunday!

Word Count: 1.8k

Lines of an Excel spreadsheet blur together on the laptop screen in front of me. The blue light filtering glasses I am wearing were helping my eyes for most of the night, but I’ve been working for ten hours and I am hitting my limit. Rhea and I are in the final preparation stages for a huge wedding in Zurich. It’s a wealthy client for us and a great opportunity to do more weddings like Rhea wants to in the next few years. She loves them; I hate them, so we compromised with the idea that she will do most of them. I’ll be added support only on the big ones. Like the Swiss Banker and his fourth wife. She has better taste than wife number three, I will say that. 

I take my glasses off, tossing them onto my desk and looking out the window. Small streaks of light radiate at the tress in our front yard. In the back of the house, the mountains hide the majority of the setting sun over the lake. It feels so nice to be back home in Switzerland where life has a different pace than New Jersey. I scratch at an itch on my nose then listen for sounds of my boys. There is a quiet murmur coming from the living room. My office is at the front of the house while the rest of the open-concept area looking out towards the lake. I roll my neck from side to side for a quick stretch, then grab my glasses, putting them back in place. I have to check several more things off my to-do list before I can be done for the night. 

Timo’s soft footsteps swish against the wood floor, greeting me before I see him. He holds a passed out Lio in his arms. Lio’s little nook is practically falling out of his mouth to the floor. His cheek is pink from where he was likely laying on Timo in the living room. He loves snuggles with daddy when he gets really tired. I smile as Timo comes next to me, tilting our baby’s down for me. I place my lips gently on Lio’s forehead, inhaling his sweet baby smell. 

“I love you.” I whisper, lips brushing Lio’s forehead with each word. “Thank you for being a solo parent today.” I say to Timo as he straightens, curling Lio deeper into his chest. “I appreciate you.” Timo smiles back at me, puckering his lips. We share a quick smooch.

“Of course. How’s it going?”

“Good. I feel a lot less stressed.” I breathe out a relieved sigh. 

“Good, babe. You coming to bed anytime soon?”

“Probably not.” I shake my head. 

“Ooookay.” He extends the word, then leaves the room, bringing our baby up the stairs to his crib.

After he disappears, I dive back into my work. I’m adjusting seating charts with the bride’s feedback, double checking our rsvp list and making notes of the ones we still need. I send a quick email to the catering chef that we now have several allergies we need to look at together in the next few days. I can already hear his frustrated groan about having his menu altered for the fifth time. I’m back to the budget spreadsheet, putting in a few new numbers when Timo walks back into the room. He comes around my chair, pulling it back from the desk as I watch him with amusement.

"There is hot water and bubbles in our bath tub for you."

"I'm not done.”

“I think you are, baby.” He kisses along the delicate skin of my neck. He unclasps the clip holding my hair up, letting it cascade down my shoulders. I sigh as his lips hit my sweet spot right behind my ear lobe. Without knowing I’m doing it, I reach back to hold him there. My fingerprints press into his skin, then go up into his hair. 

Timo’s hands move to the hem of my shirt. He works the fabric up until my pink bralette is exposed. His fingers brush against my nipples until they are hard, aching points. My head falls back to his shoulder as I arch into his touch for more. He pinches both buds tightly. I moan loudly into the room; my folds becoming soaked at his play.

“You done yet?” He teases.

“Yes.” I moan. 

“Hop up.” He pulls at my hands for me to stand. I do so and he moves the chair out of the way so I can sit on my desk. I’m wearing spandex shorts that he works down with my panties. I move my laptop, handing it to him so he can put it on the built ins behind him. Then I lay back, ignoring the way pens and post its and other random things poke into my back. Timo pulls me to the edge, stepping between my thighs while pulling his cock from his shorts. He strokes it twice, then steps forward. My stomach drops in delicious anticipation of our skin connecting.

“Gotta say I’m getting a little jealous of how much time you’re spending working.”

“Now you know how I feel.” I trail my finger nails down his sternum, resting my hand against his abdomen. He laughs.

“Touche.” 

“You hate sharing me.”

“So much, babe.” He admits as he strokes himself through my slit. He releases himself to rub my clit with two gentle fingers. He spreads my full lips apart, playing with my arousal against them until I squirm under his touch.

“No teasing.” I pout. His blue gaze reaches mine mischievously. He teases even more, bringing me to the edge, only to back off and stop touching me completely.

“You teased me all day in those tight shorts.” He says. “And your nipples were too perky.” He kisses along my neck, placing his hot head against my entrance. “Had me wondering if you were in here touching yourself.” 

“You’ll never know.”

“What I do know is you’ll think of this when you’re in here working now.” He murmurs as he eases his cock inside of me. My fingers grip at his thick abdominal muscles to feel the tightness as he pushes in. I love this part. The fullness that takes my breath away when he fills me.

“I always think of you in here.” I murmur, sighing at the pleasureful heat that charges up my body with his gentle strokes. “You looked so hot when you came back from your run earlier.” I rake my nails through the sides of his hair. “Wanted to lick the sweat off you.”

“Mmm, that would be better than any shower.” He chuckles against my chest running his open mouth along the peaks of my nipples. My body completely surrenders to his, letting him have his way with me while I turn to literal goo under him.

“I love when you give into me, baby. I’ll do anything to feel you like this.” He thrusts deep and hard, watching my lips whisper his name. The letters get trapped by a moan. He smirks down at my face and repeats the same motion. The desk rattles with his powerful movement, groaning when his large thighs connect with the back of mine. The pictures at the front of my desk move closer to the edge. My pussy grips him tight. He grunts aggressively in response, slowly pulling out just to pounding deep again.

“Keep doing that.” I plead, eyebrow draw tight together as I watch his hips pull out and force back in. My teeth grit from pleasure, head falling back. My hair is all over contracts and venue pictures and pens. I stretch my arms up, letting them hang down to grip the edge of the front of my desk. This tightens my breasts into full, enormous circles. Timo groans, watching as they shake with the force of him fucking me.

His next thrust knocks off the picture of us from our wedding. It clatters to the rug, drowning out my moan. Next goes a notebook, then a couple of pens. Each loud clap of material rolling to the floor matches his thrust into me.

“Fuck, baby.” I cry as he stuffs me full again. “Right there, T. Right fucking there.” My mouth falls open with a needy whine shooting from the back of my throat. He leans over, staying deep and fucking with staccato thrusts that have me salivating. Spots fill my vision, my teeth pierce my bottom lip before I come hard, squeezing the sticky cum from Timo’s cock. 

“Emma. God damn it.” He purrs, leaning down to kiss my lips as he finishes with three more pumps inside of me. “I love you so much.” His hot breath fills my ear as he connects our chests for a moment. I wrap my arms around his large shoulders, smiling when I feel his hands go under my body to pick me up. “Now you’re ready for the bath.” He chuckles. His hands are gripping my ass cheeks, spreading them wide as his cum begin to ooze out. 

“Timo.” I whines as he brings his fingers to tease against my clit before he shoves the white collection back into me.

“You like it.” He basically snarls back. I rock my hips down against his fingers. “Baby…” He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I know. What a way to go.” I say before kissing him so hard, he can’t finish bringing us to the bedroom. He puts me against the wall right outside of Lio’s room, sucking his way down my throat to my chest. My fingers dash into his hair as he devours my nipple. His teeth tease at it as he pulls away.

“Where am I fucking you next?” Goosebumps drag along my skin at the look he gives me.

“In the bed you never thought you’d have me in.” The bath can wait until our need has been satiated. He chuckles, pulling me tighter to him so he can bring us there.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever fucked in this bed.” He tosses me down, eyes feral at the way my breasts bounce. My face softens at that. His hands stroke up the sheets to me enclosing around my ribs as he kisses his way up my chest. I watch him with soft eyes. 

“Yeah?” I ask as he gets to my lips.

“Yeah. Was saving it for you all along.”

“Shut up. I love you. Now fuck me harder than you just did.”

“I’m soooooo lucky.” He moans, then tugs my hips tight to his so he can take me again.

[bubble-bobble]

1 and/or 2 for vegebul? :3c

putting under a cut bc i guess i thought about it more than i thought!

Holidays - I think Vegeta was accepting of "that mudball of a planet that is now my home though i do not want to admit it" and its local holidays pretty quickly. I think it wasn't difficult for him as a lot of them involve decadent food and copious amounts of it. I'm sure there are some saiyan holidays he misses but it would take a few years before he would open up about feeling sentimental over any of them. He might ask Cabba if Universe 6 celebrates any of the same ones, because it's not like anyone else would remember :(

Bulma's always glad to have a reason to host a party at the capsule corp compound and holidays are no exception. And any excuse to get a new sexy party outfit is alright with her -- it's highly satisfying to get any kind of reaction from Vegeta, heh.

The kiddos get absolutely spoiled! Because of course they do!

Cooking - Bulma is a successful baker (measuring and controlling variables! science!) but she's an average cook. I think she gets distracted much too easily to plan and have multiple dishes come out at the correct time. When you have an army of inventions and robots to automate the process, and unimaginable wealth to patronize cuisine around the world, it doesn't make sense to use your precious time to be preparing it!

Vegeta appreciates a good meal but is pretty limited to what he can prepare. He lacks skills in the kitchen for a few reasons - for one, he's royalty so it was probably not a thing for the family to ever prepare anything. They had a chef and staff for making sure the royal court was fed. Later under Frieza's control I don't think any the saiyans were ever assigned to KP due to their fighting ability/rank, and the rations they were doled out on whatever ship or base were pretty spartan, and not specifically catered to any particular species taste buds.

Cooking or baking together as an activity...I don't see it happening much. Both of them are generally pretty solitary in their pursuits so this is no different.

[viewfromgumlog]

Blog 3: Chinese Medicine, the 5 Elements & Me

In the previous blog, I touched on the yin and yang properties emphasized in Chinese medicine. The ancient Chinese sages also viewed the world in terms of a system of Five Elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. These elements interact with each other and are found within all life, including our bodies.

Marie Hopkinson, a Chinese medicine practitioner in Australia, used the analogy of a plant to explain how these elements interact. The sun contributes fire to the plant, urging it to grow upward. The earth grounds the plant, allowing it to absorb nutrients. Metal refers to the wind and air, giving the plant oxygen. Also, the plant needs water to grow. If any of these elements get out of balance, the plant will not thrive. (To watch her video, follow link listed below to her video, "Why eat mostly cooked foods.)

I have been diagnosed by my acupuncturist as having dampness in my spleen, known as spleen energy deficiency, or spleen qi deficiency. The spleen-pancreas system, which is more of a functional term than a reference to these biological organs, is governed by the earth element. (To learn more about dampness in Chinese medicine, follow the link listed below to her video, "What is Dampness.)

Summer corresponds to the earth element because of its dampness. I have a particularly tough time with summer's humidity because I am allergic to molds, particularly leaf molds. Since we live in the woods, and not far from a large lake, I have to stay in the house with air filters on to get away from leaf mold.

Someone like me with a spleen-pancreas imbalance will suffer with chronic tiredness, a weak digestion, and many other issues. Imagine a plant that has been over-watered, sagging with yellow leaves and not growing as it should.

To understand the spleen-pancreas system's function, imagine a fire (the spleen) heating up a pot of fluids (the stomach). The stomach needs warm, moist, cooked foods so it does not have to overwork while getting the nutrients of the foods. If the fires of the spleen system has been depleted, like mine has, cold foods make it work too hard.

To gain energy, those with spleen energy deficiency will crave sweets. To supply this energy in a healthy way, not overloading the body with glucose which we all know creates a rollercoaster of sugar highs and lows, Chinese medicine recommends eating grains, especially rice, and some fruit, with plenty of vegetables. Fried foods, refined foods, dairy products and dampening fruits and vegetables should be limited.

Many of these changes have challenged me. As I mentioned in my previous blog, Total Health gave me a convenient table that categorizes food as drying, lubricating, neutral, and strengthening. Since not every practitioner agrees with what foods fit in what categories, I have chosen to follow Ting's advice. I use Pitchford's book as a reference. He provides in-depth descriptions of the various properties of foods along with information on what conditions they treat.

Unlike my mother, I do not excel in menu planning. When I was young, my brother and I were not allowed to just grab something to eat because my mother was probably planning to use it for a specific meal. My biggest challenge has been figuring out what to eat using Chinese medicine recommendations.

I found a recipe in Total Healing called "Morning Energy Mega Boost" that satisfies my desire for sweets in the morning. It contains oatmeal, protein powder, walnuts, black sesame seeds, bee pollen, figs, apricots, and dates. My stomach and my taste buds like it.

Having soup or rice congee, a soupy rice mixture, works for supper. Chinese medicine also recommends eating light in the evening, which I was already doing because the result is that I have less acid reflux at night.

This leaves the biggest dilemma--what to eat for our main meal. Chinese medicine recommends eating your main meal in the middle of the day. We have been doing that for quite some time because of my husband's work schedule. Pitchford recommends eating only a small amount of meat, but my husband and I have been eating meat all of our lives. I have yet to find many recipes that work for me, other than stir fries, because we have always centered our main meal around meat!

Open for suggestions!

Sources

Book References with links to them on Amazon:

Goldsmith, Ellen and Maya Klein. Nutritional Healing with Chinese Medicine.  Robert Rose, 2017.

Pitchford, Paul. Healing with Whole Foods: Asian Traditions and Modern Nutrition. North Atlantic Books, 2002.

Ting, Esther and Marianne Jas. Total Health the Chinese Way: An Essential Guide to Easing Pain, Reducing Stress, Treating Illness, and Restoring the Body through. DaCapo Lifelong Books, 2009.

YouTube videos:

"What is Dampness? The Chinese Medicine Podcast with Marie Hopkinson," YouTube, uploaded by Chinese Medicine Podcast, 9 Jan. 2019, https://youtu.be/4u3N-N4kDMg?si=yBSL3E07DjuqJiRr.

"Why eat mostly cooked foods? The Chinese Medicine Podcast with Marie Hopkinson," YouTube, uploaded by Chinese Medicine Podcast, 13 Jul. 2071, https://youtu.be/hXprIWs1xeg?si=pX6v3nHphcfv4UJ2.

[a-ie]

A "The Promised Neverland" Fanfiction

'Afterlife'

Chapter 2: Survival Plan

I turned to Isabella while hugging the cat doll close to me. She gave me a gentle smile, and I sniffed, feeling the tears coming again, but I held it in this time.

"Does it still hurt, dear?" She asked, and I nodded slightly. "Mhm, it still hurts, Mama." I sniffed.

"Mama is going to take the pain away now, okay?" She said, getting ready to give me medicine and change the bandages.

"Okay, Mama," I said, and I stayed still as she changed the bandages around my head and gave me medicine to drink. It was liquid.

In an act to look disgusted, I looked up to Isabella and made a face that said, 'I don't want to drink it.' Isabella smiled. "Come on, Nion, open up."

I acted hesitant and closed my eyes tight while opening my mouth to drink it. 'Urgh. It doesn't taste great; I wonder if it's because of the taste buds of this body.' I made a disgusted face after drinking it and gulped down the water Isabella offered to me in a hurry.

She laughed and put away the medicine and spoon. "Feeling better?" She asked while tucking me in my bed. I relaxed and nodded.

"Yes, Mama. Thank you." I said, feeling a bit drowsy. 'Huh. Is the medicine taking effect this fast?'

Suddenly, Isabella's gaze changed, making me keep my guard up while also maintaining a sleepy face.

"Nion," she called, her voice stern but gentle, like the tone she used with Emma a minute ago.

"Yes, Mama?" I said as I yawned to make my act more believable while anticipating her next words.

"What were you doing beyond the fence?"

I widened my eyes in surprise and cursed mentally, 'I did not expect her to ask me so soon.' As I panicked in my mind, I forgot to control my facial expression and saw Isabella's eyes narrow.

My eyes started watering, and I carefully said, "I-I did?" I started crying again. "I'm sorry, Mama! I-I won't do it again!" I cried, bringing my hands to my eyes.

I can feel Mama's confusion from here. "You don't remember what happened before and during your fall?" I shook my head and kept on crying. "I'm sorry, Mama," I repeated.

I heard her sigh, in relief or annoyance—I don't know—then she grabbed my hands away from my face and wiped my tears.

"Shh, it's okay, Nion; Mama's not going to scold you." I calmed down and sniffed. "You shouldn't go near or beyond the fence again, you hear me? See how dangerous it was for you to get hurt." I nodded and quietly said, "Yes, Mama, I promise I won't." She bought it. After all, how could a 4-year-old lie like that?

Isabella hugged me and tucked me in my bed once again, and she waited for me to fall asleep before leaving the room.

'Good, now Isabella thinks I don't remember anything about the fence. Amnesia is after all common when a child hits their head this hard.

I frowned while looking at the dimly lit ceiling, the room's only light source being a candle.

'That must've been the cause for me to remember my memories, though.' I nodded in satisfaction at my conclusion.

'Now that that problem is out of the way, how should I act now? I, of course, should act like a 4-year-old kid, but I remember that I only do that in front of Mama.'

I recall back on the days I haven't had the memories of my past life yet again.

'I think I acted like a mature, quiet, and gentle child in front of the others, always so feminine, always smiling softly and soft-spoken like... those typical Japanese women of the ancient time?'I grinned slightly.

'Perfect; I don't have to waste energy too much. Next, how do I deal with this world? From what I know, this orphanage is actually a farm that raises children as cattle and feeds them to demons.' I sigh with the limited information I had.

'I watched the first episode but stopped because of work. Aside from the information I know from there, I know nothing.'

I made a mental note.

Number one: gather information about this world.

'To do that, I should probably go to the library.' I stopped my train of thought and facepalmed.

'That would make me suspicious. In my memories, I haven't had a full score in any of the tests I took because I don't go to the library despite always being inside the house. I always have a rather average score, to be honest.' I shook my head.

'No, this could be an advantage; standing out is no good most of the time, after all. But how do I access the library..?' I stopped and yawned.

'This body is tired; I should sleep and leave more thinking for tomorrow...' and with that thought, I slept.

♟️♟️♟️

I woke up to all the commotion happening in the infirmary. I looked at the girl on my bed in front of me with a sleepy and confused look. I sat up and rubbed my eye with my hand, keeping my eyes close.

"Good morning, everyone," I say softly, and I look at them again, beaming at me--well, Emma and Norman were beaming at me.

"Good morning, Nion!" Emma and Norman said with a smile.

"Morning," Ray said with a wave.

I blinked and tilted my head slightly. Just then, Isabella opened the door and brought me food—porridge, in fact.

I smiled softly at her. "Good morning, Mama," I said with a gentle tone. "Good morning, Nion." She smiled and sat beside me.

"Here's breakfast-" Emma cut off Mama as she burst, "I want to feed Nion!" Me and Isabella turned to Emma with a surprised look on our faces.

'That honestly did surprise me. Am I close with these three in the first place? ' As I thought about it, 'No, I wasn't.'

My train of thought was cut off when Isabella forbade Emma to do so. "No, Emma. What will you do if you make a mess?"

Emma shook her head. "I won't! I promise I won't!" No matter how many times Isabella told Emma no, she insisted stubbornly.

Isabella sighed and smiled. "Okay, but just this one time," she said while she handed Emma the spoon full of porridge.

Emma had sparkles all over her and rushed to my side, grabbed the spoon carefully, and turned to me. "Here, Nion! Open wide!" I blushed with embarrassment.

'Ugh, being treated like a child like this... I know I'm a child right now, but still... This is so embarrassing.'

I glanced at Norman and Ray, both hiding their laughter, and looked away, smiling or smirking when they saw me looking. I glanced back at Emma's expectant eyes.

I opened my mouth and almost choked when Emma put the spoon in my mouth; not only that, she forgot to blow on it. I chewed lightly with a bit of tears in my eyes and smiled at Emma softly while still blushing with embarrassment despite the burning sensation on my tongue. "Thank you, Emma; it was delicious."

"Hehe!" Chuckled Emma while rubbing her head, embarrassed.

Isabella took the spoon from Emma and began feeding me while the three children played on one of the beds across mine. When she was done, she helped me drink a glass of water and the liquid medicine, with which I made a face again.

She stood up. "Alright, I'll clean these up. You three can spend some time here, but only for a little while, okay?" The children nodded, and two of them smiled. "Okay, Mom!" Emma yelled.

When Isabella left, the three approached me. I got nervous because they were looking at me and then at each other. The silence continued on like that. When I couldn't take it anymore, I opened my mouth to ask what was up, but Ray beat me to it, not before rolling his eyes.

"Come on, Emma, just ask her." Emma gasped and turned to Ray while whispering, "What if she refuses?" despite the fact that I could still hear her.

I smiled gently. 'Oh, she wants to ask me to be their friend, huh? I wonder why they hadn't yet asked in the first place. As far as I know, I was one of the kids their age.'

I waited as Emma and Ray bantered back and forth until Norman decided to speak.

"Nion, we wanted to ask you if you want to be our friend." Norman smiled at seeing my shocked face. This made Emma and Ray stop their argument and turn to me with expectant eyes, which Emma did.

"Nuh-uh, don't count me in; you two wanted to be friends with her." Ray crossed his arms, and I looked down with my hands fiddling with each other as an act of sadness.

I can hear Emma and Norman panicking and scolding Ray, but I'm in deep thought.

'This could be good; they are after all the protagonists of this world, and I could gather information from them about this world too.'

Something was bothering me, though. 'Why hadn't they made friends with me earlier? Why now? '

"-the point is, I do want to be friends with you too, okay?!" Ray yelled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. I looked up in surprise and beamed at them with a soft, close-eyed smile.

"I would love to be your friend! Emma, Ray, Norman." I clapped lightly.

The trio looked at me in awe, with a slight blush on their faces, and smiled at me.

'Should I question them about it? Or should I ask when we're older?' I thought to myself while smiling gently at them.

_________________________________________

Mental Note:

1. Gather information about this world.

- The Library

- The Trio

_________________________________________

Author's note: Hey guys! Comment if there is something you want me to improve on (of course, be kind about it). I'm always open to criticism that can help me improve my work and such. Thank you!

Disclaimer! The image is not mine; I made some edits, but I got it from Pinterest. ^^

[aliencatwafers]

Okay Cat

Your Fawful and my Fawful in a room together, what's happenin'

Good question! Let’s see, it would be pretty chaotic. They would get along in their evil genuisness and discuss evil plans back and forth. They would also rage together at the sight of the Mario Bros and discuss ways to harm them. It would take up much of the night.

If there’s a kitchen, that’s when arguments happen. Our Fawfuls would fight for dominance over the kitchen. They also have different ways to cook meals due to their different circumstances which influences which foods they have on hand. Their taste buds are different too. What unites them is their love of mustard.

My Fawful becomes curious when your Fawful mentions Naspi. He demands to know who this Naspi character is and feels a little sad when your Fawful shows mine a picture of Naspi. That would be because my Fawful would wish for peace and someone to spend time with (depending on what happens in the story; if it’s after SSI, Fawful will be missing a couple of his allies). Your Fawful would probably question my Fawful’s relationship to Cackletta and feel envy/pity. Since your Fawful was horribly mistreated by Cackletta, he misses her yet hates her for being homophobia, transphobic, grooming him into her path, and overall being horrible. My Fawful’s feelings on his Cackletta are complicated since he’s glad to have all this freedom, but misses the security and power he felt with her (since she did save him from death). It would be a long conversation where our two Fawful’s consider the two Cackletta’s as different people. There’s that underlying sense of fear and regret, but it’s in different directions. Your Fawful regrets being limited by your Cackletta while my Fawful regrets not getting closure from his Cackletta.

The moment a Shroob walks into the room, shit breaks loose. My Fawful is clinging tightly to your Fawful and cursing under his breath. Your Fawful is like begging my Fawful to calm down and see that maybe this Shroob is safe. My Fawful refuses to believe him and trains his eyes on the other Shroob.

Your Fawful would tell my Fawful all about plants and hair styling tips as my Fawful tells yours about mushrooms.

They’d fight a few fights but eventually get along and become best friends.

[luninosity]

What is your secrets to have/had cats that live a long healthy life? Like foods, environment, etc. Did they all spayed/neutered, had their vaccines, annual health exams for seniors? I have 14 yo cat and i want her to be with me as long and as healthy as possible. Thank you

That's pretty much what it is, yep! :-)

Our kitties (ours now, and my parents' cats that I grew up with) have always been indoor cats (sometimes, under supervision, they can go in the backyard - fenced-in-yard - on a leash and harness; one of my parents' cats will ride in a stroller when they go for long walks, but the others get too stressed!). They're all spayed or neutered, they have all their shots, they get annual vet visits (more often if there's something that looks worrying, like when we thought Merlyn was losing weight, and she was!) and kitten or senior care (food, meds) as needed.

We try to do a lot of playtime (it naturally slows down as they age, but we want to keep them active) and keep them engaged - Merlyn likes to run and chase, so we have a lot of strings, feathers on sticks, wiggly things she can hunt! Sir Percival liked more pounce-and-kick-and-eviscerate play. :-)

We have a lot of treats, especially as they get older - especially Merlyn, right now, as she puts back on some weight! She's also very picky about variety of flavors (and senior cats need stronger flavors, as their taste buds dull a little) - she likes most things, but she gets bored, so we have to switch flavors of food! She gets wet food because it's better hydration, which is important as they get older - she has a little bowl of dry food too, but she doesn't actually like dry food all that much, so she'll really only eat it if we've both been gone most of the day and she's hungry!

I know we're lucky in that we have enough income that, when the vet says, "she needs this medication," we can say, "okay, let's do that" - not everyone can! (And honestly there's probably an upper limit, we're not, like, rich...but...we would do everything we reasonably could, and we would adjust a people-food budget to save money if we had to.) (As a pre-teen, like eleven or so, I once sat right there and watched my dad spend over $5k in one night, at one vet emergency care hospital, trying to save one of their rescues who had an out-of-the-blue, completely unpredictable, heart attack at four years old. He told them to try everything and not worry about the cost. And then he worked three overtime shifts later at his job. Which tells you a lot about my parents and their attitude toward their cats...)

I suspect we're also lucky that we both have some applicable skills - Awesome Husband is a doctor's kid and knows a lot about various medications and isn't afraid to get messy (say, if something causes diarrhea), and my mom worked as a vet tech for a few years - some of their rescue cats have been little enough that she's bottle-fed them, raised them, all of that. And I used to be a lifeguard (with applicable first-aid, including animal CPR, training and such) and I'm not at all bothered by needles - so between us we were fine doing things like giving Percy fluid injections at home, when his kidneys got so bad.

So I guess that last piece of advice is...if that's something that might come up, with an elderly kitty, maybe practice things like injections in case you need to?

But it sounds like you are an awesome Cat Parent already, given the question! <3 And Miss Merlyn says hi to your kitty, too!