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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 14 days ago

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The Gray Woman 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Just the wine, thanks,” you tap your card on the edge of the lane counter mindlessly. The cashier rings through your single bottle and sends it down the next conveyor. You tap and the machine chirps. “Have a good day.”

You take your receipt as the woman on the other side of the counter greets her next customer. You do your best to make yourself as little as a nuisance as you can when you switch roles. It saves everyone a whole lot of trouble.

You go to grab your wine but it’s plucked up beyond your grasp. You keep your arm outstretched before you recoil it, staring at the stranger as he reads the label. You swallow and take a breath. You don’t have a window between you or a security button on a desk. It’s different when you’re out in the world. More dangerous, less orderly.

“Excuse me, may I have my wine?” You ask flatly.

The man clucks and tilts his head to look at you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and smirks, turning to face you completely. He keeps the wine in his hand. His bristly mustache slants in amusement.

“Let’s try again. ‘Mr. Hansen, may I have my wine?’” He outlines the words with a flutter of fingers.

You squint and shake your head. “Do I know you?”

His lips part as he stammers, “uh, yeah? You—from the bank—Jesus. Doesn’t matter.”

You nod warily and reach for the bottle. You wrap your hand around the narrow neck but he refuses to let go. Instead, he steps back, drawing you with him as the next customer comes down the lane. You cling to your middle shelf purchase.

“I know you fucking remember me. You’re just trying to piss me off because Ronnie isn’t here to lay down the law. Trust me, I can do it myself, sweat pea.”

He glares down at you. He sure has a lot of anger. You’re not entirely sure what you did to him. Working with peoples’ money is not easy, for either party. It’s such a sensitive subject as it is. Still, you don’t remember doing anything so egregious as to earn the spite creasing between his brows.

“Alright,” you pull on the bottle again. “I just... I can’t remember. Honest.”

He grips the bottle even tight. His large hand easily clings to the full belly. You sigh and let go.

“Fine, it’s cheap wine anyway,” you shrug. You’re growing uneasy with this man. Not only is he aggressive but he’s much bigger than you.

You let go and spin, striding away as you shake of your disappointment and the trickle of nerves. As the automatic door slides open at your approach, you hear a pursuit. You’re not sure if it’s him but you refuse to look back. You only speed up.

“Hey, I don’t want your fucking wine,” he catches up to you as you come outside.

You don’t stop. You step off the curb and keep your head straight. You deal with the erratic passengers on the subway, you can handle some stuck-up jerk made about a bank fee.

“Would you stop? Hey, I’m trying to have a conversation here,” he huffs. You keep going. “Hey!” He grabs your arm and reels you back to face him, standing just behind a parked car. “Do I need to show my ID to have a fucking chat?”

You blink at him and scour your mind. Mustache, demanding, intolerable. You think you remember now. He’s the one who refuse to show his ID. You glance back at the grocery marquee and your lips thin. As a black card holder, you don’t expect him to be shopping at a bargain grocery.

“Can I help you?” You face him.

His cheek twitches, “relax, darling, we’re not at the fucking bank.”

You consider him, eyes darting as you search for some sense in all of this, “uh huh. So...”

“Do you just not turn it off or are you really a bitch?” He sneers.

You shrug, “guess I'm a bitch.”

You look at his hand on your arm and yank away. You once more turn to strut off and he snorts. Once more, he has your wrist but you try to ignore him. Try to snatch it free as you refuse to turn back. He’s too strong.

For as long as you’ve had the canister in your purse, you don’t relish using it. You wonder if it’s expired. You reach into your open purse, dangling by your hip and turn. Before can speak, you raise the nozzle at him and press down. The coyote spray scours his eyes and he recoils.

The bottle of wine smashes at his feet and the staggers, stomping as he wipes his eyes desperately. He whines and wheezes, coughing through the cloud of spray. You back up to keep free of it. You allow a single second to mourn the pinot then scurry away. His anguished moans fade away as you dip around another car.

You head down to the subway and wait on the ramp, looking back and forth over your shoulders. You’re certain he didn’t follow you, that he couldn’t see enough to do so, but still, you’re addled. The city isn’t the place to take chances.

All you wanted was a drink or too. You planned on nursing that bottle over a few nights. The bank’s been so hectic, just the thought of getting up to go back has been keeping you awake. Well, a few chapters of your latest read will put you to sleep.

You board and find a seat near the doors. You make yourself as small as you can as you hug your purse. You’re agitated. You can smell the spray on your fingers. What an asshole. He didn’t just waste your wine, he ruined your night.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #the gray man #the gray woman #drabble

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unholyhelbig · 1 year ago

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How about a bartender!Kate in which Kate is a new employee of the bar that reader frequents on bad days and Kate is one of the first people not to sympathize with her and just full of banter. I just think a cocky bartender Kate would be … neat

[This is 18+, if you are a minor DO NOT INTERACT]

Title: Two Fingers of Whiskey

Ship: Female!Reader x Bartender!Kate Bishop

Warnings: Top!Kate, Bottom!reader, Dom!Kate, Sub!reader, light dom/sub, finger sucking, Fingering (r receiving), Hate fuck (?) yeah, this is a hate fuck.

[A/n: Go easy on me, I haven't written smut since my Pitch Perfect days & I've been under quarantine for the last five days, I've got brain rot & did not proofread.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Kate began to expect your visits. Her eyes would drift to the novelty Miller High Life clock that was hanging on the wall. Six pm. Twice a week you’d wander into the bar and let out the haze of smoke and Dior Fahrenheit. Your eyes would search for hers with the same amount of ferocity, and Kate would try to swallow back the pride that was resulted by your hatred.

It started out as hatred, anyway.

Kate Bishop had made it a point to listen to people and their problems. Being a bartender at a seedy basement establishment was more than mixing drinks and cracking open frothy beers. She’d been told her first week that she was a half-bit therapist, and had laughed it off until she was listening to stories of corporate drabble, sudden deaths, and quiet loveless frustrations.

It had been two years since she started the nightshift at Copper’s, and she could spot the sadness from miles away. She could spot that frustration too. Kate became admittedly bored with the way her life had fallen into routine, so when a certain energy presented itself, she pushed.

Kate loved to push with you.

You’d looked tentative when you’d first entered Copper’s, your gaze moving across the dark green paint, the booths that were sticky. Your nice shoes had crunched over broken peanut shells and a certain film covered the walls, the stained-glass lamps over each table. Your hand tightened on your bag, and that gave Kate a sick sort of satisfaction. You took note of her nametag, not customed, a small label being printed and taped over an existing name.

She admired the way you carried yourself with such assuredness after allowing for one moment of doubt. Instead of turning around and going back out onto the busy city streets, you took the two steps down and carefully sat yourself at the far end of the bar.

“We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

“Boston Lager?”

You’d lifted a perfect eyebrow and Kate nodded stuffing the rag she’d been using into her back pocket before reaching into the cooler and pulling out the dark amber bottle. She used the edge of the counter to pop the cap off, not caring where it landed. Foam dripped across her fingertips, and she forbade a coaster when she set it down in front of you.

Two sips before you spoke. The first was tentative, and the second was assured. Kate watched carefully as your throat worked at the drink. She frowned in the dark light, trying to rush away any inappropriate thoughts of her lips against an expanse of skin.

“I’m not pretentious.” You said, setting the bottle down.

Kate hummed. It was a non-committal noise. She picked up one of the glasses, still warm from going through the dishwasher, and went on wiping the detergent spots from the clear surface. Though, she saw you frown out of the corner of her eye and bit back her reaction.

“Seriously. You offered me wine.”

“You don’t like wine?”

“No. I like wine; I just don’t like when strangers presume that I like wine.”

Kate couldn’t help but smile at this. She replaced a glass and grabbed another one. The frustration on your face was admirable, and you seemed to balk at Kate’s direct attention. You fidgeted and began to peel the edges of the dark blue label on your drink, only where the condensation had allowed easy removal.

“We have house white, darling.”

“White Horse, then. Straight.”

Kate scoffed and set her second glass down. If she had been worried, truly worried, that you were going to do something stupid she would give you a few more watered down beers and send you on your way. But she liked the way you wanted to spite her. It made her fingers twitch. She pulled the bottle from the second shelf and counted two fingers of whiskey.

You took it back in one gulp, breathing through your nose before taking a tiny sip of your beer to quell the burn. Kate was infatuated with the way you sat straighter, the way you flashed her a small cocky smile. I can take the hard stuff.

“Rough day, then?” Kate sighed and filled your glass again, calling your bluff.

She leaned against the counter and watched you watching her. It gave her a sick pleasure, nudging you like this. She wouldn’t’ go far, really, she just needed to have some break in her normal routine, and you seemed like you needed a few things to forget yourself.

“The roughest.” You leveled her with an apprehensive stare. “You care?”

“Not particularly. But I’ll listen.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m an ear.” Kate made a sweeping motion with her hand “be my guest, sweetheart. You can vent to anyone in here.”

It was just the two of them. Sure, in about an hour, her usual crowd would rear its head. There were only three others that frequented, and they lingered by the one pool table and ordered two pitchers of the cheapest beer. They left Kate alone and she left them alone.

You contemplated her offer for a brief moment, letting out a labored breath as if Kate was burdening you instead of offering relief. “I have a shitty client. Very demanding.”

“What do you do?” Kate tried.

“I’m an archivist for the city of New York. Cold Cases mainly. There are hundreds of thousands of physical case boxes that reside in basements and closets just waiting to be digitally entered.” You threw back your drink and tapped the side of the glass. Kate took the hint and poured until the buttery liquid coated the bottom.

Kate had to admit; that was quite the job. It sounded like a lot of sadness, however, that wasn’t what you carried on your shoulders tonight. Annoyance was the overarching emotion that was expressed on your delicate features.

So, the bartender did what she did best, she didn’t’ ask about what was in the boxes. She wasn’t privy to know. She wanted to know what about the boxes bothered you to the point of drinking close to a handle of liquor in a seedy bar.

You answered before she could ask “corporate bullshit. They want us to enter all of these cases for the pure purpose of shelving them electronically. I mean, we don’t even have a cold case unit anymore. But some of these… you can tell the leg work wasn’t done. The boyfriend did it. The jealous co-worker, it’s all written so plainly that I stupid archivist that should be working at a museum can see it!”

“Wow.” Kate said.

“Wow?”

She hummed again, this time after you swallowed your drink, she took the glass and threw it into the plastic tub. It made an empty hollow sound. Kate grinned at you in this infuriating type of way that made you want to kiss her or slap her. Either way, you shifted uncomfortably.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart? That’s a shit situation, yeah. But there are shittier ones.”

“You are such an ass.” You repeated your earlier sentiment. She smiled brighter.

“That’ll be $15.00 even.”

Despite her difficulty, you dug through your bag until you threw a twenty on the counter and mumbled that she keep the change. Kate watched as you left that day and the smile never left her face. She liked you, she thought. And more than anything, she knew that you would be back. There was something about Kate’s lack of caring that got to people. There was no sympathy, only agreement.

Two days later you were back inside the grimy interior of Copper’s. It took Kate a second to recognize you. Instead of nicely pressed clothing, you were in a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that had the band ‘Rush’ scrawled across your chest. Kate didn’t’ let her stare linger. You sat in the same stool, and Kate felt your eyes rake her up and down.

“Have you lodged a formal complaint against me?” Kate asked.

“No.”

“Good. Then what can I get for you, darling?”

You ordered the same Boston Loger as before and Kate complied, not even offering the cheap box-wine they served in a chilled glass just to make it taste a little more worth-it. Strands of hair fell into your eyes and Kate clenched the dishtowel in her hands a little harder to keep herself from reaching forward and brushing them from your stare.

Kate couldn’t hold her tongue, and that annoyed her. The first time she saw you, it was so easy to grate on your nerves. This time, you looked slightly broken, and even Kate had her limits when it came to bothering the patrons.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“Do you care what’s wrong?”

“If I’m honest, not in the slightest. But you seem bothered, and I’m the only one around the listen.”

“How long?”

Kate raised both of her eyebrows and lilted her head to the side like a confused animal. She had both of her palms pushed up against the bar, a tank-top with the logo of the establishment stretched across her chest. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t take a sip of your drink. Kate watched as your fingers delicately circled the opening of the amber bottle. You blinked at her, eyelids heavy.

“Excuse me?”

“How long are you going to be alone here?”

She blinked to make sure she heard you right. She had someone coming in to relive her in about an hour but was more than happy to sit here and talk with you until that time. It seemed like you had other ideas, and part of her was curious about that. It shot straight to her core and warmed her cheeks.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” Kate teased.

“And add to all those boxes I have to archive? Please.”

Kate cleared her throat and started to work at the back of the apron at her waist. It seemed frantic and you finally lifted your drink, downing it in a few gulps. You needed to let off some steam, it seemed, and Kate was more than happy to provide. After-all, she was a bartender and her job was to listen- to provide. Kate rationalized all of this before she had her apron off.

“Would you look at the time?” you stood, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a ten. “I’m running late. Keep the change, darling.”

Kate paced back and forth along the length of the bar, muttering things to herself. She deserved that, really- she did, but it had been three whole days and she was still sufficiently pissed off that you had thrown her attitude right back at her. That wasn’t allowed.

No one had ever done that to her before and you’d made her stomach roll with attraction and even anticipation with just a few simple words and insinuations. Sure, you tipped well, and you drank and then left, but she didn’t actually want to admit that she was having fun talking to you.

And more than anything, she didn’t want to admit that she was flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall, getting only a slight bit of relief when it passed your usual time. Today, however, you did show up.

Kate could feel the tension in her jaw as she watched you walk through the doors. The scent had become familiar to you, something she could tell by the way you breathed in deeply, grounding yourself.

You wore tighter clothes, and Kate struggled not to rake her eyes up and down your figure, the way the fabric hugged every inch of you. The sweatpants and t-shirt were gone, instead you had on a dress with a long slit running up the side, exposing tanned skin. She focused on the way you walked, the way you leaned forward on the bar, pressing your cleavage forward.

“This isn’t going to work twice.” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She was admittedly sore over your teasing, despite how well-earned it was. And that tight dress did look stunning on you. Even the low smoggy haze of Coppers she shivered at the thought of tearing it off of you, of moving the zipper down the small of your back and kissing up your spine.

You cleared your throat. “I actually came here to apologize.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes,” You said through gritted teeth as if it physically pained you to say the words. “You were right… the first time we met. My problems seem big, but compared to other things, they’re not detrimental. Even though I was mad, teasing you like that was below me.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure much is below you.”

Kate raked her eyes up and down your body. Your cheeks heated and you let out a groan. Because damn-it, she was so infuriating, and though you’d come back to the bar a second time to drive her crazy, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“I have the keys to the boss’s office.” Kate offered deviously “No windows and a desk.”

Kate watched you swallow hard, contemplating her offer. She twirled the keys around her ring finger expertly and when you finally nodded she felt herself lean against the counter, close enough to where her lips brushed yours, the warmth was all encompassing, electrifying.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. What exactly do you want?”

With hesitation you forced the words through your lips. This was wildly out of character for you, usually prim and proper and not demanding things from a strange bartender with ghostly blue eyes and expert fingers. “I want you to take me into that office and fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Kate smiled, closing the gap between the both of you with a breathless kiss, her tongue invading your mouth. You moaned into the simple gesture before she pulled away. “All you had to do was ask.”

With a chivalrous gesture, Kate took your hand and guided you easily down a large step behind the bar. You’d never seen this side of things, and though you hadn’t expected anything breathtaking, it gave you a better view of the empty establishment.

You didn’t have much time to contemplate as you were guided through a narrow hallway that had an employee schedule posted on the wall, and a few boxes of unopened liquor. There was a citrus scent that invaded your senses and soon you were out of the cold and in a small office that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in months.

The hum of the cooling units was drowned out and a warmth caused bumps to rise against your skin. Kate had you pushed against the door in a matter of seconds, her mouth back on yours, a knee between your legs, shoving them open. Desperately, you tried to grind down, alleviating some of the heat in your core.

Kate’s hand came up to grip your chin, disconnecting her lips from yours “We’re impatient, aren’t we?”

You could only whimper in response, the corner of Kate’s mouth lilted up into a semi smile, too much like a smirk for your liking. The expression did things to you. Here was this cocky bartender that was too content for her own good- yet, in this moment, you would let her have you in any way she wanted.

“I’ll fuck you senseless on the desk, but only if you can be patient. Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

“I… yes.”

“What was that? I thought we talked about you using your words, sweetheart.”

“Can you please fuck me on the desk? I’ll be a good girl.”

That seemed to be enough. Kate slid her hands around to the back of your thighs and lifted you with an unnatural bout of strength, a noise of surprise escaping your lips. You had seen her arms a few days earlier when she was in that tank-top, but she had settled you on the desk effortlessly, standing between your legs.

Kate’s mouth nipped at your jawline, sucking perfect bruised circles against your skin that she soon soothed with her tongue. You didn’t mind her marking you, though you mentally made a note to pick up some concealer on the way home. She made quick work with the zipper at your spine, pulling it down to the warm air. She slid your sleeves down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to her prying eyes.

She took a moment to admire you, giving your hip a small squeeze. You took the hint and lifted off the desk just enough for her to pull the rest of the fabric away. It dropped to the floor. Kate smiled at you, drinking you in. “Wow”

“Wow?”

Kate hummed and returned to working at your chest. This time she went lower, nipping at the sensitive skin around your nipple. You dug your fingers into the fabric of her shirt, letting out a groan of pleasure. Her fingers were testing at the waistline of your underwear, not quite dipping past the elastic.

Kate’s tongue was so warm, so encompassing. You arched your back, not denying her access to any part of you. Her expert hands finally pushed past the barrier of fabric, running up your entrance.

“Oh, shit, darling. You’re so worked up.” Her words vibrated against you, and you struggled not to buck forward, to press into her lingering touch. Kate seemed to sense your frustration. “uh-uh, we’re being patient, remember? If you want release, you’ll have to beg for it.”

Beg? You weren’t the begging type. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the position to do anything but what she demanded. The thought of Kate inside of you, even in the smallest capacity, was driving you insane.

“Kate,” You hummed her name.

A sound got stuck in her throat at the sound of her name pushing through your kiss-bruised lips. She edged the end of the noise, almost phrasing it like a question. She didn’t want to give herself away, how much seeing you like this got her wet.

“Please, I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Before you could get out another word, she pushed a single, teasing finger inside. You fell forward, pressing your nose against the small of her neck with an exasperated breath. Kate painstakingly added another finger, pumping in and out of you with a method to her madness. You bit into her shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to muffle your noises of satisfaction as she swiped her thumb against your clit.

Kate’s other hand returned to your breast, squeezing and toying. It sent pleasure straight to your core, and Kate could feel you begin to tighten around her. She slowed her movements. “Beg,” She commanded.

“I’m going to cum,” you whispered into her shoulder, grasping fruitlessly at the fabric of her shirt, trying to pull her as close to you as possible.

“Are you?” She asked, slowing her pace.

“I… Kate please let me cum, I can’t hold on much longer I-“ another moan escaped you, and it took you a few breathes to compose yourself to some sort of semblance. “please”.

“That’s a good girl,” Kate praised, returning the circular motions to your clit. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all you needed to hear to unwind for her. You clenched around her fingers, chills running from your core to every inch of your exposed body. A guttural noise of pleasure was silenced by Kate’s lips against yours, her throat silencing you as much as she could. Satisfaction rushed through you, aftershocks of her movements twitching through you. Kate withdrew herself from you, a self-assured smile on her lips as she moved them up to her lips and sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact with you.

“I need a drink,” You breathed out, words trembling. Your forehead pressed against hers, still panting, still recovering from her expert touch.

Kate scoffed, shaking her head “We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #hailee steinfeld #Hawkeye #hawkeye fanfiction #Request

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lulublack90 · 5 months ago

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Prompt 7 - Rings

@wolfstarmicrofic August 7, word count 492

Previous part First Jegulus part

Sirius couldn’t stop thinking about his brother after he thought he saw him in the park. It wasn’t exactly helpful as his mind kept drifting from the task at hand and while the café wasn’t nearly as insanely busy as it had been that first week the usual rush hours of breakfast and lunch were more than two people should be able to handle. He was letting Remus down, so he went to work double time and forced all thoughts of Regulus back where they belonged in a little locked box in his subconscious.

He tutted at the pattern someone had made out of coffee rings on his beautiful white table instead of using one of the many coasters. He had to get the big guns out and spray the whole table with a stain remover of his own invention. With a little elbow grease, it was sparkling clean again and ready for the next customer.

“One more hour, my love, and then we can go home,” Remus told him as he wrote the name Alan on a to-go coffee cup and a shorthand that only he knew how to read.

“Shall we snuggle up in bed and shop for a new sofa?” Sirius suggested as he put in the drinks order for one of the sit-down tables and walked into the kitchen to make two cheese toasties and grab a pain au chocolat.

“Sounds like a plan, that is if Potter has vacated the premises,” Remus joked, popping his head around the corner as he grabbed the milk from the fridge.

“He’d better be, or I’ll call mum on him,” Sirius grumbled as he checked the toastiness of the sandwiches.

“Oooo, I love it when you bring Effie into the mix,” Remus cackled like an evil overlord, making Sirius snort loudly.

James was gone when they got home and the flat was spotless. He’d even left dinner and a bottle of wine for them as an apology.

“Should get him to break more things in the future,” Remus mused as he picked up the bottle of wine and read the label. Sirius snickered, Remus didn't have a clue about wines apart from what colour they were. They tucked into their creamy pasta and drank the wine, toasting Jimmy the Dipper for his part in the wonderful dinner and, as they didn’t have a sofa to sit on, went into the bedroom after they'd tidied away their dishes and brought up the local furniture store’s website.

They perused the many options for a while until they found the perfect one. They’d go into the store after they shut tomorrow and give it a test before they purchased it, but Sirius had a good feeling about the overstuffed grey recliner sofa that should fit perfectly where the old one stood. That done he put his laptop away and snuggled into Remus's side glad that they were the only occupants of their kingsize bed.

Next part

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chojrak-making-things · 24 days ago

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Potion Craft. As a kid, I always wanted to play with mortar, cause I saw that in Charmed series, but couldn't find it anywhere to buy back then. When I finally got one after years, it turned out it's not that useful in the kitchen as I thought, but using it and sensation it gives was still fun nonetheless. This game reminded me of that.

At first glance it's a game to relax, but for me at least it was more like strategical game, cause you use resources to create potions and move on alchemy map. Can be percieved as economical too since you run your own shop and bargain with locals a lot, and since prices aren't low, you tear your hair out a lot if potion goes wrong or you've used more resources than you've assumed. Luckily, action is happening in medieval ages in closer unknown place, where they didn't pay taxes yet so that's a big plus, cause running a store doesn't cost a thing. Only ingredients are costly, but you have a lot of herbs, mushrooms, and crystals to choose from, so you don't have to stick to one type of thing.

I liked how this game allows to make your own custom recipes, use whatever ingredients you want, make your own alchemic cookbook, customize almost every aspect of every single potion - from bottle shape, etiquete and label, ending on icons, it's colors and names.

...

Despite rather flat graphics stylized as woodcut, the game was not that light as I expected, at least for laptops. I have suspicion it might be caused by overlaying location in the background, but I'm not making games so I'll snap it here.

There's no much locations, cause you move only between shop, laboratory, cellar, bedroom and garden (in recent update they added a few more, but didn't have time to test it yet). You stay mostly in one building, but it's not that suffucating as it might seem, cause you have a nice view on the valley in the backgroung of bedroom and in garden, and game provide very captivating scoring and leveling system.

There are legendary recipes like philosopher stone and such, which require a lot of leveling and hard work after you close your shop. I like when game at first glance has not much content, but leveling mechanics and scoring make you properly rewarded and reveal the rest of content with good timing.

Even after you reach max level of alchemy and made all legendary recipes, you can improve your alchemy book by making potions more profitable by using less expensive ingredients.

The nice thing is that you can also play with various type of clients. You can deny making potions and shape your clientele. At the begining you start with neutral reputation, and can choose if you stay neutral or make good stuff for people, or choose villain path. At the beginning I maxed good path, but after mannered nobility was asking constantly for anti-wrinkle potions, I started to serve evil customers who liked explosions, fires, robberies and necromancy (necromancy potion is extremely profitable btw, evil side in general).

...

Developers are still working on updates for this game. Recently they added option to make potions on wine base, but I have to check that out yet. They also have a huge discord server where they make announcements about updates, people make challenges with potions, etc.

I only feel disappointed that they didn't add new achievements on steam. Since about a year it's hard to me to find myself goals in games if there's no achievements left, or no achievements at all.

After I'll play update, might write another post with new thoughts. I think I need to start from the beginning to see how much changed.

#non sims #nonsims #potion craft #games #video games #game review

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scratchandplaster · 3 months ago

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Stack The Deck - Saint Elliot

CW: Elliot being an opportunistic little shit, toxic relationships

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Cups piled up on the foldable table next to the couch, a skyline of liquors and spirits next to them. Elliot plucked the tablecloth neatly over the corners. It looked great, though nobody knew for how long. In a few minutes, the first guests were about to arrive and with them the reason for his detour into the unknown.

He had been the first to appear at Sahra's doorstep and offered to help prepare the living room while they caught up. Like her invitation, the reason for his attendance surprised Elliot - in a way that should've worried him more than it did.

"Oh, and I need to give you a fair, I wouldn't call it a warning, but still," Sahra stammered and put a bowl of chips down, "She has her special kind of humor, so just…"

Lie there and take it?

"…don't think that she's serious about it or anything!"

"When that's all it takes for the Philharmonic to treat me to a seat, your friend can tar and feather me all evening. Seriously, if she's into that."

Sahra's proposal had sounded a bit unappetizing to Elliot, at first. Radio-silence had taken over since their graduation, sometimes proximity was the only reason to keep contact, until she made the first step. He was always willing to work hard and climb the ladder, an ethos as thankless as it was childish.

On the contrary, Sahra made the rounds rather frequently.

Naturally, Elliot would rather bite his tongue off than admit the slight twinge of jealousy whenever reading yet another feature article about Sahra's performances. Caught between angry customers whining about gas prices and spreadsheets, maybe this Amber could really be the steppingstone he desperately waited for.

"I can't promise you anything," Sahra turned around, nervously chewing on her lip, "but I'll give you three guesses why I am where I am."

"Because you're qualified, I hope?"

"Of course," Sahra replied bemused, "but sometimes a few links grease the gears."

"Thank you for the opportunity, then."

"Thank Amber, when the time comes." Or her father, financing half of the philharmonic's budget. "I hope you leave a good impression with the board members, our current guy is just… Ugh, don't get me started."

The audition started next month. Sahra was right, it didn't hurt to give it a try.

--------

The night passed by quite differently than expected. Not only were Sahra's friends the kind of personalities Elliot usually avoided like the plague, they also were not ashamed to show this fact off.

As soon as all formalities had been provided, Rhys, a long-term student of mechanical engineering and incredibly proud of it, demanded a round of poker. Real money as wager, that goes without saying.

Elliot considered him to be joking, at first. What pretentious fuck would actually suggest that? His decision to decline made him unpopular quicker than one could say "trust fund baby", a rough start to a night he couldn't wait to be over already.

Sahra, also in no position to finance their games, meanwhile kept herself busy with the drink supply.

"Anyone else?" she asked, empty bottles of wine in her hand with labels Elliot didn't dare try to pronounce.

The reason for his farce, however, kept herself in the center of the group to sprinkle insults like glitter among them. Mostly about Rhys being a sore loser and his girlfriend Liz, a woman as sharp as a marble.

Awkward. If nothing else, Elliot thought, this is awkward.

"I'm out," Amber sighed. Cutting her losses early, she shifted and slipped towards the corner he silently took a seat in. She kept her eyes on the game, but not without pursing her lips at every stupid joke coming from its direction.

"So you're an old school friend, huh?"

The chance he waited for. Elliot cleared his throat and switched over to the offensive: "Yeah, we met in summer music camp."

"Music camp? Wow, that explains why you're such a party animal, huh." She wordlessly mustered Sahra flitting from room to room. "Was she always like that?"

Busy uncorking another bottle for her friends? With every second, the little voice at the back of his mind doubted that they were even that.

"The mom of the group," Amber explained, as if they were all unable to stand and top up their drinks themselves. Nothing too surprising, though, especially when most of them only found an amused grin when hearing about Elliot's days in the office.

"Yeah." He insistently tried to return her attention, "How did you guys meet?"

Amber shrugged. "Here and there. They all came around one day, and we're hanging out ever since."

"That's nice." Ice cubes sloshed against the walls of his cup.

Well surrounded from all sides, Elliot had never felt so alone in his life. Better that nothing, right?

Minutes stretched into hours of draining small-talk, and minute per minute, Elliot's hopes of sneaking into this circle for certain benefits kept on dwindling. Suddenly, a shrill laugh ripped them from their chat. Liz waved her phone from side to side, short flashes of an auditorium clear to everyone around her.

"Oh my god, that's you!" she exclaimed and jumped up and down on the couch, like she just won the lottery. Seconds later, the scattered group gathered around Liz to catch a better view of the video.

This all too familiar scene stirred Elliot awake. Oh, fuck.

Not his recitals. His elementary school had taped one or the other, used in its online promotions in exchange for free lunches. Evelyn had always known how to bargain for her son.

"Wait! That's from years ago, I-"

Behind the screen, the boy gave a little bow, music sheets nearly slipping out of the folder he had tucked under his arm.

"Good evening, my name is Elliot Ribera," he chirped, "Today, I will be performing Cimarosa's Sonata No. 42 in D Minor for you."

Seriously?!

Then, he bowed again, nervously eyeing the audience to his left. Where Mom sat.

Memories came over Elliot in a flood: how nervous he had felt playing in front of maybe thirty people, how the sheets refused to flip, how his legs couldn't even reach the pedals-

"Aww, so cute," Rhys pouted. The clip showed them nothing Elliot had to feel embarrassed about; besides a rough start and a few missed modulations, yet his face still blushed red in humiliation.

"So cute," Amber parroted behind him and tapped the bridge of her nose, "Maybe you want to show us a video of your talents now - if you count snorting lines off Liz' tits as that."

Pixels of Elliot's past self chinked Cimarosa all throughout Sarah's house. Yes, this was awkward and so much more.

Yet, out of nowhere, the tension broke with Rhys' dirty laugh. If anything, these friends', if one could even call them such, had in common was the dislike of one another.

Enough now. Enough underhanded jabs, enough shallow gossip. Elliot was about to excuse himself, because of a headache he thought up, when Amber linked arms and swooped him to the side.

"I have an old box like that at home," she whispered in his ear after the rest got busy with another round of poker. Of course, she does. "How about a private performance?"

--------

Escorting her home was one thing, yet performing by hook and crook to maybe somehow let her connections help him gain an advantage suddenly felt natural to Elliot.

Trying to ignore how massive the house she had led him to was, he quickly spotted the promised piano at the back of the living room. Wiping over the old wood felt so familiar. Why not strum a bit for her?

"Alright, Amber," he smiled and lifted the piano lid, "What would you like to hear?"

The lady of the house faltered, half-up the stairwell to the first floor already, and looked back at him in bewilderment. A long pause stretched out between them, until her face finally twisted into confusion:

"I kinda don't care for the music thing you got going. Sorry, I guess."

Didn't. Care. He should have stayed home today, should have saved himself from this complete disaster.

"Okay…" Perhaps she just needed some idiot to bring her home safely. "Then that's the part where I say goodnight. Anyway, it was such a pleasure meeting you."

"Oh, was it?" she barked, irritated.

At this, Elliot was speechless. The one chance he had tonight never existed to begin with, a big ruse that leeched any kind of patience left in him. And now, this.

Amber leaned on the handrail, focusing on her guest down at her feet: "So, the whole night you suck up to me and when I give you a free pass you'd rather just piss off?"

Free pass? Not this again.

"No. God, no, this is not what I wanted-"

"But you want something. You all do. I don't mind, but��don't you even have the courtesy to fuck me for it? How boring. Looks like we both don't get what we want tonight."

She looked offended, Elliot realized, offended that he didn't use her in a way she liked. To prostitute himself for a better likelihood to perhaps get a part?

Thank you, Sahra, but I waive.

"That's fine by me." Elliot slipped back into his jacket, voice firm: "But to be clear, I'm not-"

Her eyes widened. In the blink of an eye, her face turned pale and Amber collapsed on the stairs.

Elliot jumped forward, barely catching her before hitting her temple on the banister. Shit! Both his arms wrapped around her shoulders, struggling to slowly pull her to the floor and always careful to protect her head.

"Hello?" Elliot laid her down and lifted both her legs up over his shoulder, "HELLO?"

Never meet up with old schoolmates again. Never, never, never!

After a few grueling seconds, Amber's eyes fluttered back open. She coughed, once or twice, and growled weakly: "Not again…"

"Should I call someone?" Elliot's heartbeat danced on his tongue, too scared of letting her go, "Do you need an ambulance?"

"Yes. No. It's just this blood pressure thing I've got." Rolling her eyes, in annoyance not distress, it was her turn to be embarrassed about nothing now.

After making sure her consciousness wouldn't leave him again, he ran across the room and back to her. From off the couch, Elliot had swiped a few pillows and stuffed them under her head and knees. More and more, Amber found her voice despite the scare still shaking her to the core: "Don't you dare take a pic."

He halted, then scoffed. "Why would I? What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Strangely, she just snickered. Chortling at first, until it turned into full-blown giggles, like her request wasn't disturbing enough.

"That's not funny, Amber." Elliot ran a stressed hand through his hair, "Someone needs to have an eye on you."

"Good luck with that. Chase went out, and my parents won't come back until next week."

Great, fucking stellar. He knew what he was about to demand from himself: "I don't want to leave you alone tonight."

"Really now?" Amber squinted over to him and raised one eyebrow. "I'm fine, dude. Probably."

"Not if you might faint again."

Amber didn't mind his objection, suddenly, and gave a short nod. He helped her up onto the couch to settle down beside each other. In the soft light of the chandelier, Amber appeared much smaller. Frightened, maybe.

"The house gets so quiet at night."

Perplexed, Elliot gave her more space to study the carpet fibers intensely. She was a lot gentler when alone and none of her minions swarmed around her. Cute, he might say.

"Is Chase your boyfriend or…"

"Brother," she clarified.

"Got it." Lucky him, nobody would beat him up for coming home with her. That's what he got for messing around, so he might as well make the best out of it.

"You looked disappointed there for a second, Elli!" she cackled. Not nastily, not dismissively. And though Elliot only rolled his eyes at the nickname, he thought that this cheesy side fit her quite well.

It would stay the only jab in the following hours, as minutes turned into hours again, this time drifting past like a dream. Elliot didn't play for her that night, a temporary goodbye at dawn forcing them apart, but promised to meet her again the next weekend. After all, they wanted to make up for the rough evening.

A decision Elliot never not regretted.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

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