#fanfiction recipes

[ralkana]

Dreamling Lemon Lavender Rosemary Biscuits!

These are SO delicious!

So first @softest-punk wrote a fic called Catching Up, where Hob bakes some lemon lavender rosemary biscuits for the New Inn, and newly-returned Dream greatly enjoys them. It was one of the first maybe dozen Dreamling fics I read, around Christmas time, and really helped to set my new obsession!

Then @carnelianmeluha baked the biscuits!

Then @tj-dragonblade wrote a fic called Love, Rain Down on Me for her Umbrella Boys series, where Hob bakes the same biscuits for Dream while they're apart.

And @carnelianmeluha baked the biscuits again!

And so, I was inspired. I used a slightly different recipe than @carnelianmeluha's because they are a surprise for @ladytian, my bestie and partner in crime, who dragged me into Dreamling with her enthusiasm, and she loves shortbread. The recipe I used didn't have lemon, so I added some lemon zest and lemon juice. More zest next time, I think, because I will definitely be making these again. They're so yummy!

Here's a few more process pics and pics of the finished goods!

[abluescarfonwaston]

Trekkies do I have the cookbook for you

I cannot stress enough how cute this book is. Not ideal if you like pictures of your food but fantastic if you love little recipe stories like one about a meal Neelix made for Seven after she'd joined the crew.

Find it at a library near you. Really. It's adorable.

[cressidagrey]

Recipe for Love - Honey Cakes

Summary:

The Beehive Bakery is out of Peach Cobbler. This leads Azriel to make some very impulsive decisions. 

Warnings:

Definetely NSFW. Maybe don't make life-altering decisions about a lack of Peach Cobbler?

A/N:

thanks to @k-godling for listening to me rambling on about this and finding the perfect name for that Bakery! This will eventually be a series consisting out of One-Shots, so if you have an idea, shoot it my way! (Also, if anybody actually tries out that recipe, let me know lol)

Twice-Baked Honeycakes Ingredients:  1 ¾ cup flour 1 ½ tablespoon baking powder ½ tsp salt ½ cup unsalted butter, room temperature 3 tablespoon butter for greasing muffin pan zest 1 lemon ¼ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg ¾ cup milk 2 eggs

¾ cup honey 1/4 cup honey for drizzling on top 1 teaspoon vanilla Directions:  Grease the inside of muffin wells. Set Aside. Whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, nutmeg and lemon zest. Knead butter into flour mixture until crumbly. Set Aside. Whisk together milk, eggs, honey, and vanilla. Pour wet into dry ingredients and combine until just combined. Pour batter into Muffin wells. Bake in Hot Oven for 16 minutes or until mostly done but not quite golden enough. Remove from Muffin Wells and place on a baking sheet. Warm the remaining ¼ cup of honey. Brush the tops of the cakes with the honey. Allow to sit for 5 minutes. Bake for an additional 8-10 minutes, or until the cakes are golden brown.

Habits were what got people killed. 

Azriel knew that. 

Getting slow, getting complacent…it was dangerous. 

He couldn’t help himself though. 

Or maybe it was that he thought that if this one thing would kill him…the one thing he did that sparked joy somewhere deep in his chest, that made everything feel not so bad…then it was worth it. 

If Azriel were actually smart, he would have gone straight to the House of Wind that particular day and not even bothered to visit that Bakery. 

Quite frankly, he would thank the mother on his knees for that bit of idiocy for the rest of his life. 

Azriel should have gone home. He was dead on his feet and hadn’t eaten properly in 3 days after the mission in Spring had dragged on and on and on…and now Azriel only wanted food and then his bed and then some sleep…

He had already forced himself to turn in a report to Rhys so that maybe he could actually sleep in the next day…he just hoped that Cassian and Nesta wouldn’t find the energy for one of their early morning trysts. 

But before bed…before sleep…he had promised himself another slice of that peach cobbler days ago. Just one. 

So when he sludged into the bakery…he realised with a grimace that it was late enough in the evening that it would already be closing soon. His hope that there still would be some peach cobbler was left diminished.  

Just one single slice…please. 

Just…

The moment the door closed behind him with a little jingle, there was a soft voice. 

“We’re out.” 

Azriel had grown used to it…to the near bell-like quality of it, all of it belonging to B, that blonde female he had seen the first time. He had gotten used to her , though he had always been served by one of the other people working there, by chance and circumstances. They had never even exchanged a single word. 

But he had liked to watch her…Watch her happiness as she flitted around her bakery. He had figured out that she was the owner quite quickly. 

She was always so…sweet. Sweet to her customers, sweet to her employees…She handed out these little smiles of hers generously and flirted up a storm with seemingly anybody who was willing to stand still long enough. 

She was sunshine personified. 

“What?” Azriel asked dumbly, staring at her, rooted in the spot as B continued counting money at the till, quickly putting coins into tidy little stacks. Seemed like the Bakery was running very well indeed.   

“We’re out of Peach Cobbler,“ she clarified, her voice lilting. “That’s what you always order, isn’t it? Sorry, Peaches.” 

Did she just call him Peaches ?

Did she just call the Spymaster of the Night Court, the horror of Prythian, an Illyrian warrior that was literally nearly twice her size Peaches ?!

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea what to say to that. 

B looked up, giving him a smile that lit up her whole face as their eyes met across the room. “So what can I get you in…?” The words stuck in her throat. 

Sparkling blue eyes stared up at him. And he could just stare right back because at that very moment… everythingchanged. 

He had never felt anything like this before. 

Had never felt the warmth that burrowed deep into his chest…that sudden unfurling of a golden ribbon…the feeling of being tied to another person so utterly, so thoroughly, so completely. 

It was…

Oh . 

She blinked. Full lips pulling into a smile, that button nose wrinkling. “At least that explains why you come here every week. My peach cobbler is magnificent but clearly not the only reason,” she told him with a saucy little wink and he wanted to laugh, half hysterical. 

Brazen. 

His mate was utterly brazen. 

Something inside him eased.

“It’s quite confident that you think I only came for you,” he said hoarsely and she grinned at him. 

“Well…” she trailed off… ”I think my confidence is inspired,” she teased him, still grinning, her happiness bleeding all over their bond, all over him, and he nearly staggered with it. 

Worry registered on her face. “Sit down before you fall over,” she said pointedly, as she came from behind the counter. He couldn’t help but drink her in even as he managed to sit down on one of her wrought iron chairs, wrestling his wings behind himself.

His stomach growled. 

The sound was so loud in the quiet cafe that he blushed beet red. 

She only laughed, snagging a plate and piled it high with four little cakes that she brought over, putting it in front of him. 

He swallowed.

“If I eat that…” he said hoarsely as she sat down across from him. 

If he ate that, he would accept the mating bond. He would bind himself to her, forever, irrevocably.

“Oh, I know,” she told him with a grin. Not worried in the slightest. It didn’t even seem to cross her mind. She mustered him, blue eyes so gentle. “I am very much aware,” she promised him. “And you are looking at me like you expect me to turn you down, Peaches.”

He was expecting her to turn him down. He was expecting her to take one look at him and the shadows that slithered behind him, currently happily hissing to themselves, Finally, Master! …and to turn around and run . 

“I won’t,” she said with a shrug like it was the easiest promise she had ever given.  “You are my mate. I will never turn you down.” There was fierceness bleeding into her voice at that. “Whatever happens, you’ll always have me on your side.”

A surprising amount of loyalty, right there for his taking. 

His mate was insane. And quite frankly…he loved it. 

“You don’t even know my name,” he gave back hoarsely. 

“It’s not Peaches?” She faux gasped and he couldn’t help but snort. 

“Azriel. My name is Azriel,” he said quietly.

“Azriel,” she repeated, pushing that plate towards him.“Eat. Unless you don’t want to?” She asked him teasingly.

Azriel did want to. He wanted nothing more than that. 

There had been so much in his life that he had wanted and hadn’t been able to get…but she offered herself to him on a silver platter.

And so he picked up one of these little cakes. 

****

It had taken 150 years for him to show up. 

Bee wasn’t quite sure if she should just be grateful about that, or if she should be pissed off that it took that long. She had been waiting for him. 

Of course, she had. 

For somebody that had her whole life made herself a family out of choice… she had waited for fate to at least bring her a mate. 

And for once…for once she had been right. 

He was right there. Right there in the Beehive. Right there in her home. 

Granted, he stood out like a sore thumb with these beautiful, ferocious wings that stretched over his back…and the violent black leather armour he wore, blue stones gleaming. 

But all of that stood in sharp contrast to the rest of his demeanour, which looked like he was fully expecting her to turn him down. 

Jokes on him, she had no plans to do that. 

He was hers . She would never turn him down. 

Also, he was far too pretty for her to ever even consider it…She had really hit the jackpot with that. 

(And maybe the fact that she had been harbouring a secret crush on peaches for weeks and he was the only reason why the peach cobbler had been a daily staple in the Beehive also had something to do with that…)

“Better?” she asked him curiously as he scarfed down the second cake, stealing one of them for herself. “Honey cakes,” Bee told him brightly. “My sister brought me some lavender honey yesterday so I made them.” Roisin had gotten it from a friend herself, and Bee thought that it was quite a successful pairing. 

Her Honey Cakes had never tasted better. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, and he looked into his eyes to find the pupils blown wide, his want and need sharply grating against that new, golden bond tying them together. 

“Do you proposition every male that walks into your bakery and orders Peach Cobbler?” he asked her, his voice hoarse and she couldn’t help but grin, as she offered him her hand, as she stood. 

He took it, dwarfing hers with his own, violently scarred…but oh so gently. So gently. 

The first touch was like a spark…like a wildfire roared to life in her blood. She couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose over her skin. 

“Only the ones that are as handsome as you,” she quipped back, her voice shaky, as she wrapped her fingers around his. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs,” he agreed and followed behind her as she quickly grabbed the till…remembering that at least. 

Though it was thrown carelessly on the table in her hallway as she turned as soon as she could close the door and lock it behind her. 

He still stood there, staring at her…and she half expected him to pounce…because he looked like a cat like that, watching her every move. 

But he didn’t move. Didn’t move. Didn’t do anything but watch her, his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and flaking with every sharp breath he took. 

Oh well… she could take the lead…She would gladly do that. 

So she stepped closer to him…breathing in his scent…cedars and something she couldn’t quite place…wintry…like a forest in the morning…He smelled so good . 

She wanted to roll around his scent. Bee wanted…

Instead, she reached out with the hand he wasn’t holding, carefully, slowly…lifting it up to his face. 

She touched Azriel’s cheek and he turned into her touch, leaning into it, the tightness in his body relaxing as she cupped his cheek…

And then she stood up on her tiptoes and failed horribly to even reach higher than the middle of his chest, making him laugh, his body shaking with mirth. She growled as she yanked him down and he went willingly, finally letting her crush her lips to his. 

And then…oh. 

It was like coming home. It was like falling asleep and waking up at the same moment…it was like…like everything inside her calmed and burst into flames…

And…by the cauldron, she needed him.

That must be that damn mating frenzy everybody always talked about. 

His tongue hungrily licked into her mouth and she gave as good as she got from him, her hands curling tightly into the leather armour he wore. 

 “I don’t even know your name,” he growled against her mouth and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Beatrice. Everybody calls me Bee. Like the animal, not like the letter,” she answered with a moan, even as she walked backwards, until he had enough and just scooped her up like she weighed nothing…she couldn’t help but squeak, because she may wasn’t particularly tall, but she was rather… substantial and he didn’t even seem to notice her weight. 

Oh well. she wasn’t going to start complaining. 

Not when he managed to find her bedroom on the first try and Bee hit the bed as he followed her down. 

She caught his mouth with hers again, hungrily licking into his mouth, grounding up against him…the bulk of him pressed her down into the bed…muscular and massive. 

There seemed to be nothing soft about his body at all, was there? 

She managed to get a hand on the buckles that kept Azriel’s jacket closed and then pulled back with a regretful because she was quite sure that that was never going to work. 

“Get it off,” she managed to bring out. “Before I try and rip it off.” His eyes darkened at that but he lifted off her and she leaned up on her elbows to watch him…watch him unbutton the jackets and open the buckles so that he could slide it off his body…these beautiful dark wings, unfurling behind him…the swirling tattoos that covered his chest and arms…

Bee had been right. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere, the muscles standing out sharply, speaking of…years of hard work and training. Azriel was gorgeous. 

She was a lucky, lucky girl. 

With maybe just a teeny, tiny bit of self-consciousness because he looked like that and she…didn’t. 

Though the way he was watching her…hazel green eyes dark…desire so plainly on his face…his tongue slipping over his lips…

It made her sit up and open the bow that kept her apron closed…let her shrug it off and throw it to the floor…Something to deal with tomorrow. 

Somehow that pulled him into action…made him lean down so that he could kiss her again, and Bee smiled into that kiss, moaning softly as his tongue plundered her mouth. 

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but somehow she had thought he would be…rougher. 

He wasn’t. If anything, he was endlessly gentle…

Azriel caught her ankle without a word, obligingly unbuckling her shoe and dropping it to the floor. He slid one hand up her leg briefly, all the way to the knee, Bee unable to stop the goosebumps that broke out all over her body, the soft shiver that rocked her. 

“Cold?” he asked her, his voice quiet but she shook her head, even as she offered her other foot, letting him take off the other shoes and toss it over his shoulder,

“You could keep me warm?” she offered breathlessly, making him laugh, the sound warm and rich like molasses, before he crawled to join her on the bed. 

 Her breath hitched as he crawled over her and settled between the spread of her thighs…Kissing her again…She was so busy with curling a hand in his hair that she didn’t even notice him starting to unbutton her dress until he reached her waist and then growled in annoyance. 

This time it was her laughing, struggling to sit up underneath him so that she could shrug out of the rest of her clothing…could pull the dress over her head and slip out of the lacy little unmentionable she wore, because she was quite sure she would rip them apart in her hurry to lose them later anyway…and the way he stared at her body as she bared more and more skin to him…as she shook out her hair so that the blonde curls fell over her shoulders…

One look over her shoulders and he bore down onto her again, catching her mouth with his with a growl and she hitched her leg higher against his thigh. 

“You’re warm,” she whispered quietly. Azriel was all lean muscles and warm skin…and she arched a little underneath him and shivered. 

He shifted just slightly and her breath caught in her throat…even like this she could feel the rock-hard bulge of him pressing against her through his trousers…making her shiver once again. 

She took the weight of him and moaned against his mouth as he dipped his tongue between her lips.

She whimpered and Azriel lifted his head and slipped off of her to lie on his side. Bee turned with him, seeking his mouth and shivering under his hand as he slid it up her side to cup her breast. 

A long drawn-out moan was the result of that, as rough fingers skilfully brushed over one rosy nipple…

His touch was careful and hesitant…and she met his gaze, pressing against these hands… trying to make it so clear to him that she wanted him…she grasped the golden bond flexing inside her and poured all her want and happiness into it.

He had expected that, his body freezing for just a moment as he dropped his head to her shoulder, holding her like she was made out of spun glass, hands desperately clinging onto her skin. 

Another puzzle piece of him…him, that male that had always been silently brooding in that corner and had expected her to turn him down.

She kissed him, softly, coaxing… and he returned that kiss. It was intoxicating, his patience nothing short of shocking. 

 They got a little lost in those kisses. 

Bee was a little overwhelmed when he wrenched his mouth from hers and slid down enough to take one rigid, aching nipple into his mouth. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her, the shudder that wrecked her body…

She shuddered when Azriel pushed one big hand between her legs, fingers trailing over her lower lips before dipping between them. 

She was already embarrassingly wet, the scent of her own arousal in the air hard to ignore. 

Bee gasped into his mouth as he dipped one thick finger into her hole, her body shivering with the stretch of it. Everything was big about him, even his hands. His teeth clenched on her nipple briefly and she arched up against his mouth, her back arching.

Azriel lifted his head and their eyes met as he pressed his finger deeper into her, Green meeting blue. Bee’s breath caught in the back of her throat and she lifted her hips upwards against the pleasure with a happy little shiver. 

“Good?” he asked her, his voice hoarse and she just about managed a shaky nod. 

“Perfect, Peaches,” she promised him with a grin and without fanfare he pushed a second finger inside her, making her gasp. 

His thumb found her clit at that moment, drawing a tight little circle about that attention-seeking nub and she couldn’t help the long-drawn-out moan that escaped her. 

“More,” she requested in a whine and he chuckled as he shifted them around, placing her on his lap, Bee the one on top, rising above him, his hands on his hips. 

She growled when she still felt the trousers he wore, managing to shove them out of her way and then…then swallowed when his cock sprung free. Long and thick and…Gods, everything about him was unreasonably pretty, wasn’t it? 

She wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him in one fell swoop. 

It would probably be a bad idea, just because of the sheer size of him. 

But that didn’t stop her from reaching out for him… wrapping one small hand around the hot length of his cock…she watched his face, watched how Azriel hissed in a breath but didn’t try to stop her and flexed his hips as she rubbed the hear of his cock against her entrances. 

Azriel kept a hold of her hips, a thumb still circling her clit, making her half out of her mind with wanting him. 

He makes her take him slowly instead…tiny gentle thrusts that nonetheless make Bee shudder with pleasure, ragged breath escaping her, a whine leaving her throat, her head thrown back…

When she’s finally fully seated, Azriel’s eyes fall shut for a moment in ecstasy, and Bee braced her hands on his chest and shifts a little, just to see how it feels. Cauldron, she was so fucking full.

He let her take her time, not even trying to control her movements…his hands stayed on her hips, still rubbing her clit…He let her rise up on her knees and sink down again in little restless motions, her breasts bouncing…he caught one of them in his mouth again as he sat up, his abdominal muscles flexing in a truly ridiculous display of strength that maybe made her moan wantonly…

Not that she wasn’t already doing it…they were both panting with it, Bee keening with her moans at how fucking good it is, how big he feels inside her, how perfect…until almost by accident she finds exactly the perfect angle to hit that spot inside her, that one spot that makes her see stars…

And she watched as it registered on Azriel’s face and he grinned, slowly lowering his back onto the mattress… tightened his hold on her hips to hold her in place and started to thrust. 

That was the last straw. 

She could feel the bond rushing between them - a little wild and rich with their feelings. The most beautiful thing…

Each drag of his cock inside her pulled her further and further away from herself and into a place, she’d never been. It was more than sex, more than even love. More than anything she had ever felt…

She couldn’t help but wail as it settled inside her…deeper and more pleasurable than anything she’d ever known.

Bee scrabbled against Azriel’s chest, against the swirling dark marks with uncoordinated hands because she had to do something with them…if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure what would happen, as her whole body shook with the strength of the waves of pleasure that crashed over her at that moment. 

Azriel made a positively feral noise and yanked her down, pressing his face into the crook of her neck…breathing in her scent as he clung to her and spilt inside her, hot and filthy and glorious.

She couldn’t help herself as she collapsed, utterly uncoordinated, across Azriel’s chest. For just a moment, he lay still beneath her, shuddering through the aftershocks, his hands still on her hips…his nose pressed against her neck, breathing her in…

He loosened the hands around her hips…she was pretty sure that he had bruised her but she didn’t care one bit. 

Not one bit as he helped shift her until she laid draped over him…and then he wrapped one arm around her waist and combed the fingers of his other hand through her blonde tresses…again and again…so utterly sweet that she melted into his chest, tucking her face again. 

“Thank the cauldron, I didn’t have any peaches anymore,” she mumbled against his chest. For a moment he was quiet. Then he chuckled, the sound warm and soothing. 

“I think I prefer honey now," he answered and she reached out to poke his chest weakly. 

"If you think that's funny, I'll let you know that any bee-related jokes have ceased to be that around 6 decades ago," she told him drily, getting another chuckle from him. 

[jjungwons]

A RECIPE FOR DISASTER — P.SH

𐔌 SYNOPSIS 𐦯 . . . what happens when you and the guy you’ve rivaled with for all your years of baking classes (with a stupidly gorgeous face) are paired to work together in need to pass the class finals?

PAIRING ⌇baker!sunghoon & baker!reader (fem)

GENRE ⌇college smau , crack/fluff , angst , slightly suggestive

WARNINGS ⌇suggestive jokes , kys/die jokes , lots of swearing , gen z humor (💀) , lots of arguments , partying , small alcohol usage , more tbd ! ^o^

WiNTER’S NOTE ⌇HIHII ! i’m back after my veryyy long hiatus , yes i’m still alive .. i’ve had this smau in my mind ever since the beginning of december so i hope you enjoy it just as much as i will , can’t wait to get back to writing ! if you can , reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated as it’ll help me improve for you all <3 ! ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

STATUS ⌇COMING SOON !

𐔌 PROFILES 𐦯 . . .

queen never cry | gooners

𐔌 CHAPTERS 𐦯 . . .

1 ⌇upsetti spaghetti

TAGLIST ⌇ @hoonsungs @kkamismom12 @hybeboyenthusisast @wonniezzz @en-heedeungie @rkivesfilm @en-gine @tasnemluvs @hoonatic

(comment to get added)

© all blogs made by jjungwons.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING. Its so comforting but also quite accurate to the character’s personality.

I wondered if u could make a part 2 of Drunk, with Adrian and the reader.

Be free with your imagination i am sure it will turn out great!

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hi anon, sorry it took me so long to answer but I had no ideas what to write for this request. 😳

My writing has changed a little since I wrote part 1 of this. Hopefully, it'll be still up to standard.

Days after the incident, Adrian was still haunted by the things he had said and might have said while inebriated. It seemed rather silly, considering you haven't mentioned anything about that night, kind as you were. However, the son of Dracula was shaken after exposing himself to you, in more ways than one.

At the memory of him practically showing his naked chest in your face whilst rambling drunkenly about his loneliness, he could feel his face warming up. He undoubtedly has that unflattering shade of pink on his right now. Adrian lifted his chin from his steepled fingers, pressing his forehead against them instead. Instead of moping behind the wooden table, he should be making dinner as he watched bits of dust dancing in the last rays of evening sun streaming through the Tudor windows.

At this moment, you're probably getting both their beds ready for the night. Pulling back the bedspread and making a fire in the fireplace. You made a habit of slipping a stem of lavender from the garden and putting it under the pillows. He can hear you fussing about it, even though you're one floor higher. The dhampir's senses were finely attuned to your every breath and every movement. It came to the point where it was torturous. He wasn't just trying to dull away the pain of his past, but these pressing feelings as well.

Damn him, again and again, he's becoming attached to people only to be left every time. No doubt you will leave too, once you're able to. He'll be nothing but a fond memory...

"How's the dinner? I hope there'll be someplace left on the stove for teap-"

He's dragged away from his gloomy thoughts by the sudden sound of your voice nearing the door. You stopped mid-sentenced when you saw him sitting at the kitchen table, instead of working at the stove. He felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"Apologies I've seem to be a bit addle-brained today."

Adrian offered an apology as he started pulling the cutlery from its hooks. Hopefully with his back turned and his hands occupied, you won't notice his rather obvious fluster.

"Ah, it's alright," you waved him off in a placating manner as you rounded the table towards him. "Head still spinning from the vine, I see." you teased him as he made a fire in the stove, almost making him set his brows on fire.

As you walked past him, you gently put your hand on his back to make him step away. A whisper of a touch, yet he was tingling all over, his heart beating irregularly.

He clutched the edges of the stove, ignoring the rising heat. It can't go on like this. He has to do something.

You prepared the dinner in relative silence. You chopped mushrooms as he prepared pastry into small pans. Soon, bulky savory tarts were pulled out of the stove. He watched you wolf down four tarts in the row, while his plate was left neglected, safe for the few pokings with the fork.

"Adrian?"

His head snapped to you at the sound of your voice. He noticed you were looking at him in concern.

"What is it? You've been spaced out for days now." It was your turn to study your plate as you mumbled, "Is it...about the kiss?"

He was definitely blushing now. Adrian took a generous gulp of water from his chalice as he contemplated his answer.

"Yes and no."

You looked at him in confusion and he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry...my friend. The thing is..." He caressed the grooves in the ground glass. Would she even understand? What kiss meant to him?

"There have been several attempts in my life. There have been people who stayed in this castle pretending to be my friend and then turning on me as soon as I became vulnerable."

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily, chasing away the tainted memory of their hands coiling around him like vines of a poisonous plant. The pleasure, and the pain. So, so much pain... He opened his eyes and there were your eyes, filled with some much tenderness he had to suppress the urge to look away again.

"But last night, you didn't... and you could, easily so."

"I'd never-"

"I know, I know," he gently cut you off by putting his hand over yours. Your palm was much warmer than his, dainty fingers covered completely by his long ones.

"Believe it or not, but you singlehandedly restored a great deal of my hope in humanity. What once had been destroyed..."

He hasn't allowed his mind to wander to dark places, not this time.

"I don't mean to bring up such depressing subjects. But when one leads a life such as mine, you tend to... figure some things out."

"Things?" You carefully prompted, pity overrun by curiosity at last.

Adrian smiled in a self-deprecating fashion. "Well, for example, I have now discovered that in this entire world, I only have one close friend. You are my only solace, the only person that I can talk to regularly."

There was Trevor and Sypha, of course, but they found solace in one another, something deeper than friendship. Adrian understood now, what those feelings meant. His next words were full of emotion.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if more demons will come and I'll be forced to fight them off. I don't know if the world will end tomorrow... and that used to not bother me. I used to not mind the idea of death. To slip into the quiet sleep..."

He trailed off, and you squeezed his fingers in encouragement. He squeezed yours right back, so you know he's not spiraling again.

"However, whatever courage I have towards that cause always sours at the thought of what comes after. What does come after do you think?"

You looked over his shoulder in contemplation, you traveled places far away from here, no doubt. Thankful you're entertaining his silly musings, Adrian patiently awaits your response.

"I'd like to think it's a place where I meet all my loved ones once more." You gave him a warm smile.

He chuckles at that. "Interesting response."

"What about you? What do you think?"

Adrian shook his head, golden locks tumbling over his shoulders, "As I said, the fear of not knowing that is the only thing that kept me alive for quite some time. But now, now that I've spent some time with you, it allowed me to clear my mind of that sort of dangerous thought. I think I may have an answer, maybe not a very good one but..."

He gingerly trails his hand from yours to the curve of your elbow and you let him. He leans closer, tone bordering on a soft whisper as he looks into your eyes.

"It doesn't matter what comes next, that shouldn't dictate our actions while we are still here. If you want something, chase it." He puts the other hand on your cheek, making his intentions clear with his actions and his words. Carefully, so you can pull away at any time.

Please don't.

"You have allowed me, to come to this mindset," he sighs. "The thought that what I want is worthwhile to pursue. So I will pursue that which I want. I will pursue... you."

It is evident that his words left you speechless. You stare at him with your mouth slightly parted. Adrian lets out a small breathless chuckle.

Is it really that shocking? After our lips have already become acquainted?

"I know...I know that I'm... half human, half vampire, so at the very least I know it can work, but it's up to you, really." His thumb caressed your cheekbone, "I will continue to pursue you for as long as you allow me."

He can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and he hoped his words touched the part of your soul he wanted them to. However you still haven't said a word and Adrian needs you to voice your desires, or lack thereof, directly.

"I bid you command me now. My devotion is solely placed at your feet. I truly cherish you. Every step you take and breath you breathe."

You close your eyes and choke back a sob as he places one small kiss on your forehead.

With a voice clogged up with emotion, you finally release him from his torment.

"I... would love... nothing more... than to be pursued by you." You say as you give him a watery smile.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Then pursue you I shall."

It takes only a moment for the atmosphere to change around you. With hunger, you never saw in his eyes, he whispers to you hoarsely.

"Come here, you..."

The kiss is devoid of any sweetness the first one had. This one is full of fire and blood and passion that takes your breath away. You don't have time to react as he pulls you to his lap. His kiss goes down your throat and settles in your belly like a fine liquor.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Robin landed on the roof next to him and Bruce could already feel the headache building. They were looking down on a young blond man with pointed ears and a large halberd on his backriding on a white horse. The guy looked like he had come straight out of a fairytale. He knew that if this was a new rogue Damian would argue about keeping the horse. Actually he would probably want to keep the horse even if he wasn't a rogue.

Deciding the guy had gotten close enough they swooped down to confront him. The man, startled, stopped his horse and pulled the large halberd off his back. He held it in front of him, as if in warning. The man looked wary of them but not afraid. They stared at eachother for a moment before the man spoke in a language neither Batman not his Robin knew.

---

Link was having a wierd day. He had literally just saved Princess Zelda a week ago (and for the second time) when he encountered some kind of demon in black and white. The Master Sword glowed in the demons presence which was all Link needed to know before chasing after the being. The thing, looking like a teen in odd clothing that reminded him of links own rubber suit, bolted into a green portal it had created.

Not hesitating he had his horse leap into it. And now he was in a strange place with no sign of the demon. After getting attacked by a man yelling in a language he didn't recognize, he switched out his sword for a halberd for that extra reach on horseback and continued on his way, leaving the unconscious man on the road side behind him.

This place was odd. Parts of some walls would light up, showing images of people and places he didn't know along with a written language he didn't recognize. He came across many people who looked at him oddly...or at least he thought they were people. They looked like Hylians but most of them were taller than the average Hylian and to Links horror they had short rounded ears. How could they hear thier gods with such tiny ears?

He was scared, but he carried on anyway. Eventually he gets confronted by someone dressed as a monster and a child. They manage to settle thier...dispute?...without violence so that was nice. He pulled a few apples and swift carrots out of his tablet-to the curiosity of the duo- and hands them to the child. The kid caught on quickly and raced off to feed his horse her favorite snacks.

Link will have to figure out how to overcome this language barrier

Bruce however, has discovered this was not a man, but a teenager lost in a foreign world and is set on adopting him.

[eyra]

the oldest recipe for parsnip soup - eyra - Harry Potter [Archive of Our Own]

Chapters: 3/9 Fandom: Harry Potter Rating: Mature Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Additional Tags: Marauders Era, Non-Magical, Christmas, Winter, Cooking, Food, Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Sirius Black (+ please check ao3 tags before reading) There's something blazingly incongruous about Remus in the wintertime. He's golden: sunshine and honeybees, caramel curls and freckles like dappled sunlight. Even his clothes seem borrowed, and temporary, as if he might've just thrown on an extra layer for a moment in the knowledge that his own innate aestival nature would be quite enough to stave off the worst of the chill. Something at home in long balmy nights, and mornings when the gardens teem with life and song. Wonderfully out of place in the winter: a happy visitor to the season, an ember in the frost. Christmastime in the Cotswolds: cold hands, crackling fires, and Remus's indefatigable quest for parsnips.

As is tradition, a festive treat for December. If you liked A Brief History of Dragons, this one's for you, and for anyone who has been following me on tumblr for a little while you'll understand why writing this was so important and cathartic and special for me, in lots of ways. A full circle moment.

I hope you love this as much as I do, and I hope you have a wonderful winter. x

[cressidagrey]

Recipe for Love - Peach Cobbler

Summary:

Azriel finds a bakery and creates his very own reward system.

Warnings:

Kinda Rhys Bashing, but when don't I do that?

A/N:

thanks to @k-godling for listening to me rambling on about this and finding the perfect name for that Bakery! This will eventually be a series consisting out of One-Shots, so if you have an idea, shoot it my way! (Also, if anybody actually tries out that recipe, let me know lol)

Peach Cobbler Filling 2 ½ cups sliced canned peaches ¾ cup canned peach syrup ¼ cup brown sugar (packed) 1 ½ tablespoons cornstarch Few grains salt Dough 1 tablespoon granulated sugar ⅛ teaspoon baking soda 1 cup prepared biscuit mix (or your own biscuit recipe) ⅓ cup cultured sour cream 2 to 3 tablespoons milk (if needed)  Sweet or sour cream for topping

Place peaches in bottom of casserole. Mix peach syrup, brown sugar, cornstarch and salt. Pour over peaches. Set casserole in hot oven, while mixing dough. Stir sugar and soda into biscuit mix. Add cream and milk to make soft dough; mix lightly. Place by spoonfuls on top of hot peaches. Bake 30 to 35 minutes until well browned. Serve warm with sweet or sour cream. 

The Spymaster of the Night Court was contemplating killing his High Lord. 

Or maybe it was Azriel contemplating killing his brother. 

Maybe it was both. 

Whatever it was, Azriel was definitely mentally planning Rhys’ tragic demise as he trudged his way through Velaris. 

It wasn’t the first time he had done it. Wouldn’t be the last time either. 

He would never actually go through with it. 

(Probably.)

Regardless of how annoying Rhys was… regardless of how the words of last Winter Solstice were still echoing in his head. 

Alone the thought of a pleasure hall made him want to throw up these days, after all.  

He didn’t. Azriel knew better than that. 

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. 

It was his own fault for allowing himself to fall in love with a mated female. It was his own fault for thinking that maybe he had a chance…for thinking that maybe…

He had never had a chance. Pretending otherwise wasn’t going to help him. 

Rhys had made himself clear months ago and then had done the same again today…today when Lucien had asked Elain to dinner and she had agreed. 

Of course, she had agreed. Azriel had taken himself out of the running months ago. 

Azriel had followed his High Lord’s order to the letter. 

Azriel had done everything that was asked of him, even when it had broken his fucking heart and left him…desolate. 

And as a thank you, he got Rhys’ crooning in his mind that See, Az? They worked things out. 

They had. Good for them. 

The food had tasted like ash in his mouth and he hadn’t managed to get down more than half a plate. Not more before he had excused himself, citing unrest in Spring…and had walked out of the River House without even properly seeing where he was going. 

Away. Far, far away. 

He had half a mind to let the shadows take him away. Maybe somewhere deep in the Illyrian Steppes, where there was no being anywhere near him. Where he could throw his magic at a mountain and destroy some rocks with the fury that embered deep within him…

You should get a treat! The shadows told him brightly at that moment, nearly making him stumble. 

What?

Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him. 

The more forlorn he got, the more depressed…the more optimistic they became. The more they tried to get him to smile…the more they fed him with petty gossip included in their intelligence gathering… the more they did everything to make his life easier for him. 

They were trying. 

It was sweet.

I am not a dog, he grumbled back to them. He wasn’t. 

And besides…he didn’t deserve a treat anyway. For what? Doing his job? Surviving another week? Not killing Rhys during lunch that day? Not wringing Lucien’s neck for politely asking Elain to dinner? Not scratching out somebody’s eyes like a rabid…

Of course not, Master, the shadows agreed easily. You should still get a treat. Something nice, just for yourself. 

Something nice, just for yourself, he turned these words around in his head. 

He did have a lack of that in his life, but then he always had. He had never really had started to amass anything…collect anything…no little things to litter his rooms with…not even as much as a hobby, unless one called insomnia and stabbing the practice puppets in the House of Wind until they were reduced to rubble that. 

All of it was just…his job was his life and that was it. 

And it wasn’t like he deserved it anyway. 

Just like he didn’t deserve a mate, didn’t deserve Mor and didn’t deserve Elain…He didn’t deserve a fucking treat either. 

He clearly didn’t deserve anything that made his life easier. 

There’s this little bakery, the shadows proposed quietly. You could buy yourself a slice of cake! 

A slice of cake. A slice of cake before flying back to the House of Wind, barricading himself into his room and writing another report. 

A slice of cake before he would let the loneliness take over completely…before he would never even allow himself to look at any female ever again because he was not going to go through this pain again. 

Being a little bit overdramatic, Master? the shadows asked him with a sigh and he wanted to growl. 

No. No, actually, not really. 

Why shouldn’t he be overdramatic? 

At least in his own damn mind. It wasn’t like he was throwing that into anybody’s faces. Even when he had wanted to. He had wanted to scratch that smug little smile off Rhys’ face with his bare hand and…

You don’t, Master, the shadows sighed. You didn’t even want us to steal his favourite jacket. 

They had offered. They had offered to make Rhys’ life filled with annoying inconveniences. Azriel had said no after that Winter Solstice. Now he was reconsidering it. 

The problem was just that it wasn’t going to make him happy. 

The shades would be petty and that would be it, but he wouldn’t…it wouldn’t make him feel better. 

He would still feel unfairly treated…he would still feel always pushed to the edges of his family…the one whose emotions didn’t really matter…who’s happiness wasn’t a priority, not even a footnote, set firmly behind whatever was good for the court and that was that. 

He was the one send to do the dirty work, the one expected to deal with it, because clearly it didn’t bother him… which was a lie. Of course, it bothered him. But his skillset made him the obvious choice so…

Mor and whatever these 5 centuries had been…Mor who could have outright turned him down when he had yearned for her and had never bothered to do so. He was still waiting for her to do it. Even now. 

His hands clenched slowly, the scars feeling tighter. Autumn was coming…as soon as the leaves began to turn, the joints started to hurt him. 

They have double chocolate chip cookies, the shadows whispered like it was a state secret. He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Sugar was his one weakness. 

The shadows knew that. 

It would just be a few copper coins…maybe a silver one or two…his steps faltered.

One slice of cake? As a treat? Just a few minutes sat in one quiet corner of a bakery…alone. With just his shadows…that did sound…nice. 

As a treat for not killing Rhys, Azriel proposed. and for not doing anything, saying anything…for keeping his temper in check. 

He could work with that, right? 

It could be his very own reward system. One slice of cake for…for surviving another week. For not faltering. For not scratching anybody’s eyes out…for not loosing his temper and go into the illyrian Steppes and destroy a small mountain in a fit of rage. 

Huh. 

Maybe the shadows were onto something.

One shadows wrapped himself around his wrist and started tugging him along and Azriel followed. 

Down the bustling streets of Velaris, towards the outskirts of the Rainbow. 

There, Beehive Bakery took up the ground floor of a brownstone Townhouse…a yellow and white striped awning stretching over the length of it. It’s name was screamed from it’s sign above the door that was pushed open, quiet but lively conversation reaching his ears from within. There were three tables outside, filled with people, but as he walked into the shop, careful to tuck his wings into his body…there were still one or two tables left. Even one right there in one corner. 

It smelled heavenly in there…like vanilla and almond, wafting out of the oven thet must be in the backroom…a young High Fae was manning the till. She looked young. More a teen than anything, dark curly hair covering her head…Her limbs hadn’t yet lost all their coltish length. 

“Welcome to Beehive Bakery, what can I get you?” she asked him with more enthusiasm than  he had seen in a long, long time. 

For a moment, he came up short, eyes roving over the baked goods laid out behind the glass of the counter…and then finally snagging on the first cake in front of him…Peach Cobbler. It looked…great with a golden brown crust…there was one slice missing so he could see the perfect orange of carefully sliced peaches peeking out. 

“One Slice of Peach Cobbler, please,” he requested. 

“Coming right up,” she chirped brightly. “Some tea as well?” 

Azriel answered in the affirmative, quietly charmed by her sheer enthusiasm…A few moments later he exchanged a couple of silver coins for a plate holding a slice of peach cobbler, topped with a dollop of cream and a delicate teacup. 

He took both to the table he had sussed from the beginning. Clearly the worst place in the whole shop…but for his usage, it was perfect.

 The darkest corner, right in the back…covered in shadows…nobody would be able to peek at anything if he did choose to read some reports…and nobody could surprise him from the back. 

It was perfect. 

Perfect was also the only word he could imagine for that Peach Cobbler. Quite frankly it was best thing he had ever eaten. Tart but Sweet…and the topping crumbling and the peaches ooey gooey…it was so good it was startling. He could just get a teeny tiny bit of cinnamon in there…

Alone that Peach Cobbler had been worth every single coin. 

By the first forkful, he felt likes osmehting in his chest was easing. By the time he was left with only a third of it he was already dreading to finish the whole piece, because then it would be gone. 

And that just didn’t seem fair. 

He watched the people entering and then leaving again, some just coming for a single loaf of bread, some of them buying pastries or slices of cake to go…some sat down with a friend and conversed with them…The Beehive Bakery seemd to be a quietly buzzing hub of Velaris. 

The young girl behind the counter was busy fulfilling orders and smiling at every customer, some that called her by her name, Juniper. 

Halfway through the afternoon, a new female joined her behind the yonder. This one older, much tinier, her body filled out with lush curves…Blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, held back by a handkerchief. 

“Done for the day?” she asked Juniper, and Azriel watched silently how she nearly absentmindedly fluttered around the space, replacing empty displays and generally making sure everything was in order. 

“I can stay if you need me, B,” Juniper said quickly but the blonde female waved her off, handing her a envelope from one of the pockets in her frilly pink apron. It had strawberries all over it, Azriel realised with some amusement. Juniper took the envelope, opened it to sneak a peek and then stared at her again. 

“That’s too much,” Juniper complained, clearly longsufferingly but B just laughed. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s just enough,” she promised and Juniper hugged her in thanks. 

“Thanks, B,” Juniper mumbled, before hanging up her apron and disappearing. Leaving B or whatever her name actually was, clearly in charge. 

In the meantime, Azriel had the shadows find him some of the reports he needed to read that were enchanted for secret keeping, only been able to be read by his eyes and his eyes only. 

B knew seemingly everybody that came into the bakery, knew the names of every customer, knew their order…and so Azriel settled in at that table and spend the rest of the afternoon, reading his report and draining his tea until only dark dregs remained. 

He listened to the cadence of her voice as she talked and relaxed in that little corner, where nobody paid him any mind. Nobody flinched away from him. 

Nobody cared. 

It wouldn’t stay his only visit. It would become a weekly tradition, a habit that he shouldn’t have but still had. 

Because he wanted to go to the Beehive Bakery. 

It was the one thing he wanted. 

What Azriel wanted had never mattered. 

Not really. 

Unless it was right here. Unless it was him buying himself Peach Cobbler and cream.

Unless it was him sitting in the darkest corner and just watching. 

[jjungwons]

A RECIPE FOR DISASTER — P.SH

CHAPTER 1 ⌇“UPSETTI SPAGHETTI”

𐔌 SYNOPSIS 𐦯 . . . what happens when you and the guy you’ve rivaled with for all your years of baking classes (with a stupidly gorgeous face) are paired to work together in need to pass the class finals?

PAIRING ⌇baker!sunghoon & baker!reader (fem)

WiNTER’S NOTE ⌇INTRO/FIRST CHAPTER IS HEREE ! if you can , reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated as it’ll help me improve for you all <3 ! ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

PREVIOUS ← MASTERLIST → NEXT

TAGLIST ⌇ @hoonsungs @kkamismom12 @hybeboyenthusisast @wonniezzz @en-heedeungie @rkivesfilm

(comment to get added)

© all blogs made by jjungwons.

[reptilian-angel]

The Cafe' Prince & The Killer Cook Pt. 1:

Chapter One - "Egg on your Face" Mega-Omelet

ME: Blitzø, having suffered a the worst day of his life, finds an unexpected silver lining when he awakens inside some random cafe hosted by a sweet (if oddly articulate) little girl, Via and her chef daddy, Stolas (Who looks like Hell on Wheels and cooks just as good, but who gave a shit.)

Later on after this chance encounter, a completely unanticipated offer might just be what Blitzø needs to turn his trashfire of an existence into a lifetime of amazing food, exciting moments and maybe even . . . Love?

Stolitz fluff, food chain puns, good food and healthy doses of angst await you at the Stars & Stir-Ups Cafe’!!! (Yet to be named)

Inspired by Pink Lomito’s ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE Stolitz Cafe’ AU fanart and written with their blessing, so I can only hope this will live up to the hype! (Displayed Below)

Full disclosure, I DO bake as a hobby, but I am NOT a career baker so most of descriptions of any foods mentioned, cooking and otherwise, will totally be written by an author completely in the dark, so please be gentle with any criticisms regarding any of the cooking displayed here. (Also see the end of the chapters for the recipes used, or at least the closest comparisions.)

Get Your knives and forks ready, you sinners & saints, and please enjoy!! I owe nothing!!!

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

He had expected to be face flat, ass up on the shitty, grime covered flour of the bar he had trudged into last night like he had only hours to live. It had been a record-breaking shitty-ass day for him and he decided, like the many, many bitchy broke losers out there who had had their dreams squashed and trampled on like gnats in Hell, to drown his sorrows. Burning $ouls like tissue paper, he had began going for broke, mooching off other patrons and drunkards, earning petty shots in impromptu contests and maybe even performed a small strip tease for a gaggle of succubi and incubi.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it ended, although he did have a vague recollection of plowing his dick into one of the incubi in one of the nasty as fuck bathroom stalls and wondering if the greasy pump soap could be used as lube before fading to black.

Christ on a Pogo stick he had REALLY gotten fucked up, didn’t he?

That said, he wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if he had found himself upside down, half- naked and definitely robbed of his wallet and phone in some shady alley at the crack of dawn. Yeah, that would have been normal for him.

Waking up in a plush, fancy-pants booth with a soft, comfortable quilt thrown on top of him was not.

He began leaning up to try and get some sense of where the fuck he was, but everything between his ears immediately started to bitch at him with an acute, relentless thrum that felt even worse than the headaches Moxxie gave him while bitching at him. On a good day.

He gave a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a sorry attempt to dull the throb. He swore everything was hurting, his horns were hurting, his scars were hurting, fuck, even his brand was hurting -

“Fudge.”

That innocent correction almost made him tumble out of the booth. He barely smacked his palms against the floor to keep him from actually falling face flat on its surface. Points for highly trained trapeze instincts. Centering himself, he found a pair of big, bright pink, and admittingly cute eyes of a little owl demon looking right at his.

Even with him being upside-down, he could tell they were a girl; maybe four or six, with a messy nest of long dark hair let loose save a small ponytail tied up on the side of her head with a scrunchie covered with moons and stars and a simple pink jumper with white stars of various sizes printed all over it.

It had taken a second for his hungover brain to figure out she was an owl, the white heart-shaped frame of her face like that of an owl’s a dead giveaway. The way she blinked at him only cemented that conclusion. She blinked calmly at him, despite how fucking weird he was sure he must’ve looked as a middle-aged, hungover, hot mess sleeping in what he just know fully realized was a restaurant booth.

Feeling caught off guard for a number of reasons, he could only respond with, “Sorry?”

The Little owl gave him a reproaching look, or at least as close to one as a toddler could manage. “‘Fudge’. You said it wrong.” She stated in all seriousness. “You’re supposed to say ‘fudge’ when you say the ‘F’ Word. Otherwise, it’s not polite.”

“Says who?” He asked.

“Says my daddy.” She said proudly as if she was referring to Lucifer himself. “He says ‘Politeness is the-” She paused, her face scrunching up in concentration, “- ‘Per-Ah-Get-Ive’ of sensible young demons’.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

He had expected her to respond with a "yes" as all little hellspawn do to prove they were just as smart as their parents who most of the time are dumber than the garbage man, and of course be all snooty and snobby about it too.

But, amazingly, she shook her head so much her hair flew in both directions. "Nope! But my daddy taught me that word. Which means it must be a smart grown-up thing to say. My daddy's all grown up and smart so it makes sense to try and apply it to my everyday 'Wing-guess-tics'."

"Uh, 'wing-guess-tics'?" He repeated with a smile.

The little owl nodded. "You know, the way you talk and how you sound to other people. Don't you ever take pride in how you sound towards others less proud of themselves?"

Blitzø sure as hell didn't. In fact, good mood or bad, he couldn't give two shits in a Gluttony Ring brand crapper what every other piece of shit thought about him or the way he talked. Which is exactly what he should tell to this innocent, sassy, too precious for words little oh satan's taint, he was too hungover for this.

Getting up at an old man's pace, he grunted, "I don't really have an answer to that, ow."

Okay, sitting up straight didn't quite stop the ache, but it wasn't harping so badly now.

The little owl made a sad sound. "That's too bad. Everything needs an answer."

"Does it?" He asked while once again pressing into his eyes to try and settle his headache. She gave an affirmative hum.

"They do. Sometimes."

Blitzø gave up trying to squeeze his eyeballs back into his brains and gave a slow roll of his neck, breathing with the small audible stream of cracks that followed. "Yeah, well, sometimes is better than no times I guess." Once his neck didn't feel so stiff, he looked down at the little owl who still was blinking up at him. "Hey kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh . . . Can you tell me where we are right now?" Geez, Blitzø, you need a little kid to tell your dumb, hungover ass where you crashed? Talk about hitting rock bottom.

She giggled like he had just told a funny joke. He admitted, even with a headache, the sound was nice to hear. "You're in our cafe, sir. Mine and Daddy's cafe. You've been here ever since last night."

He felt embarrassment collide with exasperation in a wave that only incensed the pounding in his skull. Grreeeaaat. Now he had to deal with a bitchy dad that could probably make a Karen more bearable. And considering his crappy luck, he could probably give Moxxie a run for his money when it came to whining and botching. Like he didn't have enough of a migraine already.

To distract himself from the imminent ass-chewing, Blitzø decided it was a good time as any to take a quick peek around. In case, things went tits up, he should know how much he could tag with horses and dongs later.

Look all over, he had to admit . . . He was pleasantly surprised.

The cafe was definitely a little ritzier than almost every other diner or bistro in Pride, at least the ones run by imps or sinners. It wasn't an 'in-your-face-so-suck-it-bitches' bourgeois nightmare that you found on the cover of rich people magazines, but it was still easy to smell the $oils that had been burned to buy the number of furniture and appliances that filled it. Pristine designer steel tables, floors tiles so clean you could eat off of them, cushy warm booths like the one he was sitting in that felt comfy enough to be small bed; yeah, this place made the local Hellbucks look like a gas station men's room (Which was also, coincidentally, one of the many places he would periodically wind up in after a bender).

He could probably make off with one of the tablecloths - Made with actual fucking linen, not rag or crappy burlap - And the money he would get for it would easily pay off his non-existent mortgage.

The walls, covered in perfectly intact, shiny wallpaper that was neither covered in mildew nor aged and peeling, colored the interior with a tasteful cream and vanilla striped pattern. Each dark strip of cream had subtle motifs of shooting stars, little crescent moons and cheery spiraling suns. The cushions seated on each chair and the fabrics of the booths were royal blue and spotted with muted violet stars, all differing sizes, each cleaner than the back seat of an Imp City taxi cab. Plus, no springs popping up to try and fuck him in his little red hole.

He then noticed the bar. A quaint but spacious counter as long as Blitzø's body and tail combined, a simple but pricey cash register at one end, with matching leather stools lined up perfectly beneath it. A large glass case half the size of his van sat at the other end, the inside holding shelves of numerous plates of decadent-looking desserts and pastries that drew an expectant grumble from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault, the last thing Blitzø remembered having that was even close to food was some outdated peanuts and the olives he wiped from some douche who had ordered nothing but martinis that were drier than Wraith in a heatwave.

And he normally hated olives, Christ, he must've been fucked up to devour those things, pit and all. Fuck, did I bang the guy who ordered then too?

Okay, not the priority right now, Blitzø. Especially with the cute little kid in front of you whose dad is definitely gonna throw you out on your ass the minute he sees you -

"Oh! Daddy's awake! Good morning, daddy!"

Fuck.

Blitzø jerked his head up at her cheerful greeting, opening his mouth if only to curse at how his head throbbed in response -

— Only for it to immediately die when he caught sight of "Daddy" coming into the cafe'.

Fuck him twice.

The demon that had stepped into his view was, hands down and pants down if his belt was loosened, one of the most gorgeous demons he had seen.

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

The owl demon was as tall as a tree, with legs for days ending in jet black talons that clicked delicately against the immaculately clean tiles as he strode over. His body was much, much thinner than Blitzø had expected, delicate and lithe with sinfully svelte curves around his well-rounded hips that he felt an instant, barely concealed urge to wrap his legs around and squeeze. His upper body was just as long, lengthy frail arms that grew like willow branches from his shoulders with dainty but large hands and fingers that reminded him of spider legs as they moved and were just as dark as his feet. They were probably as soft as that little fluff of feathers that peeked out on his chest.

Looking at his face, he was slightly taken aback at the sight of not one but two pairs of eyes peering back, although the second pair were smaller and placed higher on his forehead, just as wide and bright as Via's, but instead of pink they shone with crimson and were as opaque as a ruby. It was obvious who this little girl got her looks from the most; the same dark spot at the tip of his beak, and the same shade of grey blue feathers, only his grew darker in hue as they climbed up his very lean throat, combed into a neat and very trim style that clearly was given a lot of attention. The only blemish to it would be the bold streak of grey that cut through the feathers which easily gave away his age, but somehow that had actually improved his looks as it contrasted the young (and pretty) features of his face.

His outfit wasn’t too extraordinary but still, Blitzø felt himself growing warm at the sight of the white button up dress shirt and the open cranberry pink waistcoat the owl was currently snapping shut dexterously and simple dark slacks that hugged his legs perfectly.

Fuck. I was once woken up with V wearing lingerie that was made pretty much just string but this guy is dressed like a fucking waiter and I wanna lay him flat on the counter.

Blitzø was suddenly that much more thankful for the blanket covering his lap, because he was sure feeling the telltale signs of a growing boner.

Oh well, he was sure it would go away once this guy started to whine about having to deal with a drunken piece of shit first thing in the morning -

The tall owl, even with the slightest of sleep still clinging to it, smiled warmly and brightly at his daughter. “Good morning, my Owlette.” Blitzø felt himself once again be knocked off guard by his chocolaty, silky tenor voice, the sound of it sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

Fuckhim three times, he sounded hot too. Satan, this sucked.

The owl’s pleasant chuckle only added to Blitzø;s horny chagrin. “I see you beat me down to the cafe’ today. I hope you slept well, my Starfire.”

The little “Starfire” nodded happily. “I slept good, Daddy! And so did our guest!” She gestured innocently at the imp, who then tensed at being put on the spot by a kid. “When I came down to check on him, he was snoozing like a kitten!”

Blitzø, of course, made a face. A kitten?

It went unnoticed by the little owl, but not by her father who gave her a stern, but still soft look. “Via,” He started. “You didn’t disturb our guest while he was sleeping, did you?”

“Via” quickly shook her head, he feathers swinging side to side in a flurry. “Mh-mm! No, Daddy, I promise I didn’t! I was real quiet until he woke up and said the bad thing wrong.”

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

“One of the words that Mummy used to -” He explanation was abruptly cut off by her father’s wincing and his hands waving the universal sign for stop. “O-oh, alright, alright, sweetie, I understand, no need to go further!”

Blitzø watched them quietly.

Huh. So pretty boy had post-marital troubles with the little former wifey, huh?

Yeah, that made sense. Aside from his friend’s, Blitzø had yet to see any marriage that wasn’t one step away to instating the “death do us part” vow.

This guy must have gotten out while the getting was still good. But not without a few licks dealt, judging by the signs of wariness on his face.

He mentally sighed. Alright the hottie daddy knows you’re here and first impression has clearly gone to shit so, get ready for take two, dumbass.

Blitzø, deciding that jokes was the way to go in a pinch, then said casually. “I guess ‘Mummy’ wasn’t a ‘fudge’ kinda girl.” He then put on his best smile as he looked straight on at the pretty owl. “Me, personally, always liked the mine with plenty of nuts.”

As smooth as it sounded, he still cringed on the inside. Oof, Blitzø, how lame do you sound right now?

However, to Blitzø’s surprise and relief, the innuendo did not go unnoticed by the only other adult in the cafe’. Both sets of eyes went wide and the haggardness on his face was instantly washed away with a swift, prominent pink flush that Blitzø definitely liked seeing. Next to Via, it was probably the cutest thing he saw this morning. It certainly took the edge off the ass-chewing he was sure to get.

Usually, anytime he cracked any sex jokes around others, he was almost immediately told off by whatever prude or asshole or Karen was in the vicinity (i.e. Moxxie) and who clearly had no sense of good humor. (Like they didn’t start humping on each other’s earlobes the second every one’s back was turned like the hypocrites they were.)

Anybody else who didn’t was either not giving two shits or just as eager to talk dirty after a line up of shots.

But this bird seem reasonably sober. But then again, judging by his frame, he was probably the type of demon to go for light drinks like martinis or cocktails rather than tequila or beezlejuice. Considering the little girl now running up to him and hugging his shins, it was more than likely. He had the bitter experience of always dealing with a parent more often found nursing a hangover rather than an infant and it was an all around shitty experience he had no wish to repeat.

However, right now, he wouldn’t mind getting another peek of that cute ass blush as the bird briefly ducked down to scoop up into his arms. “W-well,” He started, “It’s certainly good to see you awake, Mister . . . ?”

“Name’s Blitzø. The “O” is silent.” Blitzø stated without missing a beat.

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

“Exactly.” Blitzø nodded without thinking and once again, groaned in pain as everything from the neck up throbbed.

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

Blitzø hissed out a breath. “Yeah, that’s a big fat fff-fudgin’ no.” He smirked weakly at Via’s approving nod. “I feel like I decided to go dumpster-diving outside the nearest Sinnabon’s for a midnight snack-run.” His empty stomach than made itself known by giving an impatient grumble. “And it looks like I’m up for round two so I think it’s about time I get outta here.”

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

Blitzø carefully climbed out of his improvised bed and unsure of what to do, opted to take apart the bedding and fold it as neatly as he could. “Yeah, I know, I know, I should’ve been out of here hours ago, I get it. Satan knows no-one wants to deal with a hungover dumb-a first thing in the morning. I know I wouldn’t, plus you gotta kid here and I can’t imagine you want some strange weirdo around your baby-girl so I better clear out before -”

The quilt literally rising out of his hands cut him off like a record scratch. The fuck-?

He watched cow-eyed as some kind of blue sparkly whatsit energy surrounded the quilt and untangled the lump he had been making a mess out of. It than began folding itself in a much more professional fashion than his was and as soon as it finished, it levitated right over his head and towards the guys who, judging by the ethereal sheen wrapped around his talons, was making it.

“Mr. Blitzø,” He started calmly. “As the owner of a cafe’, I have often had ‘strange weirdos’ coming in and going out from here every day. Thankfully, most of them are courteous enough to show up around working hours, but I am no stranger to any who who wander in from the late-night crowd, which I’m assuming is where you come from.” His tone wasn’t accusing but Blitzø still frowned at the teasing lilt he definitely heard.

“As for my little Starfire,” The bird continued, nuzzling his daughter on the cheek which earned a giggle. “Via, I like to think at least, is an excellent judge of character, especially more so with strangers. So, if she thinks that you’re trustworthy then that’s more than enough reason to let you stay.” With a twirl of his talon, he sent the quilt through the door leading upstairs to, whatever the fuck it led to as he set Via down on one of the stools after a quick, dramatic spin that earned him another giggle. “At least, long enough for us to feed you a decent breakfast.”

That last bit was definitely NOT what Blitzø thought he’d hear. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh certainly, after you’ve been given food of actual substance to eat instead of the leftover, surely bacteria-ridden remains scrounged from a random dumpster.” The big bastard responded blithely as he made his way around the counter, to where Blitzø finally noticed the fancy-looking coffeemaker that made him feel more broke-ass than he already was. “But first, I believe refreshments are in order. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

The asshole part of him wanted to deliver a pissy comeback at the offer. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of getting his own food, fuck you very much and no trust-fund, (sexy) long-legged prick had the right to tell him what was okay for him to eat or not – Moxxie already got his ass enough about that, he didn’t need anyone else doing that shit.

Big bitch was probably trying to keep him here long enough to call the cops on him the minute his back was turned so he could stick him with some BS robbery charges just for shits and giggles. Which had happened to him before due to more than one nut-job Karen and/or Kevin.

And of course, since it was fucking Hell, there was only a certain amount of times that you could get arrested and get bailed out before the taxpayers think to simply say “Fuck it” and just take your money and never bother to find your cell keys.

That in mind, he was so not in the mood to bust out of prison again, that one stint in Greed was enough for the next five years.

Well, fuck this bird. The front door was right there and he was not gonna have to put up with whatever bullshit this guy was -

His stomach halted his would-be flipping-the-bird-at-the-bird-on-the-way-out escape with a rumble even louder and more impatient than before. The tell-tale smell of brewing coffee didn’t do anything to help quell it. And damn, did it smell good . . .

. . . . . . Oh, forget it, they dump that dumpster every other day and he was too hungover to spare the effort to drive. Or Look for his van. Or try to remember the name of the club he was at.

“. . . I usually have iced coffee. But right now, I’ll take a regular coffee, as black as blood.”

That request was responded to with a humored smile. “I myself usually take it black as sin, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Turning to the way too complicated than should be normal looking, coffee-making monstrosity, he also added, “Also, forgive me.”

“For what?” Blitzø asked as he came closer to the bar. This close, he could now spot a simplistic yet obviously custom-designed hotplate big enough to fit enough food for five people, flat black surface on one side and a classic stove-top on the other.

“For not introducing myself properly earlier.” A clean, see-through glass coffee pot that Blitzø didn’t even see him pull out appeared in his hand as he whipped out a coffee filter so finely made it looked more like a hankie, bypassing the coffee maker completely. “I’m Stolas, owner of this cafe’ as well as Chef and Barista. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Octavia, my darling little helper.”

“Daddy says I’m his ‘Suzy Chef’!” Via, also now known as “Octavia”, chirped proudly. Before Blitzø took a seat on one of the stools, he moved as to help her up but she shook her head. Gripping the crank under the seat, she pulled it up and down like a desk chair’s until the seat was low enough for her to climb up. He watched in bemusement as she then adjusted the seat back up. Clearly, they were built with the varying heights of Hell’s diverse demographic in mind.

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

“Indeed you are, my Owlette.” Stolas chuckled. Having placed the filter inside a clenex wrapped around a chic-looking coffee pot, he placed a silver carafe onto the stove-top side of the hotplate and flipping the switch. Taking out a bag of coffee grounds that smelled fucking fantastic. “She and I have been running this little cafe’ for about four months now. And if I may so, we’re doing rather well. Granted, we’re not millionaires but I’m certainly not complaining.”

In almost no time at all, the carafe’ started whistling sharply. Stolas took it off and replaced it with a small skillet that Blitzø didn’t see being pulled out either, only to stare unabashedly at the medley of cheeses, meats, veggies and eggs that literally flew in from the entry to what he guessed was the kitchen like it was something of out of a kid’s movie. He knew Via giggling at his face but he forgoed responding to that, as while Stolas attended to the coffee pot, a bottle of oil floated over to the skillet and poured a delicate amount inside with two slices of butter following suite. “. . . Uh, yeah, if you’re good at something, you should capitalize.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not really so much about the money as it is the business of cooking itself.” Stolas said earnestly as he dumped the grounds into the filter and sweeped up the carafe to pour in the hot water in one fluid motion. “I find that this line of work gives me much more gratification than that of my previous occupation.”

“Oh, what was that? Real estate spokesman? Attorney? Phone seee-” Blitzø was instantly reminded of Via’s presence as the little girl hummed happily while folding and unfolding a napkin she plucked from the napkin holder closest to them. “-eeecrecy operator?”

If Stolas noticed the near slip-up, he didn’t comment on it. “No, I’m afraid. Simply one of the cogs of the crumbling, over-heated machine that is known as Hell’s government.” While the skillet started to pop and sizzle, the owl than summoned a sizable knife to finely chop one onion to join the oil and butter. As the coffee grounds were left to bloom, Stolas made quite a show of crumbling up a thick sausage into bits with one hand while simultaneously conjuring an actual clutch of flames in the other hand, selecting a few strips of bacon to cook and crisp in a matter of seconds. Most likely to show off for Blitzø and his daughter who “oohed” at the sight.

Admittedly, Blitzø was a little impressed too, but he’d be fucked by a mime before he ever let on. “Geez, playin’ it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

“Perhaps a bit.” Stolas admitted, not so sorry in the slightest. “But compared to how stoic and quiet I had used to be, I relish any chance to ‘play it up’.” Having deemed the bacon thoroughly cooked, which it definitely was going by the smell, he extinguished the flames and set the crispy strips onto a cutting board for a magicked knife to chop up. Washing his hands in a small sink set by the hotplate, he gestured towards the enchanted parade of flying ingredients, allowing three eggs to gently land on the counter.

Blitzø, at this point, had taken his eyes away from the free magic show in front of him, cool as it was, to quietly observe Stolas’s shapely ass as he bent over to retrieve something from one of the lower cabinet.

Hmm. He could feel the tip of his tail flicking in appreciation. Guess the cake wasn’t only in good in the cases.

He tried to keep ogling as unnoticeable as possible as he asked. “Old job sucked that bad, huh?”

“Oh, abominably so.” Stolas groaned as he fished around in the cabinet obliviously. Eventually, he made a small sound of triumph as he located his prize; a small mixing bowl which he then set on the counter next to the eggs. A crooked finger brought a whisk right into his hand just as all three eggs were lifted and cracked into the bowl and the shells were tossed away. “And all I can say is that I’m bloody well glad that it’s behind me.”

“And now Daddy gets to be the bestest chef in all of Hell!” Via proclaimed, which was rewarded with a loving smile.

“Well, I certainly try my best.” He said cheerfully. He made sure to keep close attention to the carafe’ as it poured more water into the now ready coffee grounds as he beat the eggs thoroughly. As dark, fresh coffee began to drip into the pot, he set the bowl aside to neatly dish the sausage and bacon into the skillet. “I don’t know if anything I make will win any awards, but I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t. As long as I have my Via and this cafe’, I’ll be happy.”

Those words, despite himself, left a deep pit in Blitzø’s stomach.

He was all too familiar with the feeling to know that it wasn’t hunger.

And the cause of it was the warm translucent air wafting around in the little cafe’ that was more potent than the coffee.

And more pointedly, how out of place he felt to even be watching it.

He felt his claws clench the leather of his seat, the fabric creaking softly in response to his tightening grip. The pit felt like it was growing larger, making his shoulders tense. He found himself staring full-on at the clean surface of the bartop and tried to ignore the itch of his spines going erect. For the next few minutes, all that was heard was the sizzling and firecracker-like popping of the skillet as the eggs were poured in, the repetitive sound of coffee dripping and Via humming as she tried to fold her napkin into something other than a lopsided square.

Blitzø took a deep breath through his nose, his lips sputtering a bit like a horse’s (Didn’t he wish) as he exhaled.

“. . . Look, I’m . . . ” He paused a moment to think his words over carefully. The last thing he felt like doing right now was to sound an utter dickhead to the guy who was making him a hot meal for a total stranger.

No telling if he was the type to spit in on the plates of assholes who deserved it.

“. . . I’m sorry for, uhm, for having you make deal with me first thing in the morning.” He managed to get out rather lamely.

He wasn’t sure if the bird heard him. But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I . . . I had a really, really real sh- crappy day yesterday, and – And I just needed to blow off a little steam.”

Images started to flash unbidden in his head. Of zeroes, of bottles, of bitter looks and smashed frames only made everything in Blitzø had been able to blissfully ignore up until that moment, then chose to rear its ugly head making him let out a barely concealed grunt. “. . . Point is, I-I’m sorry for screwing up your day and -”

He was interrupted by a good-sized mug being set calmly before him. He started as the smell of the dark roast curling in soft puffs and into his nostrils, the scent heavenly and already mending the throb of his head – only to be taken aback at the feel of a large, plush-soft hand petting the space between his horns in a comforting rub.

It took every single inch of Blitzø not to either smack the hand away or bite it off on sheer impulse.

He looked up and instead of what he thought for damn sure was going to be a patronizing sneer, – Because how else would any prick look after patting an imp’s head like a puppy’s? - Stolas’s face was as soft and reassuring as the smile on his beak.

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

Sweet Lucifer, when was the last tim anyone had smiled at him like that?

“No apologies are need here, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas said simply. No hint of bullshit. “Nothing’s been broken, nothing’s been ruined. So please, don’t worry. I’m not a demon so easily rattled. Especially by lovely surprises such as yourself.”

. . . . Blitzø blamed the warmth he felt tingling on his cheeks on the steam coming from the mug.

Stolas didn’t comment on it, but he was sure that he heard some not very subtle amusement in his voice as he turned back to his cooking. “Would you like for me to add some peppers to dish? They were freshly picked this morning and I’m sure that they’ll taste wonderfully with the eggs.”

“UH-” Blitzø grabbed the mug and pretended to study it to keep himself from doing anything else dumb. “Y-yeah, sure, whatever, go nuts. I’m good with whatever.”

“Marvelous! I’ll add some as soon as the eggs have cooked for a bit.” Stolas said cheerfully. Blitzø muttered a “yeah, whatever” to his back as the owl reached from some green and red peppers big enough for Via to hold in both of her hands. He then made a small hoot that Blitzø, even with how off-kilter he felt at the moment, found cute. “Oh, and let me know how the coffee is, please. I’m trying a new blend I finally managed to put together a few days ago and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Blitzø blinked at that. “Wha-? You mean this isn’t instant?”

Stolas shook his head. “Oh no. I try my best to use fresh items whenever I cook. Not that I have anything against instant or frozen food, but, as a chef, I find it almost like cheating if I’m not as authentic for my customers. The last thing I want is to have our cafe’ be mistaken for another Twink Trip or Hexxan.”

Blitzø would have taken a shot at that remark. Namely how if you loaded up gas station coffee with a fuckton of sugar, cream, and booze, it didn’t matter about the quality ‘cause who would give that much of a damn about dirty bean water -

That is, had he not taken a sip out of his mug.

It took a moment of peering down at his “coffee” to think up a much more direct response. “. . . . This is the best damn cup of coffee I ever had.”

“Thank you!” Stolas accepted the compliment cheerily. I admit it took much longer to properly cultivate and grow the beans for it than I had originally anticipated. I mean, I already knew the process was intricate but it’s a whole other experience when you actually attempt it yourself.” Stolas gave a weak chuckle as he prodded at the eggs simmering in the skillet. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I almost blew up my grinder or ruined my insides.”

Blitzø, taking a much larger sip of his coffee hummed appreciatively. “Yeah, bad coffee can f- trip you up.” He knew that to be true. He once had to get his stomach pumped from drinking brew made by some dumbshit in his RV. That experience wasn’t really as painful as the telling-off Moxxie gave him afterwards. Little bitch always had act like he was right.

He took another big gulp. “You did good, though. Five stars.”

It wasn’t blind praise. Blitzø never bullshitted how he felt about what he drank and ate, (Much to Moxxie’s, Fizz’s, his Sunday Barista or, really, anyone’s annoyance) and the coffee was no exception; heavy and crisp with a balanced pairing of earthy and floral notes, the acidity like berries that left plenty of room for flavor instead of just tang. And the aftertaste didn’t linger like secondhand smoke, it left gradually with a mellow sheen that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Even though he was more an iced coffee guy, this was a kind of coffee Blitzø could see himself drinking again. When he wasn’t hungover, that is.

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear that, Mister Blitzø. Thank you.” Stolas responded gratefully.

By now, he had placed a lid over the eggs to let them simmer which allowed him to focus on chopping up the peppers. The imp assumed that had all he had been cutting up before Stolas turned to delicately slide a plate baring an apple that had been sliced in a way that the core stood erect as a tower with the slices spread open like a flower bloom. Before he can ask how the hell he did that so fast, Via chirped happily before plucking one slice and biting into it with a thank you.

Blitzø found her delight over the piece of fruit adorable, which the baby owl took as an invitation to pluck another slice and offer it to him with a smile. Satan, could this kid get any cuter?

He took the offered slice with a cheeky grin. Only to quickly toss it in the air and catch it with his tongue like an iguana’s, adding a “Bleh!” just for laughs, for which he earned a round of giggles from Via. He had almost missed by being blindsided by the cinnamon and spice flavor that had been baked into it. It had to have been made that very morning if the warmth and freshness of the slice was anything to go by, allowing the fruit to melt orgasmically well into his taste-buds. Wow.

He and Via had had unanimously agreed to split the apple between them, with no objections from Stolas as he busied himself with divvying up the vegetables and summoning other ingredients from the kitchen to prepare accordingly. Via filled up most of the time with chattering on innocently about little things, how funny her dream was last night, how home-school was “five times better than private school as there were less big dummy poop-heads” - Blitzø almost choked on a slice while Stolas lightly admonished her about “language” - And how her daddy once made her the bestest cake ever in the in the whole wide world for her fifth birthday. Blitzø, for as sweet as he found her daughterly praise, had to swallow the gag when she started going on about the “tasty” mouse chunks Stolas had added.

Bird or no, eating mice for Blitzø was a flat out no.

A sudden, horrifying though than popped into his head. Was Stolas going to add mice to his food?

Like mouse sausage? Mice bacon? Rat peppers? Was that a thing?! Or was he just pulling a Moxxie and asking dumbass question?

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

His internal debate was cut short by something else being set before him. A damn good-looking something.

An omelet the size of Blitzø’s fist lay before him, hot and steaming and straight from the hot plate. Yellow as can be with spots of golden brown, there were no signs of tears of breakage, with a perfect fluffy layer peeking from the folds stuffed with meat, veggies and oozing cheeses. The artsy fucker had even gone the extra mile and draped the top of it with a thin sheet of mozzarella, some garnish and a couple slices of baby tomatoes. Talk about extra.

“There you are, this morning’s special - ‘Egg On Your Face’ Mega-Omelet, with all the fixings and extra cheese for those unwelcome aches and pains. If I’ve done my job right, it should fix you right up.”

“Like magic!” Via dded with a bright smile. Both men chuckled at her.

“Like magic, huh?” Blitzø smirked. Well, I’ll just have to see about that.

Sure, the eggs may have looked good, but Blitzø had learned all too well that food looking good and tasting good were two totally different things.

What looked like a pile of slop to the naked eye could taste just as good as a five morning star meal served Beelzebub herself. The same thing applied to a plate of fancy finger foods that cost the same as a house mortgage but tasted like cardboard in the end. And Blitzø certainly had more than enough exposure to lousy food like that, thank you and fuck you very much, with no wish to repeat it.

Which he hoped he wouldn’t with this monster-omelet before him.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, he picked up his fork and dug the prongs into the soft-cooked eggs, scooping up a decent-sized bite with plenty of pepper, meat and cheese. After a moment’s consideration, he also speared one of the baby tomato slices. He gave the loaded fork a few blows to cool it, because there was no way he was going to down a maybe-shitty breakfast with a burnt tongue.

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

If there was such a thing as a bit of paradise, than these eggs were the mother fucking proof in the pudding. Or omelet, in this case.

The eggs were cooked to perfection; nice and fluffy to where they melt on in his mouth like luscious chocolate from Lust’s first class bakeries. And the flavor was like a parade in his mouth, from the salty onions, the crisp tomato and the sweet peppers, the numerous flavors sucker-punched his sense of taste without overwhelming the presence of the eggs. The meat inside was spectacular too, the bacon was at the optimum point between chewy and crispy, and the sausage was deliciously flavorful and greasy. His kind of meat, with the right amount of salt and black pepper.

He could barely hold down the pleasurable moan, but did nothing to stop all the muscles in his body from going lax.

Man, fuck trying to go to heaven, the key to fucking Eden’s Gate was right in his head hole.

A bemused coo. “So I take it you like it?”

Blitzø taste-jizzed mind abruptly snapped back into focus. Stolas’s beak was curled into a big, smug-ass grin that made his own fault in to a frown. The owl simply looked at him expectant. Dammit, if the kid weren’t here, he would have gladly told the bird exactly where to shove that grin.

Instead, he gave a disgruntled growl. “Yea, it’s . . . okay.”

Most chefs would have promptly gotten offended by such a dry appraisal of their “masterpieces”, especially if it came from an “uncultured swine” such as him.

But once again, Stolas surprised him by delivering a pleased smile in lieu of a hissy fit. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Eat up now, or it’ll get cold.”

Blitzø chose not to shoot off a shitty comeback, despite being rankled by the “order”. He took out his bubbling frustrations out on his food, picking up the plate and bringing it close enough to begin shoveling the omelet into his mouth like a starving man.

The petty, spiteful gremlin that was roughly, meeeh, ninety percent of his overall personality hoped that such a messy personality hoped that such a messy display would earn at least, would earn a groan of disgust. Always did the trick when he wanted to annoy Moxxie.

However, much to Blitzø’s complete consternation, the owl just gave a small humored hoot and returned to the hotplate with a single crack or insult. Like he didn’t give two shits about his bad manners.

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

“I’m glad you’re pleased by my cooking skills.” The big bastard (Yes, Blitzø was calling him that again, suck it.) said happily, busying by wiping down the skillet while beating a new batch of eggs and sliding two slices of bread into a small old-fashioned toaster. “I have to admit, my main specialty is baking and drinks, but I try my best to expand my range of cuisine when I can.”

Once the yolks and whites were thoroughly whipped, there were poured into the skillet and almost immediately they started to sizzle and bubble from the rewarmed metal. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook the kind of food necessary to run a full-fledged cafe’.”

Blitzø swallowed a sizable bite of egg and pepper before asking, “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and hocus pocus a steak or something?”

Stolas shook his head. “Alas that’s more Lady Beelzebub’s forte than mine. Even my magic can only do so much. Now if this was a flower shop that would be another matter, but it is what it is.”

“I’m glad it isn’t.” Via piped up. “I love Daddy’s cafe’! And I love helping him cook!”

“And you do such a magnificent job, my Owlette.” Stolas’s praise was followed by a small plate of scrambled eggs encircled by toast cut into the shape of flowers and mice, covered in butter and jam. Via took it with a bright thanks, digging in right away with a sparkly pink fork also provided by Stolas. “But sadly, a cafe’ needs more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk to cater to wider clientele. Not that I’m downplaying your talent as a chef, darling.”

“I’s okay, Daddy.” Via said, crumbs dotted on her beak from biting into one of her toast flowers. “I know it’s only because I’m not big enough to use the stove yet.” Blitzø mirrored her smile as she beamed up at him. “Once I can do that, Daddy said I could make even better dishes just like him.”

“Indeed I will, Starfire.” Stolas affirmed. “But for now, I’ll have to settle for looking for another cook. Sadly though -” Stolas pulled a face. “- There hasn’t been one suitable enough to help me run things here.”

“Yeah, it’s hard running the show solo.” Blitzø agreed. “Sucks even more when you don’t have a good crew to back you up. Don’t know where I’d be with M&M.”

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

Blitzø snickered. “Nah, Moxxie and Millie, friends of mine and my emplo-” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Well. Who were supposed to be my employees.”

The sudden downtrodden shift that overcame the imp id not go unnoticed by Stolas. “‘Supposed to be?’ What does that -”

“Don’t ask.” Blitzø said curtly. After a second, he added a little less harshly. “I-I don’t really wanna get into it right now.”

Because if I do, I KNOW I’m just going to get pissed off and do something shitty all over again.

“. . . . Alright then.”

Blitzø could hear it clear as day that the bird bastard had more questions, and would more than likely prefer to bombard him with rapid-fire questions like Moxxie would when he wanted to be particularly annoying. But thank Satan, he looked put off enough to put him off.

Small blessings.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The lull of it broken only by the sounds of silverware hitting the plates as Blitzø and Via ate, the drip of coffee as more was brewed in the pot and the subdued sounds of crunching each time either a somewhat concerned Via offered Blitzø a bite of her toast or, returning the favor, when he offered her a bite of bacon or sausage – He learned quick that she didn’t like peppers so much so he did well to avoid giving her any filled-to-the-brim bites. He could only hoped that the reason she liked it wasn’t because the meat that was in it wasn’t made from rodent.

It probably was, though, because . . . Birds.

Eventually, Blitzø had cleaned his plate, a satisfying weight settling in his stomach, he let out a contented sigh, his headache feeling miles better than almost a half hour before. “Woo, that was good. A frickin’ plus.”

The owl’s smiled chased away some of the terseness from before. “Happy to hear it. It’s always good to get good reviews on new dishes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

Blitzø pointed at the now empty plate. “Level with me – Was there any mice in that? Because, I get it, you and Via are birds, but I kinda draw the line when it comes to eating plague-carrying little turds.”

Stolas tittered at that. “No, no, I assure you, no lovely vermin of any kind was served to you. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that mice are terrible cures for hangovers.”

“What’s a hangover?” Via asked in that no-filter, childishly clueless way that all little hellspawn did.

Stolas, in a perfectly natural response to such a question, was freeze awkwardly. “O-oh, well, erm-”

Blitzø supplied the answer. “It’s like a really bad stomach bug, but for grown-ups.” Giving the little owl a conspiratorial grin, he added in a fake whisper, “Basically, if you eat too much green stuff, your poop comes out greener than Mammon’s butt.”

Via burst into a peal of little girl laughter that definitely brought an easy diffusion to Stolas’s unease, even earning a couple of barely smothered hoots that were poorly hidden by his hand.

Huh. That was twist.

Usually the parents were scolding him at this point, the usual uptight bullshit spiel about “using such vulgar language in front of their innocent little babies, you demented little firetoad!”

Not that he gave a shit because he was a comic genius, fuckyou, Moxxie.

After a bit, both birds managed to quell their laughter enough for Stolas to gently urge Via to head upstairs and get ready for the day. She agreed without protest, stopping only to allow Blitzø to ruffle her headfeathers as he added, “Gotta look cute for the suckers!” That earned him an admonishing look from Stolas that was weakened by his approving smile.

A smile that only grew bigger when Via caught the imp completely off-guard with an unexpected hug, her tiny arms wrapping swiftly and tightly around his waist, almost sending him falling off his stool. Before he could recover, Via was already heading up the staircase, humming cheerfully all the way.

Stolas’s soft chuckle drew Blitzø out of his shock. “Via has certainly taken a liking to you quickly.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I guess.” Blitzø rubbed at the back of his neck. “Last time I got hugged like that, some piece of shit nicked my wallet to buy thirty Bruiser King gift cards.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Joke was on him, though, he got food poisoning with the first card he used.”

Stolas hummed approvingly as he poured them both a fresh cup of coffee. “Well, I suppose there is such a thing as karma.”

Blitzø barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, and maybe there’s a God.” He accepted the refilled mug, along with the offered sugar and creamers, and dumped almost each one in like an alcoholic adding liqueur. “Uh, speakin’ of, what do I owe ya?”

Stolas, who had added his own preferred condiments to his coffee in much more moderate manner, paused in his blowing at the steam rising from his mug. “Pardon?”

“What do I owe ya? For the food and coffee.” After a moment, he also added with only a tiny wince of guilt. “And whatever else my drunk ass did to your place before I blacked out.”

By emotionally-traumatized principle, he wouldn’t have asked outright. Often times, being the victim of a classist system that shat on those on the bottom rung, he had been subjected to grossly padded bills and unexpected expenses issued by a good percentage of the “well-to-do” owners of “upstanding establishments” where he wound up spending half the night washing up dishes. Once he got fast enough, and only if neither the food nor the service was worth the lightening of his wallet. Blitzø didn’t hesitate to pull a dine and dash; making escapes either through the bathroom window, the vent, or once through riding one of those fancy dining carts into the kitchen and out the employee entrance that admittingly had been fun to ride . . .

. . . Right up until he learned too late that the entrance opened right up to a three-story staircase with no handrail.

Needless to say, that had been one shitty ride to the hospital, Moxxie lecturing him the whole damn eight miles.

After everything – And he meant everything – in his lower body healed, he opted to hold out on anymore dashing. At least until the little baby-dick whineypuss would get off his fucking back about paying.

That aside, he saw no reason to be the deadbeat bun right now. Not when Stolas had been nothing but polite towards him. Even though he certainly didn’t deserve such kindness . . .

He braced himself for the amount as he took a long sip of his sweetened coffee -

“Oh, you needn’t worry – You don’t owe me a sint.”

Blitzø sputtered into his mug, nearly choking on the brew as he processed the owl’s words. “*Cough* *Cough* *Hack* Blegh! Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to pay me.” Stolas restated. “Like I said, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but civil, you are obviously sorry for any offense you think you’ve given – Not that you have, don’t make that face – And more importantly, Via likes you. So I see no reason to change you.”

Blitzø frowned at him. “You’re screwing with me.” He stated flatly.

“I assure you, I am not. Honestly, your praise over your breakfast was payment enough. In all honesty, you were doing me a favor.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t get a chance to try out new recipes on new faces very often, so any new opinions are always appreciated.” Blitzø felt his face fault at the slow, awfully sensual smile the owl sent him. “Especially ones as sublime as yours.”

Blitzø forgoed looking him in the eye, each cerise eye of his hooded and looking at him like he was going to be the next dish for him to devour, choosing instead to chug down half the contents of his mug. Gulping audibly, he mumbled back, “Glad I was such a good guinea pig for you.”

“I prefer the term ‘freelanced taste-taster’, personally.” Stolas retorted politely.

“I don’t want your charity.” Blitzø bit at him.

“Nor am I giving it to you. Like I said, you did me a favor.”

“How do you know I’m not some thieving bastard taking adventure of goody-two-shoes shop owners like you?”

“I have measures set to prevent such an occurrence.”

“I’m an undercover health inspector and you just failed.”

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

Blitzø rubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t just -” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I get you’re an . . . Okay guy and you are obviously trying to set a good example for your kid. I get that, but I don’t want to be the lasting impression of what to expect when giving out freebies to poor drunken bitches like me. No one should have to deal with that without getting paid, -”

“Mister Blitzø.”

Stolas’s firm tone stopped him with the sharpness of a smacked ruler. His face was stern, but not completely harsh as he eyes were looking at him with a softness that pricked at his chest.

“You. Do. Not. Me. Anything. And when I say something like that, it’s because I mean it with all the sincerity that is implied. It is not just for the sake of looking good in front of Via and certainly not some sort of dastardly ruse to get you to lower your guard. You’ve apologized and you meant it, you’ve been kind towards my daughter and enjoyed my cooking without bias or sarcasm. That said, believe me when I tell that is something I care for much more than any check or bill.”

Stolas sipped at his coffee calmly, making no comment about the for certain mollified expression on his face. “So, please, no more apologies. They are appreciated, but to be honest, after twenty-two of them, it just feels repetitive.”

Blitzø gave him a look. “Sorry what now?”

“Mister Blitzø -”

“Nah, nah, what you just said, the fuck you mean I said sorry twenty-two times?”

Stolas’s beak dropped into a thin line, taking a moment to maybe think his words over before formulating a response, “When Via and I found you last night, you were in a . . . A great deal of distress.” He was clearly trying to more emphatic than judgmental. “You were greatly intoxicated and horridly incoherent. Once I was close enough, all I could hear was you saying sorry over and over.”

Blitzø could feel himself growing hot from the neck up in embarrassment. The apprehensive caution in Stolas’s voice was doing fuck all to help the crashing wave of shame following up like a speeding train.

He didn’t need Stolas to tell him what he was bawling like a baby over.

But, ever the bottom bitch for punishment, asked anyway. “. . . I say what for?”

Stolas then turned sheepish. “O-Oh well, uh-uhm, I don’t quite recall -”

“Bird, I don’t do any of that hee-haw Shit, it’s too early and I’m still hungover and all I’m gonna do is get pissed off now WHAT did I SAY?”

With two sets of eyes, it was easy to see that Blitzø was not going to give up on getting an answer. Stolas sighed softly.

“You made a great deal of apologies to a great deal of people. I didn’t catch every name but, erm, you had quite the list.” He sipped at his mug, stalling for only a minute before continuing.

“You apologized to a miss Mistly for dinging her car door while trying parallel park by a Wacdonald’s, a miss Queen for breaking smashing her one of a kind pirate ship in a bottle instead of the pinata by accident on her birthday, a miss Millie for chipping her favorite ax, a mister Moxxie for making him run all the way to Greed for a single battery for your TV remote, dropping his guitar fourteen times, borrowing his wallet, or more accurately, pinching his wallet to pay for Voxflix twice, a miss Barbie for stealing one of her skirts and ripping it whilst performing a split, I couldn’t really make out what exactly you were apologizing to a “Vee” and a “Fizz” for -”

“Okay!” Blitzø blurted out. “Okay! I get it! I get it! I was a hot mess, no more shit needed, I got it!” He cringed at the indignant crack in his voice. Christ, like he didn’t look enough like a pathetic shit already. He might as well plan to fake his own death again.

You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Stolas’s weak attempt to reassure him only bounced off of the imp like a ping-pong ball. “It really wasn’t. Really, you should have seen me afterwards when I was binge-drinking.”

Blitzø scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got real frisky from all those white wine spritzers.”

“Actually, I tended to lean more towards absinthe.” Stolas retorted, with no little bit of sass, taking a small bit of gratification from Blitzø’s surprised. “Of course, with how I was knocking back each bottle, you’d almost believe they were Purgerade drinks.”

Blitzø lifted his head from where he had been pressing it into the bartop. “Damn, how many we talkin’?”

“At least two to three on a good night, or whatever was close to that.”

The imp gave a low whistle. “”Fuck me, bird. I get shit-faced after half a bottle, how the fuck are you still standing?”

“At this point, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, I believe.” Stolas quipped.

That startled enough mirth in Blitzø to actually make him laugh. “Join the club, pal.”

“I fear I cannot, as I have cut back my vigorous drinking to properly attend to Octavia. Leaving my former occupation did wonders for helping me cub the habit.”

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

“Doubly so, considering it was a family business, sort to speak, although, I can assure they were family in name only.”

“Ugh. Preachin’ to the fuckin’ choir – there’s only so much shitty family a bitch could take in one day.”

“That, Mister Blitzø, I can wholeheartedly agree on.”

There were getting off-track. Blitzø bit his lip. “. . . I’m sorry for my shit.”

“For the final time, no more apologizes are necessary.”

He angled his head towards the staircase door. “I probably scared your kid.”

“Via has seen far worse, I assure you. Even when off your cups, you weren’t untoward her in any way, so you can save any of the claims of indecency that you’ve half-heartedly concocted in that crafty little mind of yours.”

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

“I neither require nor want your money and I promise you, should you try to force any $ouls on me, I will promptly set it to aflame.”

“Lilith’s titties, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

Blitzø groaned. “God, we’re gonna keep talking in circles if you don’t just charge me and get it over with. I’m not fucking broke, I have the $ouls, just let me pay you.”

Stolas’s counter remark definitely caught Blitzø unawares. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done something genuinely kind for you, hasn’t it?”

Blitzø’s hackles rose instantly at the “innocent” statement. “You trying to say something?”

Stolas merely sipped at his coffee. “Just an assessment.”

“Or you being a dickhead.”

“I made you a free breakfast for which I expect nothing in return. I am being absolutely forthright whereas you are choosing not to believe that I have no ulterior motives. Who, might I ask, is being the dickhead here?”

Oh, this smug bitch.

He had wanted to let loose a snarl that would make the owl falter in his not requested charity streak. He felt the urge already rising in his throat, ready to finally tell off this prick who was seriously starting to piss him off . . .

. . . But could only let out a low whine at the exhaustion of prolonging the one-sided argument, the fatigue of a bad night, getting totally smashed and crashing just as hard setting in. Being still half hungover sure as shit was not helping to keep the spark of pride burning.

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

He wanted nothing more than to lay everything out, pay whatever the fucking bird deserved and drag his broke-back ass back home and lick his wounds from last night. And the only thing that was stopping him was getting through to this royally stubborn and feathery (Not to mention pretty soft-looking) bastard of a demon.

“Alright, look – I want to pay you back, but for some weird ass reason, you won’t let me.”

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

“Which could be solved by you accepting my putting your breakfast on the house.”

“And it should be clear as fuck that ain’t happening.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Blitzø blew a breath of air out of his nose. “I’m not just being an asshole here – I don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been dipping in and out of debts for years, financial and personal. And just that fucking recently I finally managed to pay off a good chunk of them only to literally be screwed over again almost the same fucking day. So now I’m once again edging too damn close to bankruptcy for my liking.”

He gave the owl a flat look. “Meaning I can’t take any chances, such as freebies or random handouts, cuz Charity was just as easily turn into high-interest loans with zero time frames for return payments, unless you want to set up an installment plan that involves cutting out pounds of flesh ever week. Obviously, a guy like me can’t afford to look any more fucked up than he is with a chunk of anything missing.

“All that said, do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“. . . . I’m starting to.” Stolas said with a considerate look.

“Satisfaction eased through Blitzø’s frame. “Great. Glad we finally got that -”

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

He growled so sharply it would have destroyed eardrums had he done it inside of headphone speakers. “You fuckin’-”

“But since you won’t accept the gesture,” Stolas interrupted calmly. “How about just doing me a special favor?”

“‘Special favor’?” Blitzø blinked. “What kinda -”

A sound not unlike a light bulb dinged in his thank full-no-longer-as-sore cranium.

Oh.

Oh okay.

He gave a resigned sigh. “Hooookay, look, tootsie hootsie, if you just wanted a quick shag in the back all you had to do was ask. But I gotta warn ya, the place I’ve fucked in was a public bathroom that probably wasn’t cleaned in the last year or two, so I’ll probably need to wipe down the goods with something. Baby wipes would be good if got’em -”

“NO!” A spluttered hoot brought his attention back to Stolas, whose heart-shaped features had turned an almost violent shade of crimson in the span of half a minute. “No! No, no! Not that kind of favor, no! I mean I need your mouth!”

Blitzø gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I got that much, relax.”

“No! No! I mean -” Stolas let out a shaky warble before planting his face into his hands while muttering to himself in fit of bashfulness.

Blitzø just sipped at his coffee, waiting for him to spit whatever he wanted to say out. To his credit, he didn’t stare, knowing from his own share of verbal vomiting moments that doing that would just make his embarrassment worse.

Even though he no clue what the fuck he was suddenly so damn worked up about.

I mean, fuck, if I had a sint for each time I said the “wrong” things, I’d be raking in more money more green than Mammon.

A deep breath. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m trying to offer you a deal. Something, I hope, will mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

The incredulous look on Blitzø’s face was quickly addressed. “Nothing vulgar or dramatic involved, you needn’t worry. Nothing of the sort.” He took another deep breath. “I would like for to come in again, and try my cooking.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Say what now?”

Stolas made a small noise of exasperation. “As I said, I’m still relatively new to running a business dealing with dining and catering and the like. I’m often pushed into having to spontaneously expand my range of techniques and specialties depending on my success. I know I’m capable, but I know that I can’t just rely on my own opinion and preferences alone. Even more so when I’m attempting new dishes. As such, I need an outside opinion.”

The imp blinked. “And yooouuu think that’s me?”

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

“Some fucking rando off the street who broke into your private property, was wasted out of his mind and could just as easily rob you blind despite these so-called ‘measures’ you said you have?”

“Not as ‘so-called’ as you say, but yes.”

“Rrrright.” Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Don’tcha have, I dunno other foodie friends, you can ask? Or maybe just wait for some famous food blogger critic douchebag to to come in and give you a rating?”

“None that would trust to be fair or take seriously, or assume my want for approval is really a want for cheap compliments – that I’m desperate enough to give someone license to either be obnoxiously petty or to deliver the best shallow review that procures them a not so low-key invitation to my bedroom.”

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

“You should see how quickly they recoil as soon as they learn of Via.”

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

“Quite.” Stolas affirmed. “And to answer your other question, yes, I do have others whose say I do value, but I’ve heard relying on the biased does not help one’s credibility. I do appreciate the precious few whom I’m fortunate enough to have as friends, but I need a healthy dose of honesty from outside sources to provoke me to experiment and expand myself.”

“And you think that guy is me?” Blitzø repeated, gesturing to himself crudely.

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

“It’s not -” He let out a small snarl.

Seriously? He was still keeping this up? Enough was enough.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be nice, I get that. But, trust me, I’m the last fucking guy you want to be nice to let alone have around. Seriously, ask fucking anyone in hearing distance – I’m a right bastard on a good day and a pushy dickhead on a bad one, I’ve fucked up more people than I’ve actually helped and you would have more sense to shoot me rather than invite me over again. I mean, you gotta kid to think about, and -”

Blitzø shook his head. “And you don’t want me messin’ with your business. The one I tried starting flopped before I even got my feet off the ground. Pretty sure that speaks a fuckton for how helpful I can be towards you.”

He could barely ignore the burning sting of truth in that statement.

Saying all the shit that was a constant boiling inside him all out loud sucked.

It sucked balls.

He knew it was better than letting it all rot and fester like he let everything else – But it still sucked.

Fuck what his therapist said about it being being cathartic. He should quit that bitch.

It’s not like he would be able to pay them for much longer anyway.

Blitzø knew he was not the kind of person to be asked to come back. Even the scraps of friends he had managed to hang on to could barely wait for him to leave as soon as he said hello.

Moxxie was the leading example of proving him right. Even when Blitzø actually adhered to his demands of privacy and properly asking for invites to visit, (That Blitzø still found completely anal of him although he bit his lip) Moxxie was adamant to get him out the door before he could even get two fucks in.

Even Millie, Moxxie’s blast and a half of a wife, who was far more accommodating than her whore-back husband, drew the line when it came to his company being longer than necessary.

That was to say fucking nothing about his own flesh and blood.

Barbie Wire, his twin sister, his other half, would sooner see him six feet under before seeing him again.

Cash Buckzo, his father, never asked for him, never wanted him, and made it a point of telling him so straight to his face more than once.

His mother, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She sure as fuck would have been better off without him.

And his exes? Those who he didn’t remember or couldn’t care to remember, those he never took a chance on because of him being too much of a pussy to try?”

Verosika? It was pretty fucking clear on how that went.

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

He was always left behind, pushed aside, shoved into the background.

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

Dead, except in the way he wanted when he was at the lowest he could be.

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

“. . . . I fuck things up more often than I get them right. There’s a pretty good chance if you get involved with me, shit’s gonna go sideways for you too.”

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered that part aloud or not. Not that he gave a shit.

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

Or maybe Stolas would curse him under his breath for being such a dramatic bitch.

Maybe he would finally cut the bullshit and be real about what the fuck that he really wanted from him.

However, all Blitzø got in response, was a soft touch at his wrist, soft as silk and just as gentle.

Along with two sets of big cerise rose eyes that crinkled gently at the corners as they held his gaze with calmness and sympathy.

And maybe something else, but that could’ve been that whiny, fractured part of himself making up what wasn’t actually there.

“I’ve taken far riskier gambles than trusting a stranger out of the blue, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas spoke in such a comforting voice. “And I have yet to lose from any of them. Perhaps it’s rather cocky to say so, but since my winning streak has yet to be broken, I think you’re a rather good bet to take a chance on.”

The tender smile, that was nothing short of dazzling, he gave Blitzø at the end such a declaration was a damn good seller.

Satan forbid this man ever works for Vox – cause with that smile, he could sell gas station keys like they were the keys to gates of Eden itself. I mean, if his touch alone could send sparks up my arm like he was doing right now. . .

Fuck him if he knew.

The hand causing such a feeling than gave two soft pats to his wrist before lifting away to grab the coffee pot once more, refilling Blitzø’s mug with still steaming java and the exact number of sugars and creams he had diluted it with before.

“So, how does coming in twice, three times a week sound? I usually close the cafe’ around seven since I try to get Octavia in bed by eight thirty on weeknights. If you like to come by over the weekend, I close around six thirty to seven o’clock depending on how busy I get. Except any catering orders or special events, I’m not fussy over whenever you come over. All I ask is that you let me know when you’re coming by in advance so I can have something ready for you. A day or two ahead would be just fine.”

Blitzø, this time, could not find in him to groan loudly in protest to the blatant hardheaded dismissal of the what seemed like hours long argument. The argument he bitterly realized that he couldn’t fight against.

That did nothing to stop him from throwing his head back and scowling at the annoying as shit clean ceiling tiles above them.

“. . . . . . . You really aren’t gonna give this up, are you?” He said after a while.

“I suppose I’m about as bull-headed as you are.”

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fuck it, if the worst happened, he could just disappear again, right?

Not likely Stolas would look for him just for a review, right?

. . . . Right.

“. . . . . . . . . . The peppers and onions were both sweet.”

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

“The omelet was good, but it was kinda over-sweetened; I don’t know what kinda onions you added but personally I would use a more subtle kind of onion to help round out the sweetness of the peppers.”

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, “I remember seeing you add a green pepper so next time I would recommend using a shallot, maybe about half a tablespoon’s worth should be right. A regular tablespoon’s good too if you don’t use too much of the peppers.”

He sipped at his refreshed coffee. “I personally, like some spice in my eggs to help me wake up, so don’t be afraid to throw some in the mix in the future. Like oregano or basil. You don’t have to go crazy with the amount, though, - just about when you’re making the bowl and a few dashes of it on top when ya put it on the plate. It’ll pair well with the tomatoes and not distract you too much from the rest of the food.”

He took a breath. “Coffee’s good, strong enough to double as a chemical peel, everything any caffeine addict is looking for. The aftertaste doesn’t turn me off from drinking the rest and from how it feels going down I am a hundred and fifteen percent sure you’re a nit-pick bitch cuz I taste how finely you ground the beans without turning them to powder. It’s good ya didn’t because that shit’s only good foe about half hour before fighting to keep your eyes open by either shooting up some dope or knocking back enough 66-Hour-Energy drinks to give the Big B a heart attack.”

Shouldn’t he stop? Maybe he was saying too much. Stolas had asked for honesty and Blitzø was doing his best to deliver it with as little jackassery as possible.

Problem was, for Blitzø, jackassery was his default language, according to practically everyone and their fat mom’s. And, most of the time, he didn’t even realize how much he let slip out before he got a sharp crack across the face. Or a knee to the balls.

He chanced a look at Stolas. If he looked upset, he could take it all back. It wasn’t too late, he could still backtrack -

Tiny stars sparked in Stolas’s wide eyes. Small and bright and beautiful, looking every bit like the twinkling little lights his mom would tell stories to him and Barbie back in their childhood. After the circus ring was cleared of trash and the last Hellhorse was tucked in their stall. Back when, even thought hings weren’t easy, everything was okay.

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

Stolas, upon noticing Blitzø looking at him, instantly grew more flustered in some odd cacophony of joy and mortification, his plumage fluffing up from the top of his crown to the little floof of feathers on his chest. His hands belated came up to smooth them back into place, unfortunately they did little to quell them along with the rosy blush that tinted his face plate into an eye-catching pink.

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

The anxious itch in his chest was put to ease right there and then.

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

Emboldened, Blitzø sent the owl a lazy smile that easily darkened the pink on his face, matching the warmth the imp felt on his own face. “The apple was like a fucking angel feather, so soft and tasty. You have got to show me how the ever-loving fuck you made it turning to to applesauce ‘cause that shit was better than fuckin’ crack.”

Stolas looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be elated or overwhelmed.

After an awkwardly long amount of time, he clearly had settled on elation. His upper set of eyes turned upward in little crescents as his beak returned the smile with a brightness that Blitzø felt proud of bring out.

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

ME: Hey all you sinners & saints! Who’s excited for HAZBIN HOTEL coming out this friday?!?!?!? (Or Thursday if you actually watch it at it’s appointed time) I know I am!

I am SO EXCITED AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO IGNORE THE FACT THIS STORY IS LITTERALLY GOING TO LOST IN HAZBIN HIGH THAT I KNOW IS COMING FOR THE PAST WEEK. AND THE WEEK AFTER THAT. And the week after that . . .

ANYWAYSO, here is the recipe for the Mega-Omelet, which let me tell, just reading the ingredients alone mad me feel full! Also, what do you do for your respective hangovers? Let me know in the comments!

I’ll have the next (& FINAL chapter of this installment) written and posted as soon as I can, so until then, eat hearty, everyone!

Oh, and enjoy your stay at the Hazbin Hotel . . .

[saccharine-stories]

~Clipped Wings~

Summary:  However, he was a bird with clipped wings. In this cruel game, freedom was one thing the Watchers could not allow. Suddenly, he felt the tingle of his wings snap away from his control like a severed cord. Then, his body began to feel heavy, the effects of gravity ruthlessly tugging him back down. Down to his death.

A/N: I saw the @whumpcember event going on so i wrote this on a whim. I hope to write something at least once a week!! I wrote this in like 4 hours, so I hope y'all enjoy it.

Prompt: Day 1, Broken Bones

Fandom: MCYT. This takes place in Grian's series "Wild Life" and is inspired by the moment in session 7 when he tried to fly and fell instead.

Grian flashed a grin at Mumbo as they stopped in the shelter of the forest. Although it was genuine, there was a bit of an edge to it. He had been unprepared for this twist, and still felt as though the return of his teammates was a slight against him and him alone. The others didn’t understand. They thought it was just part of the game, but he knew better. This was some sort of retribution, though for what, he wasn’t sure. 

He remembered how Mumbo died and the memory replayed vividly whenever he looked over the edge of the Spider’s Nest. How his friend got caught up in the heat of the Watchers game and paid for it with the last of his lives. Before now, Grian was only able to blame the Watchers for the game alone. All the tragedy, all the death, all the betrayals. All the cruelty came from their own actions as they sought to survive and win the game they were all trapped in. But this?? This was uncharacteristically cold, even for them. The Watchers had not only brought back both Mumbo and Skizz, but given power over them to Cleo, who promptly turned them on him, causing him to lose a life. Later, he had been able to steal her power, so now here he was, stealing a quiet moment with his friends in defiance of the Watchers’ cutthroat game. Grian paused for a moment, watching Mumbo laugh and taking in the broken body of his friend, whose eyes were clouded with decay, and yet still seeing and filled with mirth despite everything. 

“Well,” Mumbo chuckled, “Our time’s almost up. Don’t you need to leave or something?”

Grian turned away slightly and nodded, putting aside the bitterness that always flared when the game started its downhill descent into overwhelming thirst for victory at any cost.  

“Yeah, yeah. Get back to your new friends. I’ll be seeing you!” 

Mumbo laughed in response, and Grian flashed him a cheeky grin, this time without the edge. He stepped back and crouched, ghostly scarlett wings materialized at his back, courtesy of Pearl’s power that he nabbed earlier. They were a faint mimicry of the ones he had on his home server, but man had it felt good to fly again. He jumped up and his wings blasted him into the air. He soared up, high above the trees, bases, and chaos of this tiny death world, relishing the peace that the altitude brought. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, taking in the untainted air that rushed past his ears. The sun was warm and the air was cool and quiet, and for one moment, one precious moment, he felt free. However, he was a bird with clipped wings. In this cruel game, freedom was one thing the Watchers could not allow. Suddenly, he felt the tingle of his wings snap away from his control like a severed cord. Then, his body began to feel heavy, the effects of gravity ruthlessly tugging him back down. Down to his death. He keeled backward, heart slamming a deadman’s rhythm against his chest. Air rushed past him, stripping the screams from his throat and muting his final moments. And when they came, they came with an explosion of force and pain Grian had never guessed was possible. Bones snapped and shattered at the impact, twisting his body into a mess of blood and dirt. His life was gone, destroyed at the point of impact. 

Though his life was gone there would be no sweet release to end the pain. There never was. Not for him. Time slowed as this life bled away, trapping in the death throes of his agony. Bones ground as he tried to breath again, popping out of place as his chest rose and fell with the quickness of tortured and panicked breaths. He felt his sweater, his pants, the ground, his hair, become warm and heavy with blood, shards of bones piercing through his skin and tearing his flesh. The intensity of the pain was unbearable. 

So Grian screamed. He screamed into the purple stained void that had replaced the living world with its timeless limbo. Screams of pain resonated through his body, screams that cursed the deal he had foolishly made long ago. He cried and begged and screamed for an eternity, but though his pain was seen, his pleas were not heard. 

Then, at some point in this timeless hell, the renewal process began. His bones started to realign, tearing through his flesh to sink back into their proper places and all the jagged fractures seared in blinding intensity to become whole once more. Grian’s body convulsed and writhed as undone joints and sinews knit back together, tightening around bones that felt white hot inside him. Wounds burned as they closed up with unnatural quickness, leaving no scar and no trace of the fatal damage that had once been. 

Then life started to come back to him. It hit him like a second impact, flooding him with an overwhelming torrent of energy that was strong enough to bring the dead back to life. It crushed him beneath its force, nearly rattling his bones out of their newfound places. It burned and chilled. It stabbed at him, through his body and his soul, into the dividing veil so that he could be allowed to return. 

Grian opened his eyes, breathlessly staring into the void that was becoming more and more solid by the moment. He saw the Watcher’s eyes around him, glowing in neutral silence like a thousand cold stars. It frightened him to see them here, reminding him that their game had no room for carelessness. The agony was starting to fade, leaving room for writhing fear to fill his gut, chest constricting at the feeling of being perceived by a host of malevolence. 

Shivering, he closed his eyes again and did not open them until he felt the breeze on his face, and heard the sound of the living world return.

[password-door-lock]

Saeran comes in from the garden just as you’re adding the pasta to the water you’ve set to boil. “Is there anything I can do to help you, my love?” His gentle voice carries across the kitchen as he takes care to shut the door behind him. 

You turn to face your husband. You’re delighted— though not at all surprised— to see the flower in his hand. “You can chop the parsley for me, if you want.” You step away from your cooking to rummage through the dish cupboard for a vase to hold the flower. “What did you bring me?” Though you’re getting better at identifying the flowers Saeran grows in his garden, you still haven’t mastered the art. You certainly don’t know half as much as he does about the flower language and lore surrounding the blooms he cares for. 

“It’s a Dahlia,” Saeran explains, placing the pink flower into the strangely-shaped vase. “It’s got several meanings in the language of flowers, like beauty and confidence. But it also means ‘forever thine,’ and it symbolizes elegance.” 

“It’s lovely,” you beam at him. You don’t need Saeran to explain why he chose this flower in particular for your candlelit dinner. Obviously, it’s going to be a very elegant affair, even if it’s taking place in the same dining room where you and Saeran share all of your meals. “Did you pick out a candle?” 

“Mhm.” Per the tradition that you and Saeran established when you first moved in together, it’s his turn to choose the candle and your turn to cook. 

As Saeran busies himself with searching for the candle, you turn around to add the garlic and oil to your saucepan on the stove. Saeran doesn’t tend to like too much garlic in his food, so you use a bit less than the recipe calls for. It goes without saying that you hold the red pepper flakes. You can add those to your own plate after you’re finished cooking. 

After a few moments, you feel your husband’s arms around you as he envelops you in a soft hug. He sets the candle on the counter beside the stove. “Vanilla cashmere,” he reads the name of the scent. 

“It… smells like a sweater?” You don’t know how that could be possible. 

Saeran chuckles. “It smells like a candle.” 

“Well, I would hope so,” you stir the garlic gently. The kitchen fills with the aroma of the sauce on the stove. “But I trust your judgment. I’m sure it’ll smell great.” 

Saeran releases you from the hug and makes his way to the empty counter on the other side of the stove. “I’ll chop the parsley like you said.” He finds a knife and a cutting board. “Did you wash it already?” 

“No,” you admit, “I was too busy setting the table. Did you see the placemats?” 

“They’re very nice,” Saeran nods, appraising your table setting-skills as he brings the parsley to the sink. “But my love… I got the same ones from the home goods store when I was choosing our candle.” 

“Oh no.” Your hand flies to your mouth to stifle your laughter. “Not again. Maybe we should just go shopping together so we don’t buy any more duplicates.” 

Saeran shrugs, setting to work chopping the parsley. “We think the same even when we’re not together— that means we’re connected.” 

“Okay, sure,” you concede with a laugh, “And I’ll admit, that’s very romantic. But it also means we have two sets of the same placemats, two of the same area rug, and three of the same wall hanging.” Granted, the third identical wall hanging was a gift from Saeyoung, who thought the story behind the first two was hilarious and evidently wanted to join in the fun. 

“I see your point, my darling.” Saeran finds you again, wrapping his arms around you and swaying slightly as you stir the pasta in the pot. It’s just about ready to mix with the sauce. You turn the heat down, reserving some of the water and setting it aside as you maneuver over to the sink. Saeran continues to cling to you, planting gentle kisses on your neck and making you giggle as you locate the strainer. “What flavor ice cream did you get?” 

“Pumpkin spice,” you admit. 

“Already?” Saeran asks, holding the colander for you as you dump out the pasta. 

“The store had it, so I bought it.” You and Saeran shuffle strangely back over to the stove so you can add the pasta and reserved water to the sauce. “What’s so funny?” But you’re laughing too, just because Saeran is laughing. 

“It's just that I had the same idea.” You can hear his grin in his voice. “I got the pumpkin spice ice cream as soon as the store started selling it, but I wanted to surprise you, so I hid it in the downstairs freezer.” 

You howl with laughter. God, the two of you really are the perfect couple. “Next time, let’s just go to the store together.” 

“Of course,” says Saeran, “I love spending time with you.” 

[jahnavisurenda-21]

Hazbin Hotel||Alastor X Reader||Calming Afternoon

The weekend has just begun, and all my other outdated plans will just have to schedule themselves at my convenience. Food just seems to brighten the day, even in the most unexpected times.

It was an especially hot summer noon in hell, This wasn't a place where sinners were really into gardening, or watching cherry blossoms while they sip some green tea, it was unpleasant.

Unpleasant enough, to make Alastor cancel all his radio shows for the day, he told you, "I know my dear! Someone with style, and flare needs to make this hellish afternoon a little bearable but, you see my dear this sun has made me quite unmotivated to put the pen to the paper or sit at my office desk!"

You were a little disappointed, at his decision because you looked forward to his audios to add to your collection you had one for rainy day audios, comfort audios, he did those only for you, and some audios when you just wanted to hear his voice. Those audios always set the mood right.

Sometimes you would play them on repeat while drinking a can of soda, or drowning in caffeine when you just didn't feel like yourself.

Alastor picked up your sudden shift of mood, "My dear I promise to make you another audio, I'm working on that one for almost a week. It almost feels like a brag more than anything!" Alastor looked at you, "All though It flatters me immensely knowing you enjoy these audios more than those silly books you read, and that noisy picture box!"

You got excited, something he had been working on? For a week? You resisted yourself to ask more questions, Alastor would simply smile more wider than he usually did.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Alastor was looking at you with a disapproving look, "No, my dear, I must disagree I don't enjoy eating this lazy type of food it certainly gives no quality to the food. Nothing better than a homecooked meal."

Alastor, However, did cook the sweet dessert so ward or distract you from the sun and it felt even better when he shared it with you. Alastor had discarded the heavy coat and casually crept towards you where you lay you were flipping through a new romance book.

He should be asking you, where were you getting those books?

For the evening you were relieved to see some rain had cooled the land, and Alastor was stroking your hair, as he watched a movie you picked out on the picture box.

He was delighted to how these few hours had passed in your company, you were pleasant as always, he missed your voice. And was almost glad he feed you homecooked meals and prevented a day of lazy food.

The rest of the night you spent with each other where you talked about the things that happened over the week, what you intend to do, and to your excitement Alastor had created a meal prep plan for you, so you could enjoy.

Alastor is really good at cooking, it's like adding proportions to the meal flows in the blood, he teaches any recipe you particularly like. But he also loves it when you put in that extra effort to put together a good Lunch, or dinner. It's different when he eats your meals.

[snshineandgnpwdr]

southern inhospitality

pairing- Dieter Bravo x ofc!Ava

word count- 1.8k ish

warnings- God, I still don't even know? Mentions of food, tense family gatherings and insecurities, just general crappy Thanksgiving family gathering vibes....also, I borrowed a few lines from Rhett & Scarlett if that's not your thng.....and remember kiddos, no matter what universe or situation, we hate Conrad. 😎

notes- I waffled all week about whether or not I wanted to repost this today for its one year anniversary and finally decided here at the end of the day that yeah, I like this one and I actually do want to. Made some minor edits but nothing serious, this takes place a couple years in the future from where these guys are in their main (unfinished) story but can be read as a stand alone.

thanks as always to @wildemaven for being my cheerleader and @tinytinymenace for the prompt a million years ago that started this. 💕

As he stepped onto the escalator and descended into the arrivals terminal, he thought to himself, 'this is the dumbest idea I've ever had.'

Okay, maybe not the dumbest. He is Dieter Bravo after all, he's done a lot of dumb shit in his life. But this probably ranks right up there.

And it's not like Ava had exactly invited him but when they'd talked the previous evening, she had said she missed him and that was pretty much the same thing right?

Besides, she'd sounded so miserable back in her family's clutches, it was like his duty or whatever to sweep in and rescue her. The last time she sounded that withdrawn-- well, he doesn't like to think about it, but he'll be damned if they ever repeat it. Time for him to step up and white knight this shit.

He's starting to second guess the whole idea though as the Uber makes its way up the long oak lined drive, the massive magnolia tree taking up the majority of the front yard coming into view before the actual house does.

"Goddamn," he whispers to himself as the car comes to a halt in front of a true southern plantation house- fucking columns, gleaming black shutters, coach lights, rocking chairs and all.

He can't help but wonder what the hell he's gotten himself into as he grabs his bag from the Uber and makes his way up the steps to the imposing double front doors and ringing the bell.

Based on the exterior, he's expecting the door to be answered by a housekeeper or a butler or some shit and is surprised when it swings open to reveal a pre-teen boy in perfectly pressed khakis and a seasonally appropriate burnt orange polo.

"Yeah?" The kid says nonchalantly, more interested in the phone in his hand than the actual guest at the door and Dieter catches a glimpse of chipped black glitter nail polish as the boy's fingers fly over the keys.

"I'm looking for Ava. Ava Greene? Is this the right place?" He asks, sliding his Ray-Bans down his nose and trying to peer behind the kid into the house. "Or like the right fucking century? They know the south lost right?"

That gets the kid's attention and he looks up at Dieter, flashing him a mischievous grin and suddenly Dieter sees the family resemblance. At least he knows he's at the right house. Must be one of Drew's spawn.

"The news of the fall of the Confederacy has not yet reached the man of the house. We fear, due to his advanced age and frail condition, such a staggering blow may cause him to expire."

Dieter snorts out a laugh and the kid smiles even wider. "Welcome to Oak Hill," he says with a dramatic bow. "Please, do step inside and join us on this day when we celebrate the most problematic of American holidays."

Dieter is getting ready to call the kid out for inviting perfect strangers into his family's home when Ava's voice comes from somewhere further in the house and instead he finds himself automatically stepping inside as if drawn to her.

"Harry! Who's at the door? You didn't let the Jehovah's Witnesses in again, did you??"

"They're actually here for you," Harry calls over his shoulder. "Something about how you've been living in sin with a cad and a scoundrel."

"Haha," Ava laughs. "Very funny, smart ass. Seriously, who's here?"

"Seriously, it's for you. Come see."

The tapping of heels on hardwood flooring comes closer and Dieter thinks maybe he's stepped not only into the wrong century but also into a completely alternate reality- Ava- his messy, wonderful, Converse wearing Ava, in heels?

His gaze starts at her feet as she comes into view and hot damn, she really is wearing a killer pair of leather booties with some long swirly plaid skirt he doesn't have a name for, crisp white button up, pearls at her ears and throat, hair pulled back in a complicated looking up-do.

"Harry, everyone I know is already here...." And then she catches sight of him standing behind Harry and he grins at the surprised expression on her face. "Dee-- what are you doing here? What about your meeting?"

"I rescheduled. I should've never agreed anyway," he shrugs, reaching out to pull her into his arms and she comes willingly. "I shouldn't have let you do this by yourself."

"I told you it was fine, that'd I'd be fine," she says as she wraps her arms around him and leans into him. "I'm mostly fine."

"You're not fine, look at you," Dieter laughs, pulling away enough to hook a finger in the vee of her shirt, accidentally on purpose undoing one more tiny button and sneaking a peak. "You have a bra on. I wasn't even sure you owned one."

Ava snorts out a laugh and melts back into him, tucking her face into his neck and nipping at the skin there. "Behave, Bravo. We're amongst civilized company here."

"I'll try, but you do look like every sexy librarian fantasy I've ever had," Dieter whispers into her ear, hands sliding down her back to rest on the curve of her ass.

"You're an idiot, bunny" Ava whispers back, holding on to him a little bit tighter. "But I'm so glad you're here."

"Take your sunglasses off," Ava says as they walk hand in hand towards the family room.

"What?"

"We're inside. Pretend you're a normal person and take your sunglasses off."

"But why?"

"Are you high?"

"What? No! I mean, not really, not that anyone could tell," he shrugs.

"Then take them off. Please do not make this any worse than it already will be. When we go in for dinner, sit up straight, keep your elbows off the table, mind your manners and take your sunglasses off."

And with that warning, she escorts him into the belly of the beast.

"We'll have one more guest for dinner," Ava announces to the room and way more people than he expected turn to stare at him. "Some of you have already met Dieter, so I'll just leave you to get reacquainted and set another place at the table."

"Play nice," Ava grins, leaning in to kiss his cheek and giving his hand a quick squeeze before scurrying out of the room like the traitor she is.

He can do this, he tells himself as he hooks his Ray-Bans into his shirt pocket. He can. He's an Oscar winning actor for fucks sake. How bad can one family dinner possibly be?

Three hours later he's hating himself for putting that thought into the universe. Turns out it can be so, so incredibly bad.

Dinner itself was fine, delicious even- the turkey was moist, the potatoes were smooth and buttery, the pumpkin cheesecake was downright sinful.

But the conversation has been downright atrocious. It's as if someone had given Conrad Greene a list of topics not to talk about at a family gathering, and he's tried his damnedest to hit every single one of them.

He's watched Ava's mother masterfully try to steer them into safer conversational waters time and time again, he's listened to all the praise for Drew and the newspaper he can stomach while Ava's own accomplishments get brushed off as inconsequential and she withdraws farther and farther into herself. Even Harry is not exempt from his great grandfather's ire and he watches the bright eyed kid who'd met him at the door deflate like an old party balloon.

Dieter has always thought his own childhood was shitty, but it's nothing compared to this. Sure, he may have never known his dad and his mom may have ditched him, but between his grandparents and Ms. Rose, he'd never once felt anything less than accepted for exactly who he was. Or pressured to be someone he wasn't.

By the time the table is cleared and after dinner coffees are served, his back is starting to hurt from the damned uncomfortable dining chairs, his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth and his fucking knee hurts from how often Ava has dug her nails in to stop him from saying something he most likely shouldn't.

His shades had reappeared at some point to hide how often he was rolling his eyes and Ava was so dejected by that point she hadn't even tried to deter him.

And he's had about enough. Of all of it.

"Are you staying here?" He leans in to ask her.

"No," she shakes her head. "I've been staying at Drew's."

"Great. Did you drive here separately?"

"Yeah, Harry wanted to ride in your Porsche."

"Even better. We're leaving," he announces, pushing his chair back from the table.

"Dieter--"

"We're leaving, Ava. Say your goodbyes and grab your things."

Ava leads Dieter up the side stairs and into the little loft apartment over Drew's garage where she used to live and where she's been staying for the last few days.

"I'm sorry. It didn't....it wasn't always like that," she says as she kicks off her heels. It's the first thing she's said since they left her grandfather's house and Dieter's heart aches for her.

"Ava, honey, you don't have anything to be sorry for. None of that shit is your fault. He's a bitter old man with fucked up ideas of how the world should work."

"Growing up....before my grandmother died....it was different. She tempered him I guess," she shrugs, taking off her pearls and tucking them safely in a little velvet pouch she puts in her make up bag.

"What was she like?" He asks, coming up behind her at the bathroom counter, beginning to hunt for and remove all the pins keeping her hair pulled back.

"She liked to cook and work in her garden, and take Drew and I bargain shopping. She was always smiling or laughing. A little bit mischievous. People gravitated to her. She would've liked you a lot."

"You think so?"

"I do," Ava smiles softly at him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I wish she would've gotten to know Harry, she would've gotten a kick out of him."

"He's a pretty cool kid," Dieter grins. "Clever, quick-witted. You sure he's not actually yours?"

"Positive," Ava laughs, spinning to face him. "But I did spend a lot of time with him when he was younger. Guess I rubbed off on him."

"Hey, that's not a bad thing, you know that, right? You're incredibly brilliant, Ava. It's their loss if they can't see it."

"I know. I'm working on it...."

"And, you know what else?" he grins, cupping her face in his hands and adopting a ridiculous southern accent. "You deserve to be kissed and often and by someone who knows how."

"And I suppose you think you're the proper person?"

"I might be....if the right moment ever came."

"What about now, Rhett?"

"Thanks not your line, Scarlett."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

"That's not your line either."

"Hey, Bravo....shut up and kiss me already."

And he does.

[imagionationstation]

Sometimes I stare at the notepad and overthink, If I write another Mikey story, more people might like it. Mikey fans will eat anything.

Then I write a few paragraphs and overthink, They might eat this, but I wouldn’t. So why am I serving it?

Then I go back to brutalizing Donnie. And thinking becomes simple.