#hot cocktails > cold cocktails in the winter

[enfys-squees]

It's Tom & Jerry time!

[glasvera]

Dream and Sugar

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: (Sequel to Bittersweet!) Adam Warlock has discovered the wonders of coffee... but he has yet to discover just what it is about you that brings him all the way back to see you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Fluff! Lil' bit of slow-burn too, or at least, as slow as you can get with a man who is very direct with his words and intentions.

A/N: Writing Adam Warlock at this point feels like I'm returning home. I've never written for so many characters in a piece of media before, and I'm absolutely LOVING it, but whenever I need a palette cleanser for writing I keep coming back to my favorite golden boy. I'll probably use this series for that very purpose, to be honest.

Word Count: 3.5k

To be honest, you hadn’t expected to see him again. Not outside of your dreams, at least. It was almost pitiful how much he had wormed into your thoughts after only meeting him once. Though, in your defense, he really was the picture of perfection.

It had been a few months, and business had returned to the town’s favorite cafe. The cold, rainy weather was nippy but far from a deterrent, and people flocked here hour after hour to dry off and warm themselves up with a hot cup of coffee. It keeps your mind busy, at least. Not much time to pine after a golden space man when you have ten different lattes waiting to be made. And goodness knows you were thankful for the bustling crowd that drowned out the boss’s smooth jazz playlist.

“Excuse me, is Y/N here?”

The cocktail party effect is a strange phenomenon, but you’re so thankful for it when your ears perk up at the sound of a deep, smooth voice. You can’t quite see around the corner of the kitchen and your hands are full at the moment with orders, but you do hear the way your coworker’s voice picks up in pitch the way she always does when there’s a hot guy at the counter.

“Oh, are you a friend of hers?” you hear her ask, and you roll your eyes. You can already envision her twirling her hair, giving him a little giggle… 

“I… perhaps. You did not answer my question.”

Oh yeah. That’s definitely him. Butterflies explode in your chest and you nearly fumble and drop the drink you were carrying. Your coworker sighs, clearly put off by his obliviousness at her attempts to flirt with him.

“Yeah, she’s in the back. Hey, Y/N!”

You scramble to finish what you’re doing, or, at least, get to a stopping point, before you peek your head through the doorway.

And gods, he’s just as gorgeous as you remember.

White gold eyes flicker over to your face as you give him a small wave, and a wide smile spreads across his cheeks. He’s dressed much differently this time, and you’re almost disappointed to see him in a red shirt underneath a black, fur lined winter coat, even if he does look good in it. Though, you suppose, it’s probably for the best. At least you could picture what was underneath.

“Y/N!” he exclaims excitedly. “I came back!” Oh, he’s too adorable. A golden retriever in a man’s body. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, and you could easily imagine a big fluffy tail wagging behind him.

You step closer to the counter, stifling a giggle at his enthusiasm. “I’m happy to see you, Mister Warlock.”

“Please, just Adam,” he urges. “I think we are friendly enough for that, at least.”

Were you? Well, you certainly weren’t gonna argue. The thought of it makes you giddy.

Your coworker’s exaggerated sigh brings you back to reality. “Y/N, can you not, like, wait until break or something? We’re kinda swamped.”

Even if you detest her bitchy attitude, you can’t deny that the line forming behind Adam is only getting longer and more irritated. “Oh, I--yeah, you’re right.” Adam looks slightly perplexed, cocking his head to the side as he watches you move about. You give him a wry smile. “Sorry, I… my shift ends in an hour. I’d hate to ask you to wait, but--”

“I have the entire day to myself. I would be happy to wait,” he responds quickly, dismissing your worries in an instant with his voice. He really had come out all this way to see you, hadn’t he? You can’t stop the blush from warming your cheeks at this realization. Though, it was more likely he’d come seeking the “resident coffee expert” as he had so aptly put it before. Still, the thought excited you, and you nod.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in an hour!”

-----

It really was the longest hour of your life. Shifts like this usually fly by with how busy you are, but every time you bring out an order and call for the person’s name, you catch a glimpse of Adam lounging in one of the corner couches. He seems to keep to himself, even if his boredom is palpable. At one point you see him reading a fashion magazine with an eyebrow raised, and the next he’s nose deep in a years old issue of Entertainment Weekly. Man, your boss really needed to swap some of those out.

When your shift is finally coming to an end, you ask one of your other coworkers to put together your usual while you start concocting something for Adam. From your last encounter, you remember him liking his coffee blonde and sweet, so you decide to treat him to the wonders of syrups as you add a bit of brown sugar and caramel.

“So… how did you two meet?” one of your nicer yet nosier coworkers asks as he elbows you playfully. He waggles his eyebrows over in Adam’s direction, and you purse your lips before huffing a laugh through your nose.

“It’s not like that,” you clarify as you throw your jacket over your arms.

“Really? Because I'd be all over that in a heartbeat,” he replies with a hand over his chest. “What is he, made out of pure gold or something? And that voice!”

“Stop!” you exclaim with a laugh. “Believe me, I wish it was. I've literally only met him once before, right after downtown got totally wrecked. He's one of the guys who saved the day.”

“That's one of the Guardians of the Galaxy? Shit, girl, you better act fast,” he teases as you grab your bag and your coffees. You titter and shake your head, but you can't deny the rush you feel knowing that someone as well-known and beloved as Adam Warlock had come to see you personally. Maybe you had a chance with him, after all.

Or maybe you're just delusional and this perfect golden man is very friendly.

Adam's head pops up excitedly from the magazine he's reading when you approach. This time it’s Sports Illustrated, and you can't help but notice he almost seems relieved to have his attention pulled away from it.

“Ah, there you are,” he greets you with a warm smile as he stands, neatly replacing the magazine in its wooden cubby.

“How many of those did you go through?” you find yourself asking as you point to the small stack.

His cheeks turn a dark copper. A blush? He clears his throat. “I… all of them. I fear there is little to do here if one isn't drinking coffee.”

You give him a sympathetic smile before nodding towards the door. “You didn't have to stay here, you know. I know it's cold outside, but something tells me the temperature doesn't bother you that much.” More than a few people had given him strange looks for lingering in the cafe for that long without removing his winter coat, let alone without even breaking a sweat.

He hangs his head a bit, sheepishly glancing off to the side. “I did not want to get lost. If I did, I may not have made it back at the promised hour,” he admits shyly.

His kindness and consideration absolutely melt you. “Oh, that's--” you pause and chuckle, “...you're too sweet.”

“Am I?” he asks genuinely, his brow creeping up his forehead. “It seems like a simple courtesy.”

You offer him the coffee you'd made for him and he takes it into his hands, blinking down at it before returning his attention to your face. With a gentle smile, you reply, “It's more thought than most people would put into it, at least. But never mind that; go ahead and try that. I think you'll like it.”

“Oh, you--?” He stops himself, simply nodding before bringing the mouth of the lid to his lips. His eyes widen in an instant, an audible “mmm” humming in his throat as he takes a few more sips. It clearly takes him a lot of self-restraint to not finish his cup in one go, lowering it as he swallows. “I knew I made the right decision in trusting you,” he says emphatically before giving you a brilliant smile.

Now it's your turn to be shy, rubbing the back of your neck and chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I'm glad you like it,” you reply quietly.

“If I may trouble you further,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head so that his face is level with yours. His closeness draws a little squeak from your lips. “The Guardians gave me the entire day to myself. I… would spend more time with you.”

Your mouth hangs agape. He wants to spend time with you? Warmth blossoms in your chest and your stomach flips.

When you don't immediately respond, he withdraws, worry creasing his brow, and exhales with a forlorn smile. “I… forgive me. That was a selfish request--”

“N-no!” you're quick to interrupt, not thinking about your movements when your hand comes to rest over his. You gasp and pull back instantly, and you can feel your face growing hot as the touch lingers on your fingertips. “I would love to. I just wasn't expecting it.”

“Why not? You seem pleasant enough company,” he replies, confused by your trepidation. 

“I… um…” You lick your lips, lacking a proper answer when you really think about it. “Never mind, but thank you.”

There's no way this man is real. You're clearly dreaming. Some intergalactic superhero shows up once, interacts with you once, and suddenly he has an interest in you? This is either an incredibly elaborate dream or a terribly cruel prank.

Though, you're not going to deny yourself this indulgence, real or not.

“There’s a park nearby. Obviously it's not the liveliest place right now, but I like to go there to relax.” When he regards you with curiosity, you add, “I would rather not spend more time at my place of work than I need to.”

He smiles in understanding before approaching the exit, opening the door as bitter winter air spills into the cafe. He nods for you to go first, and you have to stifle the girlish giggle bubbling in your chest. Of course he's a perfect gentleman. The two of you make your way down the sidewalk, side by side, though occasionally Adam stops to take another sip of his coffee. Each time he does, he adopts a delighted smile that warms your very soul.

“So,” he starts as you walk, eyeing you from the side. “How did you become a coffee expert?”

He asks it so genuinely you almost feel bad for the snort you let out. “I… I'm no expert. Just a local barista who enjoys what she does. Well, minus the customers, sometimes,” you respond.

“Ah… I am a customer, aren’t I?” he asks forlornly.

“Oh, you're one of the good ones!” you reassure him. “After all, I don't usually spend time with customers once my shift ends. You're a special one.”

“A special one? Hmm…” He seems to give this a great deal of thought as he rests a hand under his chin. “It is good that you do not dislike me, though. I certainly prefer it this way.”

You blink up at him in surprise as a blush spreads across your cheeks, and he seems to realize it in the same moment as his face turns a deeper shade of copper. He clears his throat, and you turn your head away with a quiet giggle.

The two of you finally reach the park, and much to your surprise, there are quite a few people here. A lot of couples wander about the paved pathways, cuddled up together for warmth as they whisper sweet nothings to each other and admire the soft glow of the lights that have been strung about. You can't help but feel a little self conscious about bringing Adam here; it’s clear that the atmosphere is far more amorous than usual.

“There is joy in plentiful abundance here. I can understand why you would enjoy it,” his voice breaks through your thoughts as he smiles at you. 

“I-I… it's, um… not normally this populated this time of year,” you explain as you nervously massage the nape of your neck. A shiver wracks your body then, and you're reminded that the light jacket you were wearing was enough for your commute but far from sufficient for lingering in the cold.

Adam seems to take notice, immediately shedding his winter coat and draping it over your shoulders. “Here,” he says softly as you're suddenly enveloped in warmth. His broad shoulders mean that his coat dwarfs you, reaching almost to your knees. It smells like him, like golden sunshine, earth, and the faintest hint of cologne. You hadn’t pegged him as the sort to wear fragrance, but you find yourself trying to memorize the scent nonetheless. 

“Oh, I--thank you,” you acquiesce as your blush deepens. The long sleeved red shirt he had worn underneath hugs his physique, and you have to stop yourself from staring.

“Do not mention it. It was merely a fashion choice to blend in, so I will be fine without it.” He looks at the way your neck disappears beneath the coat's fur collar and lets out a chortle. “Though, it may be a bit large for you. I apologize.”

You shake your head, trying to shed your rather Terran thoughts of what his actions normally imply at the same time, and offer him a shy smile. “No, it's fine. It’s warmer this way, I think.”

A bench beneath a large, barren oak draped in string lights is where you find yourselves. Though you sit side by side, you're careful not to sit too close to him. Don't want to give the wrong impression. It's quieter here, at least, and you settle into your seat with a long sigh before staring up into the colorless winter sky. The setting sun tries to peek through the clouds, a lone beacon glowing through the fog with its cold light. 

At least you have your own sun sitting next to you. 

“Do you like living here?” he asks suddenly with a tilt of his head in your direction. Curious eyes blink innocently at you.

That’s one you really have to think about. You shuffle a bit in your seat and tug his jacket tighter around your body, letting out a contemplative hum.

“It’s… familiar,” you finally say, your gaze trailing away as you grow lost in thought. “Routine. There’s a comfort in that.”

“You want something more,” he surmises from your tone, eyes softening.

You blink at him in surprise. “I… yeah. I suppose I do. But at the same time, change is scary, you know?” Burying your chin in the coat’s fur trim, you sigh. “You must see so many things out there…”

He chortles then, a low, rumbling sound. “And yet I still came here to experience coffee for the first time.”

His jovial nature eases your worries, instead letting you consider just what your first meeting really meant. “You’re telling me, truly, that you couldn’t get coffee elsewhere? I don’t believe for a second that coffee didn’t make its way across the galaxy!”

A hearty laugh bursts forth from him. “No, but I do not often have time at my disposal to seek such things out. I saw the opportunity while we were in the area and took it.”

Unexpectedly, he takes your hand gently in his. His golden skin is still just that, skin, tender and warm as he cradles your smaller hand in his palm. “I am glad I did,” he adds, smiling softly. “You have proven to be wonderful company.”

Your face heats up instantly to the point you’re surprised you can’t see steam coming off of your skin. Eyes glued to where your hands meet, you can feel your heart fluttering at even that simplest of touches.

“I-I… I’m glad you think so,” you finally eke out, thanking whatever gods are listening that your voice didn’t crack too terribly.

“This will be a wonderful… friendship, I think. Perhaps you can teach me other things, such as terran fashion or customs.” A sparkle glints in his eyes that you can’t help but notice. You also couldn’t help but notice the pause in his speech, nor the way his own cheeks turned a deep bronze.

“I don’t think you’ll need much help from me on fashion,” you reply, nodding at his current outfit. “You clearly have good taste.”

“Do I?” he asks with genuine surprise. “I simply chose garments that fit me well and that were in colors I often already wore and enjoyed…”

You giggle, and he regards you perplexedly. “You do realize that means you’re already putting more thought into it than most do, right?” When he shakes his head, you add, “A lot of people just grab whatever clothes are clean and head out the door.”

He seems to think on that, toying with your fingers as he brushes his thumb over your knuckles while he ponders. “I see… so that is what Qui--ah, Star-Lord does every day. It would explain some things.”

You snort at that, recalling the other humanoid that had been accompanying him the last time you met. “I wouldn’t tell him that, if I were you. He seems to have a fragile enough ego already.”

Adam gives you a knowing smirk as a laugh huffs from his nostrils. “You gathered as much from one meeting? You have a keen eye.”

“Nah, I’m just used to his type,” you correct him, shrugging your shoulders. “Not the first time I’ve been flirted with at work.”

“Mm,” he hums pensively. “That does not surprise me.” His eyes snap back up to yours and, once he realizes what he’s said, that bronze shade grows even more intense upon his face. “That is--I, well, you are pleasant to talk to, and to look at--”

Is he getting flustered? Over you? …Did he just say you were pleasant to look at?

He bites his tongue and looks away bashfully, withdrawing his hand. “I have said too much. Forgive me.”

Now you are the one who reaches for his hand, taking it back into your delicate hold as he regards you from the corner of his eye. “No, no… I don’t mind. Really,” you urge, even if your heart hammers in your chest. “I feel the same about you.”

“Ah…” he responds, the syllable almost choking its way from his throat. “It is not a feeling I am used to navigating. Forgive me if I seem hesitant or unsure.”

He seems so vulnerable now, this perfect man, and you feel yourself leaning closer to him. The hesitation is still there, but something about him draws you closer. You press your palm against his before interlocking your fingers. Golden lips part softly as he watches you closely, searching for any sign of discomfort, and all he sees is your gentle smile.

“And… what feeling is that?” you ask tentatively. It’s easier to brace yourself for any possible rejection if you just stare at your interlaced hands instead of his face.

“I…” he begins, trailing off for a moment. “Attraction, at the very least,” he finally ventures, his eyes darting off to stare at the lingering snow that clings to the grass. “I did not lie. It is soothing, pleasurable, even, to be in your company. That much I know. I am drawn to you.”

Well, that much you had in common. Finally your gaze finds its way back to his face. He’s clearly embarrassed. Meanwhile, you’re over the moon, trying desperately to contain your excitement at this revelation. Still, this is clearly all new, especially for him, and the last thing you want to do is scare him off.

“I’m flattered, Adam,” you reply warmly, bringing his attention back to you. “It… it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, though. People find each other attractive all the time.” Reality sinks in as you continue, “...and you’re always off saving the universe, so if you don’t want to--”

“Please,” he suddenly hisses, clasping his other hand over yours and squeezing. “Do not dismiss what I am telling you. Even if I am unsure of it myself, I know that I want to spend more time with you.” When your eyes widen, he continues, “I know of friendship. Kinship. What it is to have people close to you. There is something about your very soul that invites me deeper, beyond even that. It is true that you and I have only barely become acquainted, but I…”

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss to your knuckles.

“I would be terribly suffering if I were never to see you again.”

[burningembers91]

In the Bleak Midwinter - Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Outside Looking In

Synopsis: Caught out in the cold, you offer Nam-Gyu a place to stay

It was freezing tonight, the coldest January on record in at least 5 years. There were several weather warnings in effect, and ice and snow covered the city streets. Nam-Gyu sat in his winter parker, the hood pulled round his face, his hand stuffed into the pockets for warmth. He’d hardly sold any tickets tonight, most people preferring to stay hunkered down in the warmth instead of battling the elements for some overpriced cocktails and loud music. Still, he battled on, approaching those crazy enough to be out in the cold. He was knocked back again and again, but he couldn’t give up. His parents had given him an ultimatum; find a “real” job or leave their house. Nam-Gyu had begged and pleaded with them to let him stay, even for just a few more days until the weather had died down. But his parents were tired of supporting their youngest son, of constantly having to bail him out of debts they couldn’t afford to pay. His siblings were both doctors, highly esteemed and well respected in their fields. Why couldn’t Nam-Gyu be like this brothers? His parents often wondered. Why did he insist on carrying out this childish fantasy of club promoting? He was approaching 30, and many of his old classmates and family acquaintances were settling down, so why couldn’t he?

You were the reason he couldn’t settle down, couldn’t move on from a job that was actually causing him to lose money. You were all he had left in the world, the one friend he could count on. You’d grown a little closer over the last few months, letting down your guard enough to allow Nam-Gyu to walk you home most nights. He was acting more like himself, forgoing the cocky persona he adopted when he was working. You liked the real him, had told him so several times, and for the first time in his life, Nam-Gyu felt like he didn’t need to be anyone else. You were still broken though, still dragging yourself through the monotony of life in order to pay the bills. Your rent had gone up, as had the heating bill, but your wages were still pitifully low. You found yourself wondering how you’d pay the bills, how you’d manage to feed yourself when you were barely covering basic expenses. Nam-Gyu kept you sane, making you laugh on the nights you thought you might wither and fade entirely.

He saw you standing outside the club, your winter coat pulled up by your ears, your bare legs covered in goosebumps. “I bought you a hot chocolate,” he smiled, handing you the paper cup he’d been using to warm his hands. “What are you doing here?” you gasped, taking the hot drink gratefully and taking a large sip. “It’s absolutely freezing out! You’ll catch your death. Please, go home. I’m ok tonight, there’s hardly anyone here.” Nam-Gyu didn’t like to leave you on your own, not when he knew the way the men who frequented your club behaved. He’d witnessed it more times that he’d cared to, had come to your aid on the occasions where drunken patrons had tried to take advantage of you. You were strong, and you could hold your own, but Nam-Gyu would never forgive himself if something happened to you. “I’m fine!” he lied, pulling his hood tighter around his face as the snow continued to bucket down. “Nam-Gyu,” you sighed, “it’s one snowflake away from a full-blown blizzard. You’ll freeze to death out here. I’m finishing early tonight anyway, so I won’t be walking home on my own too late.”

He knew you wouldn’t let off until he went home, but he no longer had a home to go to. He’d been crashing with one of his brother’s for a few days, but his parents found out and the backlash had been enough for his brother to renege on his invitation. “I uh… I can’t go home,” he admitted. “I had an argument with my parents.” He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, didn’t want you to see the shame plastered to his face. “So, where are you staying?” He could hear the pity in your voice, and he hated it. “Around,” he shrugged, but you couldn’t fool him. you could read Nam-Gyu like a book; you’d gotten to know him quite well over the last few months, better than he’d realised. “Take my keys,” you told him.  “I get off work in an hour, and I’ll see you at my place. You can’t stay in the cold though.” Handing him a pink fuzzy keychain, you didn’t give him a chance to argue before you hurried back into the warmth of the club.

When he arrived at your apartment, the lights wouldn’t turn on. Nam-Gyu wondered if perhaps there was a fault with the fuse box, but he couldn’t find it in your apartment, so set about looking for candles instead. He lit as many as he could find and took a seat on your tiny sofa. He tried to avoid looking at the underwear you’d left hanging out to dry, the lacy garments almost taunting him as he looked wildly around the room for a distraction. You had photos covering your walls; pictures of you with friends and family, pictures of you on vacation. Your smile was so wide, your eyes so bright. He wondered what had happened to you that had dimmed your sparkle. He noticed that you like to read, stacks of books piled around your apartment by various different authors. When looking for the bathroom, he found your bedroom and couldn’t help but smile at the teddy bear perched atop your pillow. The fur was faded and completely gone in some places, but it still held pride of place in your room.

You arrived back home shortly after 11pm to find Nam-Gyu sitting in near darkness. “Why are all the lights off?” you asked him, dumping your coat and boots in the hall. His face was bathed in the dark orange glow of the candles, the light casting his shadow onto the wall behind him. “They wouldn’t turn on,” he said, “I couldn’t find the fuse box, so I just lit your candles.” You tried and failed to get the lights working, a constant sinking feeling in your stomach increasing with each passing second. “They turned my electric off,” you sighed, realising there was nothing faulty with the fuse box. “I… I’m a little behind on payments.” Slumping on the sofa next to Nam-Gyu, you leaned your head against the threadbare couch. Because your electric was off, it meant the heating wasn’t working, and your apartment was like an icebox. You could see your breath in the air when you exhaled, could feel a shiver run through you as you sat freezing in your dress. “What will you do?” Nam-Gyu asked, wishing he could offer you money so you could at least get your lights back on. But the truth was, he was fully in the red. His bank account was overdrawn, and he’d borrowed more money than he cared to think about. “I’ll be ok,” you shrugged. “No use worrying about it now though. I’ll call the company tomorrow. Will you be ok on the sofa?” Nam-Gyu nodded, wrapping himself in the pink fluffy blanket he’d found when he first arrived. “Goodnight,” he whispered, watching as you padded through to the bedroom, using a linen scented candle to guide your way.

You were freezing under your duvet, unable to warm up despite the pyjamas and blankets covering your body. You couldn’t imagine how Nam-Gy must feel, having only a small blanket for warmth. You couldn’t leave him out there like that, not when he’d always been so kind to you. “Do you want to come and sleep in the bed”? you called out, “it’s too cold to be in the living room.” You heard him get up, heard the sound of his feet on the hardwood as he wondered over to your door. “Are you sure?” he asked, “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” But his heart soared at the thought of lying next to you, of feeling your body against his. You pulled back the duvet, allowing him to slide in next to you. The sheets smelled like your perfume and Nam-Gyu took a deep, but quiet breath in as he inhaled your scent.

You were still freezing, and gently pushed yourself closer to his body, the warmth of his chest radiating against your back. Gingerly, Nam-Gyu curled his arm around you, pulling you in closer. You both lay there in the darkness of the room, watching as the snow continued to fall. Neither of you knew what tomorrow would bring. You were both at the lowest points of your lives, but now you had each other. “Goodnight,” he whispered to you, his lips brushing lightly against the tip of your ear. “Goodnight,” you whispered back, his gentle touch sending sparks through your body. You wanted him to kiss you, wanted him to make love to you under the sheets but you couldn’t bring yourself to make the move. As good a man as Nam-Gyu was, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully let your guard down.

But, as you waited for sleep to come, his soft snores oddly comforting in the cold silence of the night, you wondered if perhaps you should take a chance on him. Perhaps you should open yourself to the man who waited in the wind, rain, and snow for you, who never gave up on you.

Maybe it was time to your open yourself up to the possibility that you could be happy again, that a club promoter and a hostess could have a life filled with love and laughter, if only they could get up the courage to try.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Cocktails

"Cocktail," like many words, has evolved over time, broadening its meaning.

While it once indicated a narrow range of drinks—perhaps originally a single drink—it is now customarily used to cover nearly the full range of mixed drinks available in the bars of the world.

Purists may insist that a true cocktail include at least 3 ingredients, two of which are distilled liquor and bitters. Others may argue that any drink mixed on the spot from two or more ingredients, at least one of which is alcoholic, is a cocktail.

The first known references to drinks called cocktails come from the late 18th and early 19th centuries. At that time, alcoholic beverages were largely served in inns and public houses, and weary travelers and thirsty locals would order concoctions.

LONG DRINKS

Also known as tall drinks, are simply drinks in tall glasses with larger amounts of mixer than short drinks.

Some, like highballs, are simple and straightforward; others are complex concoctions.

What they have in common is a relaxed quality, in that they present a relatively low concentration of alcohol and, often, an easy-drinking accessibility.

SHORT DRINKS

A drink served in a tumbler or old-fashioned glass.

Since they contain a higher concentration of alcohol than long drinks, they tend to be built more for slow, deliberate sipping—but there are no hard and fast rules here.

UP DRINKS

The classic image of a cocktail: shaken or stirred with ice and served, almost always strained, in a cocktail glass.

The most elegant of the cocktails, and not only because of their presentation.

Subtle or intense, austere or rich, they tend to have distinct personalities.

SHOTS & SHOOTERS

The most recreational of cocktails.

Despite their popular image, most of them are actually rather low in alcohol; the danger of shots lies in the temptation to drink too many, too quickly. Given how delicious many of them are, that can be all too easy to do.

HOT & FROZEN DRINKS

Hot cocktails have a long history, having been used for centuries to warm chilled travelers and bar customers.

Frozen cocktails are a more recent development, but they offer a bracing kind of refreshment that is perfect for steamy summer evenings.

Some Cocktails

Classic Cocktails

Some drinks have become timeless, iconic libations of cocktail culture:

THE MARTINI Despite a myriad of variations since its first appearance in the nineteenth century, the classic Martini remains the quintessential elegant cocktail: a cool, somewhat austere drink, not showy, but certainly powerful.

THE MANHATTAN The richness and power of whiskey gives the Manhattan slightly rougher edges than the Martini. It gained prominence in the 1930s as one of the five Borough cocktails of New York.

THE OLD FASHIONED Long before Don Draper of Mad Men revived interest in this classic, adding bitters and sugar to whiskey was a mainstay of cocktail culture and one of the most basic drink preparations.

THE DAIQUIRI The classic rum cocktail, the Daiquiri was a favorite of Ernest Hemingway and John F. Kennedy, and has spawned a host of variations.

Seasonal Drinks

Though most cocktails inhabit the perpetual season known as cocktail hour, many capture—or help create—the distinct mood of each quarter of the year.

SPRING & SUMMER Light, refreshing cocktails dominate the spring. Consider such classics as slings, smashes, lemonade drinks, and colorful coolers. Go-to cocktail: a French 75 Summer is, of course, the season for clear and tropical cocktails. Fresh fruit fills the market stands, the sun pours down through long days, and a cold, sweet-and-tart drink is what you crave. While you could always go for a Gin and Tonic, for a bit more personality try one of the great Caribbean drinks—a classic Daiquiri will keep you cool.

FALL & WINTER As Keats put it, autumn is the “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” and that vibe is what you’ll want in a cocktail. Deeper, richer drinks come to the fore. Any drink involving apple juice or apple brandy chimes with sentimental visions of autumn. Go-to cocktail: a Sidecar. When winter comes, linger over an Irish Coffee or Hot Toddy; or brace yourself against the cold with a potent whiskey drink—stay toasty warm with an Old Fashioned.

Champagne Cocktails

Occupy a distinct niche in cocktail culture.

At once colorful and elegant, festive and intimate, they lend themselves not only to romantic settings but also to expensive parties.

Source: The Ultimate Cocktail Encyclopedia by Walter Burns More Writing References: Wine-tasting ⚜ Drunkenness ⚜ Drinking

[joelalorian]

Wonder in Winterland - Part I

Hallmark!Joel Miller x f!reader | wc: 2790 | masterlist

Summary: You, a city girl on a cross-country road trip a week before Christmas, find yourself stranded in a whimsical Christmas town. You soon discover there is more to life than big city dreams. Based on the Hallmark movie Love You Like Christmas.

Warnings: None (although the rest of this blog is 18+ mdni). This is utter fluff and whimsy. Limited descriptions of reader and no use of y/n. Enjoy it with a cuppa hot cocoa and a warm blankie. Will post on Sundays throughout December.

Dividers courtesy of saradika-graphics. This magical moodboard is all thanks to @brittmb115!

Part I

A thousand miles from nowhere, you grew weary of driving despite the scenic view of snow-dusted evergreens looming like sentinels along the barren stretch of highway. The old pickup your dad left you ate up the miles like an asphalt sandwich, its engine rumbling almost louder than the outdated radio as it struggled to stay tuned to the local stations. The scent of pine mixed with motor oil hung in the cab, a reminder of just how old the truck was and the amount of time you spent trapped in it so far.

If not for the irrational fear of flying, you’d already be in San Francisco, enjoying a cocktail at Pier 39, watching the sea lions as you killed time before your long-time client’s wedding.

Instead, you were twenty-seven hours into the cross-country trek with too many hours left to go and you had to pee so bad you could practically taste it. Shifting uncomfortably, you casted a glance at the towering mountains lining the valley, the sun fighting to peek through the lingering fog as it rose above the peaks. When traffic ground to a halt, a frustrated groan slipped past your lips, and you threw the transmission into park.

Popping the door open with a loud creak, you took the unexpected break as a sign to stretch your legs. The brisk air outside bit at your skin when you stepped out, breath forming small clouds that disappeared into the winter wind. You weaved between cars to the soundtrack of beeping horns and impatient shouts until coming upon the cause of the delay.

A trailer full of Christmas trees sat partially overturned, half its cargo scattered across the highway like some messed up holiday party. Among the chaos stood a man – tall, broad, and clad in a thick, well-worn flannel jacket that looked as rugged as the mountains behind him. The breeze caught his dark curls, tossing them across his forehead as he worked to pile the fallen trees back onto the trailer. Wholly unbothered by the flustered drivers glaring and honking at him, the man worked with steady, unrushed focus.

“Need any help?” you called out, slipping on a pair of leather gloves as you approached.

The man’s head snapped toward you at the sound of your voice, and he paused, brow loosening and a small smile pulling at his lips as warm brown eyes drank you in with a curious, amused glint. “I’d hate to ruin your pretty little outfit, darlin’.”

Your eyebrow arched. A playful smiled tugged at your lips as you stepped closer, snow crunching under your heeled boots. “You think my outfit’s pretty?”

His expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something warmer. “I think you’re pretty. The outfit’s just window dressing.” His grin widened as he added, “I’m Joel, by the way.”

Your laugh bubbled out, light and unexpected, cutting through the cold rhythmically. Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his cheeks tinged pink – not from the chill, but from something else entirely. Just as your gloved hands were about to clasp in a handshake, some asshole laid on his horn with a shout.

“Can you two get a room or something? Some of us have somewhere important to be!”

Turning to glare at the offender, you opened your mouth and the New Jersey in you came flying out. “Can it, dick cheese! Get off your fat ass and help if you’re in that much of a hurry!”

A bark of laughter drew your attention back to Joel as he shook his head in merry disbelief before going back to moving the trees. This time, you didn’t ask if he wanted help and bent to grab one of the smaller trees to lug it toward the trailer. The cold bit at your cheeks, breaking through your coat that was clearly more for style than warmth. The fresh scent of pine filled your lungs, as you hefted the tree back to the trailer.

Joel stood a few paces away with a larger tree slung over his broad shoulder, watching with an amused tilt of his head as you struggled past him.

“Aw come on, doll. You don’t have to do that.” His voice held a soft, almost pleading quality, but hidden behind that was a flicker of admiration as you ignored him and carried on despite the struggle. His expression shifted – half a smirk, half something deeper – as you hefted the tree onto the trailer and turned to fetch yet another one.

The pair of you continued working, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you now and then, lingering a little longer than they should. Around you, the chaos of impatient honking and shouts became nothing more than white noise.

A few others – including the mouthy asshole from earlier – seemed to get the hint that the roadway would clear quicker if they helped and within ten minutes, two of the travel lines were clear and traffic started to flow once again.

“Thanks for your help. You should probably get going, you look like you’re freezing,” Joel said as the last tree landed on the trailer and he pulled the tie down straps taut. “I’m gonna be here a while waiting for the tow truck. Can’t fix the trailer without some equipment.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Joel.” You shook Joel’s hand again, the heat from him worming its way through the material of your gloves, curling around you like the heat from a distant fire.

“You, too, darlin’.”

You hesitated, staring at each other for several long moments, not wanting to leave but you didn’t have a good enough excuse to stay. Flashing one last charming smile, you waved and sauntered back to your truck, which sat alone in the still blocked third lane.

The moment your truck refused to start, panic set in, swirling like winter wind in your chest. You hopped out again, popping the hood with more frustration than sense. Steam wafted from the still warm engine in thin, mocking wisps as you stared at the confusing labyrinth of parts comprising the engine compartment, entirely clueless. The frigid air nipped at your fingers and numbed your toes – why didn’t you dress appropriately knowing you’d be driving through a winter wonderland for half the journey.

The crunch of boots over the mix of ice and gravel sounded behind you, causing a shiver to wander down your spine. “I believe it’s my turn to offer a hand,” Joel said, his voice a deep rumble, sending a ripple of something straight to your core. When you turned, he was closer than you expected, his warm brown eyes softening as he took in your helpless shrug. “Let me take a look.”

He leaned over the engine, his broad and calloused hands moving deftly as though coaxing the old truck into cooperation. You caught yourself staring at the way his jaw clenched in concentration, the salt and pepper scruff along his jaw catching the light when he titled his head. Each frustrated grunt from him made your stomach flip, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while. Your thoughts began wandering in a certain direction as you eyed the breadth of him…

After a few fruitless minutes, Joel straightened, wiping his palms along the dark denim covering his legs before running one hand through his dark curls. The movement left his hair deliciously mussed, and you ached to run your own fingers through it.

“Can’t do much out here in the cold. Jimmy’s got the tools and parts we’d need back at his garage. Lemme just call him to give ‘em the heads up he’ll need to tow it back.”

As he spoke into his phone, explaining your plight to Jimmy, you realized how much you appreciated the way he said your name, drawing it out like something worth savoring. The way he stood close, his shoulders hunched slightly, broad body breaking the wind to protect you from the cold as much as he could, didn’t go unnoticed either.

“He’ll be here in a few,” Joel said once the call ended. “You can wait in my truck if you’re cold. I’ll give you a lift into town after.” Joel led you toward the shiny black four by four parked half on the shoulder, opening the door for you like a true country gentleman. Holding out a hand, he helped you climb up into the passenger seat as the sound of large tires on the rumble strip sounded behind you. “Up you get. That’ll be Jimmy. Feel free to start ‘er up and put the heat on. We’ll be done in no time.”

Your hands grasped the ring of keys and immediately stuck the right one into the ignition. The truck growled to life with a simple turn of your wrist and heat poured from the vents, carrying the heady scent of fresh-cut trees and sandalwood through the cab – his scent, you realized, and it was unexpectedly comforting. You adjusted in the seat, your fingers brushing over the fabric of a thick Carhart jacket slung over the headrest, as the warmth of the truck seemed to seep into your very core.

You had just pulled the jacket off the seat to wrap around yourself when Joel opened the driver-side door and climbed in, his movements fluid and unhurried. He glanced your way as he settled into the seat, the corners of his lips twitching upward when he noticed you bobbing your head along to Bing Crosby crooning over the radio.

“That was quick!” you exclaimed.

Joel’s chuckle was low and intimate. “Just needed the right leverage,” he said, resting his hands briefly on the heated steering wheel. His large, strong fingers flexed as though testing their strength after the labor. “Jimmy’s hooking up your truck now. He’ll be right behind us.”

You nodded, gaze drifting to his profile to drink in the sharp lines of his jaw and the pink tinge on his cheeks. Snow started falling outside as Joel shifted the truck into gear and began driving. As he steered the large truck down the highway, you caught a faint, amused glint in his eyes when he asked, “So, road-tripping for the holidays?”

The pair of you made easy conversation as he drove. You told him about your travel plans, and he told you about his farm. The miles passed in a blur before he signaled to take the next exit.

“Winterland?” you whispered upon seeing the welcome sign indicating the town’s name, the word slipping past your lips in wonder.

The small town of Winterland was like stepping into a Christmas card come to life. Lights twinkled on every storefront, reflections dancing off the snow-covered sidewalks. Wreaths adorned old gas-style lampposts, and the faint sound of holiday music drifted through the air from scattered outdoor speakers. Joel slowed the truck as he drove down Main Street, and you leaned closer to the window, the scene outside stealing your breath.

Joel glanced at you, warmth lighting his expression as he watched your awe unfold. “It grows on you,” he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the hum of the engine.

“You have got to be kidding me!” The urge to stomp your foot like a child nearly impossible to fight, you settled for a frustrated huff instead. “Nearly a week? Really?”

Jimmy the tow truck driver slash mechanic slash owner of the only gas station in town shrugged regretfully, one hand placed on the paunch pulling taut on his coveralls, the other stuck in his pocket. “Between the holidays and the weather, that’s the best my supplier could do. Parts for old trucks like that aren’t common, hon.”

“Can’t you order the parts from Amazon or something? They have two-day delivery!”

“Sorry, ma’am. I checked already and they’d have the same problems delivering the parts. That’s the downfall of small mountain towns, unfortunately, and it doesn’t get much smaller than Winterland.” Jimmy tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace on his grizzled face.

“Damn. Thanks for trying, Jimmy. I know you’re doing your best and I appreciate it.” Bumping your fist against the counter twice, you spun on your heels to leave only to turn back around. “Uh, is there like an inn or hotel or something nearby? I’m going to need a place to stay if the truck is going to take a week to fix.”

“That we do. The Millers run a small bed and breakfast down the road. It’s the only one in town. I’ll give you a ride in a minute.”

You waved him off. “That’s ok, I’ll just walk. It’ll give me the chance to take in the town.”

Jimmy eyed you doubtfully, questioning your clothing and footwear, which were clearly not suitable for the winter weather in the mountains. “If you say so, doll. You know it’s still snowing out, right?”

Five minutes later, you regretted brushing off Jimmy’s offer of a ride. Between the salt on the sidewalks, the falling snow, and the biting gusts of wind, dragging your rolling suitcase while trying to keep warm was a huge pain in the ass. That and you swore your toes were nothing more than little ice cubes attached to your feet.

When you finally reached the bed and breakfast, cleverly named the Evergreen House at Winterland, the scent of cinnamon and fresh-cut pine greeted you like an old friend. The cozy warmth of the lobby wrapped around you, the crackling fire in the hearth casting dancing shadows on the walls that mesmerized you.

Everything about this town, including its buildings and people, reminded you of Christmas. What was it like in the summer, you wondered.

“Hi there,” a friendly voice greeted you from down the hall and you glanced up to find a beautiful, dark-skinned woman walking toward you. Dressed in well-worn jeans and a thick ivory sweater, feet clad in fuzzy slippers, your own chilled, damp body quaked with jealousy over how comfortable and warm she looked. “You must be the new guest Jimmy told me to expect. I’m Maria.”

Replying with your name and a smile, you added, “I hope you have a room for me? I’m at a loss for where else to look if not.”

“Of course! We have the best room for you and plenty of food and drink to keep you sustained for as long as you need. What brings you to town?”

Maria led you up the rounded stairway as you shared the story of driving across the country and the old truck refusing to start after a delay on the highway. You spared her the details, though. She stopped in front of dark wooden door, a hand-carved sign on it reading “Blue Spruce”, and opened it to reveal a cozy sitting area and a large bed. “This is your room. We named all the rooms after Christmas trees. It was my husband’s idea – his brother owns the tree farm on the outskirts of town.”

Putting the pieces together, you asked, “Your husband is Joel’s brother?”

“You know Joel?” Maria inquired, brows arching curiously. She seemed delighted by that fact, judging by the smile slowly spreading across her lips.

“Well, yeah, I met him out on the highway. He’s the reason for the traffic jam and why I ended up here in Winterland rather than stranded somewhere else along the road.”

“Well, isn’t that serendipitous!” Maria replied with a clap of her hands. “Joel and Sarah are coming for dinner tonight. You’ll join us, of course.”

Maria’s excitement was infectious, and you smiled in return. You couldn’t help but wonder who Sarah was – a girlfriend or wife, probably, as your luck tended to go – and if Joel’s reaction to your unexpected reunion would be as enthusiastic as hers. Maria left you to get settled in and rest for a bit before dinner. You changed into something more comfortable for napping and barely laid down before something scratched at the door with a low whine.

“What in the world?” you murmured as you shuffled toward the door. A golden retriever sat waiting for you, tongue lolling and a Santa-themed bandana around its neck. “Well, hello there. Who might you be?”

The dog trotted right past you like he owned the place, and you spotted the name Barkley printed on the bandana as he went by. “Barkley, huh? The Miller family really went all in on the Christmas tree charm, didn’t they?”

Barkley jumped on the bed and whined, clearly begging you to let him nap there. Giggling softly, you shut the door and climbed back under the covers, falling asleep with Barkley snuggled right up to your side like your own personal radiator.

tbc

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐜𝐃𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐭 & 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐲

Read below or on ao3

Emmrich dropped them off outside the front doors of the banquet hall to spare everyone the chilly walk from the parking lot, and as Rook opened the door and parted her legs to step onto the pavement, the cold winter air hit the juncture of her thighs, emphasizing the hot slippery mess of Emmrich’s cum that still lingered between them.

So maybe letting him fill her up right before the party wasn’t the best thought through decision she’d ever made, but Maker, she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t ridiculously hot.

She tossed an innocent glance Emmrich's way before she got out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride."

She wasn't referring to the lift to the party, and Emmrich realized that judging by the way he quickly looked forward and went pink, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel.

She, Elijah, Becks, and her boyfriend, Torbin, found their way inside and took the elevator up to the fourth floor where they followed the signs to the banquet hall rented out by McDermott & Rafferty for the evening.

Concrete floors, white table linens, ambient light splashed against the walls in festive blues and greens, classy instrumental music (thankfully not the same repeated classical fare they were subjected to daily - but Rook wouldn't have been surprised): it was by all definitions like every other corporate holiday party she'd ever attended, which truthfully wasn't many, but definitely enough to glean that they were pretty much all the same.

People she knew from work milled around in predictable little pods of familiarity: senior staff and their spouses with other senior staff, administrators with other administrators, off-shoot little clumpings of certain funeral attendants that thought they were better than their fellows simply because they were students huddled together casting smug, judgy little looks from behind their vodka sodas.

Rook noted that Solas was not amongst the gaggle of housekeepers, and thought perhaps he hadn't bothered coming at all. It wasn't until she and Becks went to hang up their coats that she spotted him: lurking in the shadow of massive beetle carved out of ice, an expression on his angular face that practically screamed that he'd rather currently be on the receiving end of a colonoscopy than here. He tipped his head in polite acknowledgement when he felt Rook staring at him and went back to bitterly sipping whatever was in the bottom of the rocks glass in his hand: something clear and poured neat.

So why come at all? Fucking weirdo... also, who wears a bucket hat with cocktail attire?

"Drinks?" She suggested to Becks as she draped her very new, very expensive black leather jacket on a hanger and stashed it on the rack amongst the others.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” her fellow admin concurred, hanging her long black coat and tugging down the hem of her daringly short flamingo pink dress, smoothing it over her curvy thighs.

“Now if I was a bar in this place…” Rook tried to see through the crowded hall over the heads of the many people filling it. “Well… let’s go get Elijah and Torbin and see what we can see.” She started walking back towards where they’d left the two, glancing behind her to say, “Also, I was promised drink tickets: where the hell are my dr— oof!”

She’d walked into a wall, or at least she thought she had until her head snapped around and she found herself glaring up into the face of a man taller than Emmrich, and nearly three times as wide. He was glaring back at her, his intense features contorted in an expression of dignified revulsion as if Rook was a wet pile of shit he’d trodden in.

“Excuse me,” she said, the words polite, though she did not feel inclined to take a step back from the stranger: he was in her space just as much as she was in his, and he wasn’t paying attention either when they collided - he could move first… especially if he was going to look at her like that.

“Yes - excuse you,” he crooned, and no trace of warmth or forgiveness dwelled in his cold black eyes as his lip curled in a smile that was distinctly unpleasant and better compared to a condescending snarl.

Maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the the realization that whatever cologne he’d drowned himself in was actively burning her nose and eyes with the sharp pungency of it - like someone had formulated and retailed bear mace after trying to bury it under woodsmoke and leather. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t moved at all and was still staring down at her expectantly like he was waiting for her to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness for her ignorant faux pas. It could have been any aspect of him, but about this man set off every alarm bell in her head: danger - violence - threats - the instant and visceral understanding that this individual was not A Good Person.

She’d opened her mouth to ask why he was crashing a funeral home’s Wintersend party, but stopped when she felt herself being gently pulled away by Becks, her Orlesian-tip gels digging into her upper arm.

Scowling, she stepped aside, he lifted his chin, focused his gaze forward as if Rook had never been there, and carried on, his broad, surely steroid-swollen form vanishing into the crowd by the stage.

“Who the fuck was that equally disturbing Vince McMahon knockoff? Have you seen him around before?” She glared after him, noting that his steely, slicked back head of hair re-surfaced next to Derek and his wife.

“I haven’t,” Becks admitted. “But he smells like shit.”

“Well why is he here?” Rook pressed as they rejoined Elijah and Torbin. Always with the why…

“Maybe he’s the event coordinator?” Becks supplied.

“Maybe,” Rook frowned and looked around the room again, managing to spot Emmrich, who was about fifty feet away, shaking hands with Vorgoth, who apparently couldn’t be bothered to attend dinner in anything other than their uniform that they somehow kept so black it looked like it absorbed the light from its surrounding.

Affection flooded her at the sight of Emmrich even though he was so far away. He tapped the shoulder of Vorgoth’s suit jacket and his teeth flashed when he laughed - Rook couldn’t hear, but supposed he might have said something along the lines of: ‘This is the thirteenth year in a row you’ve shown up in that old thing, dear Vorgoth, and it somehow always looks stylish!’

Her heart pulled under the flawless ruby that hung on her chest, and she wished she could be standing next to him, uncaring of what anyone else thought. The people she worked with were grownups, right? How bad would it be?

Soon, she promised herself. After the holidays and my exams...

He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked directly at her, though he continued speaking to Vorgoth. Boundless warmth crinkled the corners of his tired eyes, and his smile widened further still… then he winked at her - a sly, nearly imperceptible flutter of an eyelid that immediately caused her stomach to backflip.

Oh fuck me - I think I love him.

To her delight, she managed to finesse two seats at the same round banquet table that Emmrich happened to be sitting at. Elijah joined her: Becks and Torbin had taken places at a different table with some of the other admins, including Joan and her husband.

Also at the table was another primary arranger named Perdita Lepidus and her girlfriend, and a funeral attendant that Rook knew from some of her classes as Victricia Cosmas - a name with some pull in the Tevinter Imperium where she hailed from.

Dinner was served buffet style, and Rook heartily enjoyed her prime rib whilst observing the show unfolding before her: Victricia spent the entire meal positively fucking grilling Emmrich on everything there was to know about mortuary science. It might have been off-colour mealtime conversation had the table not consisted of three students and another senior mortician, though Rook did notice that Perdita’s girlfriend set her fork and knife down halfway through Emmrich’s vivid explanation of unionalls: when to use them, when not to use them, and how best to conceal them under a decedent’s clothing.

They might have been attending one of their classes, Emmrich spoke so articulately on the subject, and Rook was surprised Victicia didn’t whip out a notebook and start taking notes then and there.

‘Will there be a quiz later?’

She subtly sent the message and set her phone back on the table, smirking when Emmrich seized upon the opportunity to pull his own phone from his inner breast pocket while Victricia was taking a long drink of water to prepare for another long-winded question.

‘Perhaps - best pay attention, Ms. Ingellvar.”

‘Yes Professor Volkarin.’

His head twitched slightly sideways, his amusement apparent, but he returned his phone to his pocket and listened attentively to Victricia’s next question: did he prefer to use the needle injector or manual suturing for closing a decedent’s mouth? What were the benefits and drawbacks of each method?

He’d been partway through an equally graphic answer when the dull thrum of conversation and the clink of glasses and silverware waned: Tom Rafferty had taken the stage to stand at the podium.

The elder Rafferty had a face like hewn granite. He may have owned and operated a funeral home in Nevarra’s largest city, but he was a farm-boy at his core, having been raised on the sprawling druffalo ranch kept by the family for generations.

Where Derek’s eyes were watery and stupid, Tom’s were piercing and perceptive - usually narrowed behind his gold-framed oval shaped glasses in an intense, duty-driven scowl - but Rook had seen for herself that those same eyes were also capable of the disarming softness and compassion that many in the profession possessed.

He looked like a well-groomed wild cardinal with his crown of perfectly trimmed white hair and his light blue suit that was as meticulously tailored as Emmrich’s, looking patiently out at the assembly of people before him, clutching what looked to be a something-and-Coke in the hand resting on the corner of the lectern.

Tom Rafferty did not suffer fools, which was why Derek’s involvement with the business was a mystery to Rook: maybe he was blinded by parental affection for his douchey son, maybe he saw some deeply, deeply, deeply buried potential in his offspring that no one else had. Regardless of that peculiar dynamic, Rook had been told by multiple people within her first week at McDermott & Rafferty that the company’s namesake was not in the business of fucking around when it came to how things were done at his funeral home.

He was one of those sorts of people to whom there only existed two ways to do something: the right way and the wrong way.

He was of the mind that you don’t try to fix what isn’t broken, and that you revered and perfected your craft instead of fucking around with it like it was a hobby.

He cared deeply about the work that he did - never above picking up a shovel to help dig a grave, nor donning a pair of scrubs to help out in the prep room when the embalming staff where overwhelmed.

A man of high standards, he ardently enforced them, expecting those that he employed to live up to his own level of nearly all-consuming passion when it came to the care of the deceased and their families.

This made him largely unpopular amongst most of the staff simply because they were terrified of him, but Rook, having been cured of her fear of ‘important people’ after the last big-wig she worked for, saw Tom for what he was: a man. Just a dude like any other dude who ever existed.

Sure he was loaded rich, had a tongue like a wooden switch if he thought you weren’t taking your job seriously, and was prone to firing people on the spot if they didn’t meet his expectations, but honestly, he was a dude who cared so fucking much about his work and the service it provided, that it all translated into being kind of a dick. Like… the definition of loving something too much, if that ‘something’ was taking care the bereaved.

It was grey and not without issue - not easy to condemn or support - but she got it.

Besides - after decades of paying the wages of dipshit falldowns who - despite being well meaning in most cases - did not possess the intellectual or emotional intelligence required to do this job, Rook figured she’d probably have a low threshold for entertaining bullshit too.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening,” Tom began, his voice a serious, rumbling baritone. “I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourselves and the excellent meal we’ve shared together—”

She could tally by name in her mind at least a dozen fellow employees who she knew were dying to heckle the man with a remark about the year the food ran out, but knew that acting on such thoughts would mean career suicide.

“— so I won’t keep you long: I wanted to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for the incredible work you’ve put in over this past year: The value of the service that we provide to our community can’t be understated. Funeral service is not for the faint of heart - it’s hard, emotionally laborious… the hours are demanding, and many of you - myself included - have sacrificed holidays and meaningful times with our own families in order to serve the families who call on us in their time of need.

“Trust is vital to what we do: we cannot even begin to help the bereaved if they don’t trust us, and I am incredibly humbled to be sharing the room with so many consumate professionals in our field who work hard three hundred and sixty-four days a year to provide outstanding, quality, ethical funeral services to Nevarra City — and I must thank you for this vital role that you fill in our society.”

Applause had erupted at his words, and he waited until it died down, bowing his head gratefully before continuing.

“Thank you. Now, I took ownership of McDermott & Rafferty before many of you were born—” a chuckle of multitudes rippled through the banquet hall. “— and in that time, we’ve seen the firm expand from the original four locations to nine throughout the city. We run three full-time crematoriums, and our central preparation facility is state of the art with the most up to date, modern equipment available. We’ve won awards and earned accolades, and are widely regarded as the preferred funeral home in the city: the people of Nevarra trust us, and that’s because of you folks. I am proud… beyond proud—”

Is he getting misty-eyed?

Rook looked to Emmrich: he was twisted in his seat, forearm resting on the back of his chair, eyes fixed on the stage.

“— but with progress and growth must come change: it is the nature of life, and the nature of death in turn.” Tom paused, cleared his throat. “With that being said, I’ve decided that it’s time to turn my mind to my own remaining days: my retirement… my priorities.” His ring-covered fingers tapped against the underside of the podium, and he took a grounding breath. “Which is why it’s my great privilege to notify you all that my son, Derek, will be assuming the role of President and CEO of McDermott & Rafferty as of the new year.”

You could have heard a mouse fart for the silence in the room.

“He has worked alongside you for many years, and the time has come to pass on the torch so to speak.” He nodded at Derek, who inclined his head in turn from his table at the front of the stage. “I will remain onboard in a managerial capacity during this transition to lend guidance and support where I can, but I firmly believe that together, as we enter a new chapter, we will continue to offer nothing short of the finest funeral offerings this city has ever seen.” He wiped his eyes under his glasses with one hand and then raised his glass. “Hail The Dead!”

The words were repeated back in a singular voice as everyone present lifted their glasses in turn.

"What the fuck?" Elijah leaned close and whispered. Rook just shrugged and tipped back her glass of Malbec as Emmrich drank from his. What little she could make out of his face was unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders and his neck that made Rook uneasy.  

"I'd like to invite Derek up here now to say a few words - please, let’s hear it for Derek." He clapped his large, broad fingered hands together, and people joined him as Derek rose from his table, setting his napkin down and ascending the riser to the stage.

He embraced his father, clapping him on the back heartily before shaking his hand and sidling up to the podium, looking as pink and blonde and useless as ever - Rook thought he was worthy of applause for the sheer fact that he hadn't managed to trip over his own dick on his way up.

Derek waited until Tom left the stage, seeing him off with polite applause until he assumed the same stance his father held at the lectern moments earlier.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that we would not be here today if not for you, Tom–"

Well, you certainly wouldn't, asshat...

"– under your wisdom and guidance, McDermott & Rafferty has thrived. We are entrusted with no less than forty-eight percent of First Calls requiring mortuary services in the city - that's huge. That's impressive–"

Thanks, we can do basic math.

"– but as Nevarra City and the surrounding areas continue to grow, so does the need for prompt, efficient funeral service. Attitudes are shifting on a cultural level when it comes to death, dying, and what comes after: families are increasingly focused on convenience and non-intrusive communication methods to streamline the process of planning funerals - and, to a point, people are straying away from the ritual of the traditional funeral service entirely. It is our purpose - our calling - as death care professionals to educate and foster relationships within our community, so that they may properly appreciate the vital role that a funeral plays in managing grief.

"Tom, myself, and your managers, Myrna, and Vorgoth, are thrilled to usher in a new era of growth and innovation at McDermott & Rafferty, so that we may continue to serve our city as it has trusted us to serve for generations."

Rook could make out two figures to the side of the stage: one tall and frighteningly thin, the other broad, straining at the seams of his pin-striped suit. She wasn’t close enough to catch a whiff, but she remembered what he smelled like: rotting meat left in the sun, and burnt flesh.

“Please join me in a warm welcome for McDermott & Rafferty’s new partners: Elgar’nan Lusacan, and Ghilan’nain Razikale, joint chairs and Chief Operating Officers of Evanuris International.“

Fucking what?

As yet more applause reverberated about the room, and the stuffy prick she had collided with mounted the stage with a reedy woman shaped like a sentient pool noodle, Rook’s fingernails dug into the tablecloth. They approached the podium and shook hands with Derek, the thin woman carelessly shoving her designer purse - and the most inbred looking pug Rook had ever seen sitting inside of it - under her arm to pump Derek’s hand with spindly fingers that looked alien they were so long and thin.

Partners? Evanuris International?

Rook hardly considered herself abreast of global economics and politics, caring far more about her own small world and what she would have to sacrifice any given month to make rent - but Evanuris International was not unknown to her: the mega-conglomerate was infamously well known in the funeral profession as a ruthless entity known best for buying up independent, family run funeral homes and absorbing them into a money-grubbing, unscrupulous network that monopolized entire markets wherever they sunk their claws in.

A funeral home owned by EI might not Have a giant sign out front advertising the brand - in fact they tended to maintain the same operating name and branding of the business they bought out so the public would actually be forced to do some digging in order to determine the true ownership of the Ma and Pa funeral home they thought they were dealing with.

It was the illusion of choice and an ethically dubious practice: dozens of funeral homes scattered around the city that for all intents and purposes looked to be privately owned, but were all operating under the same cookie-cutter, one size fits all approach to funerals that kept EI profitable at the cost of quality for families, and decent working conditions for employees.

Their new benefactors were speaking, but Rook couldn’t hear: her pounding heart filled her ears instead as she stared at Emmrich, desperate to know what he thought of all of this: it was insanity… he must agree: Tom Rafferty would never knowingly hand off the business he’d put his heart and soul into for decades if he knew Derek was just going to turn around and sell out to fucking Evanuris International.

Fucking asshole… bet this was great for his bottom line, and we’re all going to suffer for it…

And those two up on the stage… Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain - she’d already run afoul of the one who was currently going off about how successful funeral businesses run under Evanuris International were - how prolific a leader he was, and how he would dignify and elevate McDermott & Rafferty in ways untold…

They were bad news. Both of them.

Rook felt the breath she was holding pour out of her lungs, and she downed half her wine, taking the chance to subtly look to her left and right to try and get a sense of how everyone else was reacting to this.

Confusion. Worry. Uncertainty. Sorrow.

No one was smiling because everybody in the room knew exactly what this was:

A hostile takeover.

The remainder of the evening was subdued at best: this wasn’t the sort of dinner that came with such novel things as dancing and having fun with your colleagues to begin with, but between Tom’s retirement announcement and the subsequent revelation of Evanuris International’s impending involvement with the day-to-day operations of the business, any notion that this was a ‘party’ might as well have been hauled out into the alley behind the building and shot.

Rook made her way through the significantly thinned crowd towards the bar, taking some solace in the fact that Emmrich had opted to join her under the guise of needing a fresh drink himself.

“So, this is fucked,” she murmured as they skirted the tables around the perimeter of the room, then navigating through some to get to the bar.

“Unexpected, yes,” Emmrich agreed, pausing to let Rook between two empty tables whose chairs were too close together for them both to fit between. His fingers grazed the small of her back as he guided her past him, lingering for just long enough to impart a comforting stroke against her hip: he must have realized she was wound up, and yet he seemed so calm… “I have faith that it won’t be all doom and gloom - not with Tom still involved in some capacity.”

“Yeah but how long is that gonna last?” Rook argued. “You heard what he said about trust - given the context, that seems like an interesting choice of words: do you think he’s been walled out?”

The corners of Emmrich’s mouth pulled downwards. “I can’t say for certain, but I’ve worked alongside the man for long enough to know that even if that were the case, he would be eminently disagreeable to going down without a fight...”

As fate would have it, the man himself happened to be at the bar, leaning against it and making friendly conversation with the bartender as he measured out and poured another rye and Coke.

“Rook!” His eyes - older, pouchier, and more creased than Emmrich’s - brightened as she approached the bar, Emmrich behind her. He thrust out a hand and Rook shook it, experiencing the firm but unthreatening squeeze of a handshake that had been perfected years before she was even born. “Good to see you! How’s your evening?”

His round cheeks were rosy, and a thin sheen of sweat shone on his brow - he’d had a few drinks by the looks of it - not unusual at these events, she understood, but still… it was odd to see the usually stone-faced, stoic man so… outgoing.

“Good!” She said. “It’s good! Great dinner, great party - thank you for putting this on for us. I’m uh… I’m sorry to hear that you’re retiring, but that must exciting?”

“Ha!” He laughed: a rich, booming chuckle. Picking up his freshly poured drink, he stirred it twice before plucking the straw out, setting it on the bar mat. “What are you drinking? It’s on me - same for you, Emmrich.”

“Oh… well - thank you.” She turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a glass of the Malbec, please.”

“I’ll have the same, please,” Emmrich said, standing next to Rook at the bar, a very appropriate distance away. “That’s very generous of you, Tom - thank you.”

Tom waved his hand through the air, dismissing their gratitude. “Bah - no trouble at all. What’s the point of putting these things on anyway if I can’t express my gratitude in the form of libations?” He chuckled again, drank and shelled out the cash for the drinks to the bartender as he poured, leaving a twenty in the tip jar. “No change,” he rumbled sternly, pointing with the hand holding his glass at the man pouring the drinks.

When the wine was poured and set before them on the bar, Tom looked at Rook and said, “It’s been an honour working with you. You should know that I think very highly of your work: you’ve got your wits about you, and you’re excellent with families. I hope you stay with us - we need more like you.”

Rook’s cheeks reddened: this was high praise coming from a man who did not mince words, and it flew directly in the face of every single doubt she dragged into work with her each day: I'm impatient, I'm insincere, I'm rude, I'm too abrupt with people, and I don't actually have any idea what I'm doing - who the fuck decided to trust me with this? When are they going to figure out that I'm actually a moody bitch that talks out of her ass and has somehow managed to trick everyone into thinking I'm qualified - never mind worthy - to be handling emotionally vulnerable people and the dead?

I got fired for missing work because I partied too hard the night before. I'm a failed artist. I made cash on the side by doing a sleazy burlesque act for my stupid ex-boyfriend's band. I've somehow fooled this nice middle-aged man into thinking I'm somebody worth pursuing and not a cavalcade of flaws and foibles that should put me at the bottom of anyone's list, but instead he's buying me jewelry and clothes and groceries, and making me feel loved - truly, properly loved.

It was so easy to diminish her achievements and the redeeming qualities that other people seemed to see in her - it was a daily ritual like brushing her teeth and washing her hair - but it turned out that when Tom Rafferty was the one raising a glass to you, all of those things that you knew about yourself didn’t seem as insistent and certain as they had before.

"Oh - t-thanks, Tom.... that's uh - it's been a pleasure working with you too. Lots to learn still, but I've learned so much already–" Why? Why do I always default to lessening myself? "Emmrich is great - he's helped me so much!" Emmrich stiffened in her periphery, looking somewhat startled at being mentioned.

"Too right," Tom agreed matter-of-factly. "Known you since before you could grow a moustache." He grinned at Emmrich and laughed at his own joke before returning to his serious, gravelly countenance, drawing his index finger through the air between Emmrich and Rook. "Keep paying attention to what he's teaching you, and you'll be one of the best in the business, kid - mark my words."

Kid…

Being on the receiving end of a full-blown 'you're gonna go far, kid' speech from Tom Rafferty had not been on Rook's bingo card for the evening, but she'd fucking take it - especially given the troubling news that underscored the evening: to know that one of the stodgiest, grouchiest, most hard-assed old-boys in the business thought she was great was the gust of wind in her sails that she hadn't realized that she needed until now.

Hearing his name called out from across the room, Tom's wizened gaze swept over them both one more time before he pushed away from the bar and clapped Emmrich on the shoulder.

"Cheers, both of you - and Happy Wintersend." He lifted his drink for the third time by Rook's count. "Enjoy the rest of your night.”

He headed off in the direction of the voice, and Rook turned to face Emmrich, who had his elbow on the bar, looking far more handsome than he had any right to.

“Well. That was unexpected. And… nice.” She raised her eyebrows and drank.

“He was right to say it,” Emmrich said, his expression as soft and genuine as the tone with which his words were imparted. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s glad to have you around.”

“Emmrich…” Rook began, aware of the bartender who puttered around behind the bar, well within earshot.

“You give yourself too little credit, Rook,” Emmrich continued, the same hush in his voice. “Not everyone is cut out for this line of work, but it’s clear to more than just myself and Tom that it’s work that suits you well - and you should embrace that…” his voice softened even further. “You might find it will serve you well in the days to come.”

“Hail The Dead.” She held out her glass.

“Hail The Dead,” he whispered… his glass met hers.

She might have thrown all of her cares to the wind and kissed him then and there - Maker, all she wanted to do was pull him close and feel his lips against hers…

“Wanna get out of here?” She mumbled when the bartender went to the other end of the bar to help someone else. “This party blows and it’s still early. My friend’s band is playing a show at the Night-Owl downtown… we could check it out if you’re not ready to go home?”

Home. Not ‘back to yours’ or ‘back to mine’ but Home… because that’s that it was, wasn’t it, when she was with him?

Home.

He regarded her over his glasses, those beautiful, familiar eyes of his filled with something infinitely deeper than lust or affection.

The bartender shovelled a bunch of ice into a glass right as Emmrich said, “I’d love to.”

Rook slammed the rest of her wine and set down the empty glass. “I’ll use the bathroom before I leave - meet me around the corner outside in five?”

Emmrich nodded conspiratorially, and Rook departed towards the Ladies, convinced that it wasn’t just the sharp clink of ice against glass that had distorted his words:

She almost sure she had heard him say, “I love you.”

Rook emerged from the building a few minutes later, having pulled off a flawless Dalish Goodbye and forgoing the tedium of making her exit everyone’s business: she pissed, checked her various social media apps after washing her hands, got her coat, and confidently fucked off with the ease of a woman who had performed the aloof social maneuver hundreds of times.

She rounded the corner of the building, spotting Emmrich halfway down the snow-dusted sidewalk.

Quickening her stride but taking care not to slip, she hurried towards him, instantly relieved to be by his side once more.

“I can’t believe it didn’t take you an hour to say goodbye to everyone,” she remarked, and he lit two cigarettes, handing one to her, thick white snowflakes glittering in his hair and on his shoulders.

“Knowing how to make a discreet exit isn’t new to me, darling - try to have some faith in an old man, hm?”

Rook made a dismissive noise and puffed on her smoke, clasping her hand with his as they began walking down the block to where Emmrich had parked.

“Please - you’re not even that old,” she chided playfully. “I only heard your knees crack four times when you got out of bed the other morning.”

He sighed. Sighed loud and heavy. His breath clouded around him.

“What am I going to do with you, dearest Rook?”

“Keep me, I hope,” she laughed through the words, but meant every single one of them.

He squeezed her hand then - it was nice.

“I think I might.”

Rook’s smile widened, and she was so caught up in being completely and utterly head-over-heels for the man beside her, that she didn’t even notice the mid-sized SUV containing Joan and her husband when it pulled out of the parking lot and drove right past them and into the night.

[katsukikitten]

A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest. 

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders. 

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot. 

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race. 

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best. 

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight. 

Humans. 

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first. 

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went. 

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what? 

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first. 

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.  

You think you choke when you swallow. 

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes. 

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief. 

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it. 

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably. 

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it. 

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time. 

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home. 

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands. 

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.  

Should you start digging your own now too? 

Since no one else was going to be around to do it. 

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders. 

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property. 

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up. 

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well. 

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left. 

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night. 

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough. 

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log. 

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand. 

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all. 

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake. 

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep? 

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling. 

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he? 

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate. 

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death. 

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting. 

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise. 

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs. 

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel. 

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in. 

ASTRID     EMROY 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet. 

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure. 

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them. 

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box. 

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine. 

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm. 

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX  Six years after the "Rapture" 

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. 

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules. 

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta. 

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house. 

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya. 

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.  

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter. 

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.  

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows. 

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it. 

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too. 

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory. 

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home. 

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck. 

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere. 

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around. 

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink. 

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard. 

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone. 

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow. 

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust. 

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl. 

But at least you had your strawberries. 

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit. 

Well, well worth the price. 

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

[daddymilker691]

Well my revered readers of Londons most bohemian and relentlessly sought after newspaper The Daily Milker we are back of course a recent bout of Covid has I’m afraid put rather a damper on things and not wanting to pass it on to my wonderful Co Editor Dawn Green we closed our Holborn studios for the week still feeling the after effects somewhat it really has a way of kicking the old proverbial bottom as our American so eloquently put it anyway so we opened up our studios yesterday darlings to our wonderful page five stars there are now so many it’s almost impossible to put them all in one edition but I shall strive to appease both our hungry readers appetites for these wonderful stars⭐️ and their own desires to be a page five ⭐️ , it’s been a dim and rainy day here in Holborn and actually in London as a whole indeed Dawns had to put the heating on I did suggest Dawn put on a fur coat but from the back room came the reply I don’t get paid enough well enough of the sauntering monologue I hear you say get on with it ok so here goes first off as always the wonderful Dawn Green our Co Editor wearing that in winter it’s no wonder you get cold Dawn next we were visited by the very lovely Petra no stranger to the Daily Milker but it’s been a while and as always in fine form and looking fabulous after the delightful photo shoot Petra caught the bus back to Wandsworth with a big smile and a page five ⭐️ badge , next was the one and only Jodie Hot Sauce who has sent me many get well soon messages what a lovely thing to do thanks Jodie your a staple star ⭐️ of the Daily Milker and we here all love you next after I’d had a coffee and a bit of a rest Dawn sipped on a cocktail only to inform me that Happy Little Lucy had just arrived at Heathrow and was in a Taxi on way to our studio all the way from Canada probably one of the only places colder than London what a Canadiandoll a vision in Polka Dots we made Lucy feel very welcome and took great delight in warming her up , we are hoping Lucy becomes a regular here , next the lovely leggy and fun Cindy Lace arrived you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard Cindy say trick or treat I said get in for heavens sake before you catch a cold Dawn set up a Haloween themed background and Cindy showed me a trick and I got quite a treat ( ouch Dawn ) , next was the lovely Sandra Clapham who was somewhat late and then I noticed Dawn wasn’t about I thought to myself I know what’s happened and sure enough found them in the Queens legs discussing the different deniers of stockings Sandra showing Dawn a new suspenders belt I joined them both for a quick pint before we departed back to the studio as a brand new page five star only Monica , only I thought under my breath I congratulated Monica on the forethought of bringing an umbrella as it was pouring but did somewhat doubt of how much rain it would keep off, next was the lovely sweet Sue all the way from Manchester rather tired but given time to relax of course in our very special green room looking amazing and left with a smile lastly it was lovely to have Madison back . Before I finish the post I’d like to thank all you page five stars and the wonderful Dawn Green and if you haven’t made it on this issue please don’t think you won’t on the next we would have done a double if was feeling more up to it love and peace and thanks to all who follow the Milker ( never be nasty when you can be nice ) xxx

[thedroneranger]

Daggers on Draught: Open Bar 🍻

Daggers and your requested drink combos! Shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse @roosterforme @sylviebell and @beyondthesefourwalls for inspiring Open Bar 🥂

The bar is CLOSED. Drink up the OG Daggers on Draught, Drinking Drabbles and Craft Edition.

Also follow @love-in-light as she crafts cocktails based on this series!

Amelia

• Cherry Limeade (na) | Cherry Crush

Bob

• Angry Orchard | Apple of Your Eye • Aperol Spritz | Buon Compleanno • Arnold Palmer | Homegrown • Moscato | Fall for You • Old Fashioned | Bobby After Dark • Peroni (0.0%) | Love Language • Pina Colada | Beach Bob • Pink Lady | Pretty in Pink • Screwdriver | Breakfast & Bob • Stella Artois | Gift of One-liners • White Sangria | Happy as a Clam

Coyote

• Aviation | Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouler • Prosecco | Coyote Casanova • Cabernet Sauvignon | Uncorked Coyote • Margarita | Hot Up in This Joint • Sazerac | Good Libations

Cyclone

• Brooklyn | Checkmate • Gin & Tonic | Everything is Blue • Sazerac | Night Moves • White Russian | Heart of a Cyclone

Fanboy

• Bellini | No. 1 Fan • Bramble | I Feel the Need • Cayman Jack | Later, Gator • Hurricane | The Night is Calling • Moscato d’Asti | Shining So Bright • Pacifico | California Sunshine

Hangman

• Angry Orchard | Cider House Rules • Body Shots | Licked It • Captain Morgan | Adventure is Out There • Gin & Tonic | Gin & Jake • High Noon | Let's Go Girls • Jack & Coke | Save A Horse • Jack Daniels | Gentleman Jake • Margarita | Drinking in a Winter Wonderland • Maker's Mark | Marksman • Mimosa | Yuletide Greetings • Mint Julep | Cashmere, Cologne & Hot Sunshine • Paper Plane | It's Not the Plane • Pina Colada | Ride the (Heat)Wave • Ranch Water | Ranch Hand • Sex on the Beach | Cake by the Ocean • Tia Maria | Nigthtcap • Tequila Shots | Tequila Little Time • Whiskey Sour | Bon Voyage

Hondo

• Mojito | Minted

Iceman

• Bourbon | Puff, Puff, Pour • Vesper | GoldenEye • Belvedere | On Ice • Whiskey Sour | Old Friend

Maverick

• Boulevardier | Twice as Nice • Tom Collins | Old Time's Sake

Payback

• Midori Sour | Solo Session • Paper Plane | Wingman

Penny

• Bloody Mary | Hair of the Dog • Martini | Shaken Not Stirred • Mimosa | Sail Away

Phoenix

• Bahama Mama | Golden Afternoon • Bellini | So Classic • Fuzzy Navel | Poolside Peach • Long Drink | Now Imagine Her Holding a Long Drink • Merlot | Raise You Like a Phoenix • Phoenix | Grit & Glam • Shirley Temple (na) | Tastes So Good • The Last Word | What's the Password?

Rooster

• Blanton's | Giddy Up • Captain Morgan | Captain n' Cock • Champagne | Too Much is Just Right • George Dickel | Too Young to Know • Gin & Tonic | Ain't Leavin' 'til Six in the Mornin' • High Noon | High Noonster • Kamikaze Shot | Stateside • Long Drink | Long Day, Long Drink • Malibu | Just Beach • BB™rita | Salt and a Buffett Song • Margarita (strawberry) | Pourin' All Weekend • Margarita (spicy) | Sweet Heat • Tito’s and Lemonade | I've Got Sunshine • Bellini | Bellinis in Bed • Pina Colada | If You Like Rooster Coladas • Ranch Water | Take Me Home Country Road • Wild Turkey | Cold Turkey

[inverted-typo]

In terms of Christmas HCs for DamiRae:

Raven is not built for cold weather. Like,at all. For a girl who originates from the pits of hell, the transition from constant warmth to the damp frigidity of a Gotham winter is rough.

Damian has personal beef with peppermint as a Christmas flavour, because "why not orange? Why not cinnamon? Why not marzipan? Why not literally anything else?"

He has, however, developed a fondness for spiked hot drinks. Or rather,spiked hot drinks the way Raven does it.Bailey's Irish Cream mixed with hot cocoa........high tier.

Yes,Raven has gotten talked into doing Christmas family potraits(that consists of her,Damian and Titus. No,Titus does not tolerate being dressed up,but she has managed to get a festive little hat on him for pictures).

Now,for the LOA version:

I can't see them celebrating Christmas persay, but Nanda Parbat has its own winter ceremonies and festivals that they partake in.

Raven's favourite winter festival is the winter solstice and she has her own rituals surrounding it. It represents death and rebirth, something very close to her(and Damian's) heart.

She's also quite fond of the winter markets too. Little kitschy trinkets, niche shit that she'll never find anywhere else,the food....good shit.

THIS ONE!! This is gold!

I love the idea of Raven not liking the cold at all. You'd think she'd have some tolerance due to her demon-side but nah they dipped out for that. Damian convinces her to visit Gotham for a holiday and she is MISERABLE IN THE SNOW. She likes it in terms of how pretty it is and can appreciate the beauty--but if she isn't bundled up she is not having a good time.

Pfff i love the idea of Damian hating peppermint. He thinks in another life Raven would have made an excellent high end bartender. Maybe she has quite the tolerance so she has the wiggle room to explore cocktails and ends up being quite fond of them, so she's good at making them. Damian hates to say it, but he prefers Raven's drinks over Alfred's.

I think Raven treats Christmas like a hobby hahaha. She doesn't necessarily understand it in its entirety at this point but she likes the activities and decor and traditions.

GAAHH!! And the LOA TAKE!! Yes I'm so on board with them leaning towards more winter-oriented festivals rather than Christmas-specific. Maybe it's more preparation for a New Year's ceremony? I love how generally speaking there's a lot of winter-related festivities and celebrations world wide. And putting Damian and Raven into that lense is super cute!

[osamucide]

16 18 and 23 for either dazai or akutagawa or both whatever makes you happy to answer most i couldn't decide 💕

i’m sending you a smooch over the digital highways that connect us………….s/i lore droppers unite

16. Who hogs the covers?

between RYU and me it’s definitely him but in the cute way, you know? i think he’s always a little chilly… maybe i need to start a hc list for him too seeing how much i’ve come to love him this year. one of them would definitely be that he runs cold. i run warm so im more than glad to give up the covers/let my feet poke out if it means he’s more comfortable. in his quiet consideration though (another hc id have is that where he doesn’t prefer to express his love verbally/phsyically, he will through acts of service.. like letting me have some blankets lol) he definitely monitors himself in the winter

between OSAMU and me it’s also him but NOT in the cute way. he just doesn’t gaf. he runs cold too (see my anemia hc for him lol) but he straight up hogs shamelessly and ungratefully and acts cute and coy if i try to ask for some back. i will get up and grab an extra blanket from the couch or closet or something and he will GO OUT OF HIS WAY to add it to his burrito. sometimes if im lucky i can convince him to let me inside the burrito before he makes it but then i get hot and sweaty and that’s not fun for either of us because then he has to let me out OR i have to suck it up and be sweaty. (my arm usually gets trapped in it anyway so he can cling)

18. What are they like when they're drunk? How do they act together? & when 1 is drunk, while the other one's sober?

RYU can’t hold his alc (i think this is either canon, based on irl akutagawa, or both). one shot + one cocktail MAX and then he’s done. composure, restraint, cool-guy facade is down after two or three drinks and then he starts rambling and rambling and chatting and rambling about the most random shit. all those inside thoughts he so obviously keeps to himself? “why’s that guy looking at you weird.” “it’s too fucking hot in here does anyone know how to work a thermostat.” “that is the ugliest fucking dress i’ve ever seen.” just doesn’t stop. the filter’s off. unintentionally really funny.

when he’s drunk/im sober, it’s probably just me wheezing at him while he dissects some aspect of culture or politics or history or whatever while i shoo him toward the door and tell people i need to get him home because he’s gna be vomming in approximately a half hour. you’d think blacked-out akutagawa just popped a xan. birds circling around his head while he sways in a circle and goes on incoherently about something he definitely shouldn’t be talking sbout.

when i’m drunk/he’s sober, he is ANNOYEEEEED. or he acts like it. i think he’s the kind of guy to secretly be endeared when his s/o gets all cute and drunk. and me personally… i do as much drunk bitch shit as the next guy. i try to get him to dance with me. i get all cuddly and hang all over him and tell him he’s so pretty and im in love with him and crap. he’s like “no” but he gives in if i’m insistent enough. if i stumble/fall/do some dumb shit he TOTALLY laughs at me. acts of service-love style kicks in if i’m super hammered. waves me out of the clerb looking all irritated and then we’re home and he’s like “i got you water and a piece of bread and a bucket in case you need to throw up don’t lay on your back wake me if you need anything don’t take any advil until the morning” etc etc. dotes. and no one believes me

when we’re both drunk…….i enable him. he’s like “that dress is ugly” and i’m like “yah you’re right it’s atrocious” and he’s like “i’m gonna go tell that guy to quit looking at you or i’ll shit his pants” and i’m like “yah baby get em” and he’s like “it’s too hot to breathe in here” and i’m like “yah we’re so leaving a bad yelp review” (whether or not we follow through on these things usually depends if either of us can confidently walk in a straight line)

neowwww OSAMU and i drunk… i truly feel bad for everyone in the vicinity LOL. i think he can hold his liquor well; i can too, but on the off chance we’re not drinking together we individually just get kind of sad and silly. i don’t know if i should even consider separate scenarios here because i really cannot imagine a situation in our relationship in which one of us would be drinking and the other isn’t. he can’t drive his ass is not dd’ing. i am notoriously known to call an uber no it does not matter that there’s 74 cents in my bank account. we’re seeing who can drink the other under the table (there is never a definite answer). we’re waterfalling shots into each other’s mouths. we’re dancing very badly. we’re laughing ourselves to tears when the other trips and stumbles. we’re making out in the bathroom. we’re having a stupid conversation outside that we think is philosophical just because we’re smoking a cigarette over it. we’re wondering if the uber driver will stop at taco bell for us on the way home. we’re challenging each other to pool (he beats me every time). we’re hitting kind stranger’s vapes. his arm’s around my shoulder and mine’s around his waist and we shut the fucking bar down every time we go out. it’s probably kind of concerning to onlookers. we’re a little messy but we have fun! we kiki. he matches my alcoholism freak

23. Who initiates cuddling more?

between RYU and me……….. me hands down. but we accommodate each other. if im in a cuddly mood, he’ll usually concede. if he’s in an “ew don’t touch me” mood, i’ll back off. these extremes would die down over the course of our relationship, i think. eventually we’d end up like 60/40 me/him initiating

i think it’s pretty 50/50 between me and OSAMU. our “ew don’t touch me” moods seem to be a lot more in sync/equilibrium than me and ryu’s.

[mistydeyes]

OMG THERES 1K OF YOU!! I cannot believe it! Thank you all so much for all the love and support these last few months :) Literally tearing up at how many people love my works. It all started with a silly little pharmacist fic and look at where we are now!

To celebrate, I will be opening up my inbox for some prompts! For the next week, feel free to send me a character, a prompt below, and any other details (ex. female, male, or g/n character) :)

aesthetic prompts 💌 - CLOSED NOW! thank you for all the submissions :)

soft and cute - all fluff!

vase of flowers - they return home to your door with a small bouquet of flowers with rudy

loveseat - shopping for furniture for your shared home

linen tablecloths - hosting a dinner party (one that is pinterest worthy)

orange juice - sick days call for the best care

vintage maps - a spontaneous trip with an event filled itinerary

cherry lip balm - what was your first kiss like? with graves

paper rings - “put this on” “why did you make a ring out of the straw wrapper?”

ramekins of soup - you both are not experienced chefs but you try a new recipe in the kitchen

tuberose- looking at old photo albums and reminiscing on old memories

tote bags - “hey can you hold this for me?” “why do you have so many things?” “it’s not my fault these pockets don’t hold anything”

sugar cubes - they surprise you with your favorite dessert/sweet treat with price

music - “i made you a playlist!”

pearls - a fancy dinner out with expensive clothes and dining

folded sheets - "hi, i'm your neighbor across the hall :)"

gold - a small gifted ring as a token of your love with price

unlit cigarette - meeting in the most unexpected of places

hot chocolate - a warm snowed in cabin with nowhere to go

house plant - “for your new apartment!” “you know i’m not here enough to water that”

pastel bonnets and rattles - “we are NOT naming our child that”

perfume - perfume bottles decorate your bureau and you decide to let them choose your scent for the day with gaz

friendship bracelets - friends don't look at friends that way, is there something between us? with ghost

shower of tears - angst

crystal glasses - a fight ends with shattered wine glasses and someone is left to pick up the pieces with gaz

running mascara - "i can't believe you would say that to me" with the 141

hyacinth - they decide to interrupt the wedding just as you're about to say your vows with ghost

cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me" with ghost

sea salt - you can't do this anymore and just need to get away from them

stars - "do you think in another universe things would have worked out for us?"

cubic zirconia - you both come to the realization that your relationship is beyond repair

cold sheets - "can you hold me just one more time?" with soap and gaz

hydrangeas - a sudden death leaves one of you without the other for the rest of time

cocktails - "you need to stop drinking too much" "what do you know?"

graveyard - "please i don't want to die" with price

enlisted - military au

empty cartridges - "I want you to run, I'll cover you!"

uniforms - they sure clean up well as you look at them in their dress uniform with price

cigarette smoke - you share a cigarette (and exchange indirect kisses) while on patrol with ghost

confidential files - you're the newest addition to the team and you recognize a familiar face

jacket - you forgot to pack you winter gear and they're helping you avoid the cold

angel - this time you're their knight in shining armor as you save them with soap | with price

manila folders - "I'm being transferred to another unit"

bandages - you are the only one with the med kit and are tasked with patching them up

barbells - "you're doing it wrong, let me show you"

MREs - "can we switch? this food is absolute shit"

hit the showers (18+) - a prank ends with you getting your clothes and towel stolen with soap

wigs - you get sent undercover with them

hot and seductive - smut (18+)

lace (18+) - “wait for me in the bedroom, i have a surprise”with soap

stained lipstick (18+) - rough kisses in the back of an uber with gaz | with ghost

stolen glaces (18+) - "are you going to kiss me or not?"

tanning lotion (18+) - you just wanted help with an even lotion application but now their touch is venturing elsewhere

black and white photos (18+) - you take a few photos so they can remember you (and your body) while on deployment with price: part i and part ii

fruit juice (18+) - "let's test out that theory about drinking pineapple juice"

morning sun (18+) - you have nowhere to go and decide to spend it in bed ;) with ghost | with gaz | with price

silk (18+) - “you look absolutely gorgeous tonight”

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC

Summary: After a day of sledding with a group of her former classmates, JJ is freezing and prepares to walk home when Billy offers her a ride. She invites him in for a warm drink to repay his favor, and things quickly heat up when he lights a fire and shares his best tips on keeping the frost bite at bay. Bask in the glow of this incendiary encounter in the next 1.8k words🔥 CW: SMUT, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, Billy is a little demanding A huge thank you to my beta reader and editor @lifesshort-imshorter for helping me bring this piece to life!!!

DAY THREE OF HOHOHOE WEEK Prompt: Fireplace Read the rest of this mini series here: Part 1 | Part 2

JJ stood at the top of the snow covered hill with the rest of her classmates. Quite a few of them showed up to the Hawkins sledding reunion party Nancy had organized for those of them that were home for the holidays. Everyone was complaining about how cold it was and how they didn’t want to be chilled to the bone by falling in the snow. She couldn’t believe these people had agreed to make an appearance solely for a party to play in a winter wonderland and then refused to participate.

“Seriously, you guys?” She shook her head in disappointment. “Move. I’m going down.” The small crowd parted, and JJ steadied her sled at the top of the hill, making sure it would travel straight from where it started. Everyone’s eyes were on her, including Billy’s, whose burned brightly as he watched her daredevil antics.

“Need a push?” He stepped forward and offered to help JJ start her downhill journey. She smiled over her shoulder at him and replied with one simple word.

“Nope.” With that, she took a running step forward and jumped into the sled, the momentum propelling her forward and down the hill. Inspired by JJ’s bravery, the rest of the group followed suit, everyone finally conceding to having the good time they all gathered for in the first place.

The rest of the afternoon was spent laughing, catapulting snowballs, and wiping out in the icy powder. Everyone agreed they couldn’t remember the last time they had so much fun. Billy was just glad to be there with JJ, soaking in the warmth that emanated from her on that freezing winter day.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting, and JJ was completely soaked through her clothes. Teeth chattering, cheeks aching from smiling and the bite of the bitter wind, she began saying goodbye to her classmates.

“I need to get going so I’m not walking in the dark. I’ll see you guys at Tina’s in a couple days!” She waved, a chorus of farewells arising from the group as she gathered her sled.

“Walking?” Billy’s voice boomed above the rest.

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “It’s not far.”

“No way. You’re freezing. Come on, let me give you a ride. It’s on my way.” Billy stepped toward her while all of the bystanders quieted, waiting for her to bite back sarcastically. To their surprise, she accepted graciously.

“Actually, that would be nice.” JJ’s whole body shook from the cold as she spoke. Following Billy to where his car was parked, she was thrilled to see he was still driving that cobalt blue Camaro she had always made fun of him for but secretly loved.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thanks again for the ride.” JJ was still shivering as Billy pulled into the Ferons’ driveway.

“Any time,” he drawled, his signature smirk sliding into place. JJ had the house to herself for the night. Her parents were being entertained at another stuffy cocktail hour for some other overly posh law firm, and while she originally planned to get some relaxation time in, she now had a better idea.

“You want to come in? I’ll make you a hot drink for your troubles.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Billy replied, his smirk blooming into a smile. He followed JJ inside, and he couldn’t help but notice she was still shaking from the cold permeating through her wet clothes.

“I’ll put the kettle on. You make yourself comfortable,” she instructed, leaving Billy alone in the living room. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s all this?” JJ’s grin shone brightly against the dim glow of a fire crackling in the fireplace. She handed Billy one of the mugs she was carrying back from the kitchen, taking note of the pile of blankets on the floor in front of the dancing flames.

“You’re freezing. We need to get you warmed up, and I thought a fire might help. Here,” Billy said, taking JJ’s hand and leading her over to the bundle of warmth he had prepared. They sat down on the plush area rug together, and Billy draped two of the blankets over JJ’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around her, moving them up and down slowly to create friction.

“What a gentleman,” JJ crooned in jest, giggling at Billy’s display.

“Frostbite is no joke, Jacqueline,” he quipped back, his smile still bright in the low light.

“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. They shared a comfortable silence looking far off into the fire, the crackling and popping sounds keeping them company.

“You know,” Billy started. “Body heat is really the most effective way to warm up.” JJ met his gaze, and his ocean eyes were dark with a devilish haze. She knew exactly what he was playing at, and she loved this game.

“Oh, well, in that case.” JJ stood up, letting the blankets fall from her shoulders, and pulled her sweater over her head, discarding it onto the floor. Billy’s eyes followed her every move as she peeled off more layers – t-shirt, undershirt, pants, socks – until she was down to just her underwear, her blue lace bra almost matching the color of his stare.

Billy followed suit, shedding his sweater, shirt, and pants, still watching her all the time. JJ felt the heat of a blush creep up to her cheeks just looking at him. He was like a God. The outline of every dip and valley of Billy’s body was contoured by the flickering of the fire. His golden skin looked butter-soft, and all JJ wanted to do was touch him, but she forced herself to be patient.

They returned to their seats on the rug, and Billy leaned closer to her, cupping the side of her face in his hand with a hungry look in his eyes. JJ’s lips parted as Billy ghosted his thumb over them, and there was no more talking. He kissed her slowly, with passion and sincerity, and she was already losing herself.

Billy tasted sweet like honey and warm sugar, and soon JJ was melting into him while their kisses turned fiery, all teeth, tongue, and desperation. Billy pressed wet, needy kisses to her jaw, her neck, her collar bone, leaving playful bites in his wake. JJ’s breathing grew heavy, and all she wanted was more, more, more.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, Billy leaned into her until her back was pressed into the thick, plush rug in front of the fire. He lowered himself to her face one last time, locking her lips into his and running his tongue along the bottom one, then the top. He was teasing her, and she was eating it up.

Billy placed nips and kisses again down her neck, to her collar bone, to her chest, and he didn’t stop until he got to the top of her panties, taking the waistband in his teeth and letting it snap back against her skin. He glanced up at her from between her thighs, eyes full of sin, and JJ’s heart hammered double time.

“Are you warming up yet?” Billy asked seductively before pressing his warm, wet tongue flat against her clothed slit, just enough so that she could feel the rush of his hot breath.

“Whatever you do,” JJ warned, running her fingers through Billy’s sandy curls, “just don’t stop.” A dangerous grin formed on Billy’s face just before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs, tossing them to the side. Big, strong hands pushed her thighs apart, making room for Billy to nestle down in between them. His breath ghosted across her bare skin, creating goosebumps over her entire body as he licked a long stripe through her folds.

JJ’s breath hitched at the contact, and she pulled lightly on Billy’s curls, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. His tongue was like warm velvet sliding up and down and in delicious circles around her clit, and her vision grew hazy in the glow of the flames. She didn’t have room in her mind to care that her moans sounded pathetic and desperate as she tightened her grip in Billy’s hair and moved her hips languidly against his expert mouth.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” Billy’s eyes snapped up to meet hers as she glanced down at his mesmerizing movements, the work of his mouth and his dark stare setting her core ablaze. She let out a gasp when she felt him push two fingers inside of her, curling them up to meet her sweet spot. He fucked her slowly, the constant contact of his tongue pushing her closer and closer to the breaking point.

“Billy, please,” she breathed, her eyes brimming with tears at the stimulation.

“Beg me,” he purred, the low vibrations of his voice against her aching pussy sending shockwaves crashing over her.

“Please, I want to cum for you so bad. Mmmm – please, Billy.” With those magic words, he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers into her harder and faster and sucking fiendishly on her clit until her moans turned into blissful sobs. Every move Billy made stoked the embers in her core until it was white hot and smoldering, and then there was an explosion.

JJ’s eyes screwed shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as she lost control, her whole body shuddering as her walls clenched around Billy’s fingers. She writhed against his tongue, a string of colorful expletives flooding from her lips as she rode out her climax. Slowly seeping back into the fabric of reality, JJ steadied her breathing as Billy removed his fingers and set an iron grasp on her thighs, pushing them farther apart while his blunt nails dug into her flesh as he held her there.

He continued to lavish slow, lazy circles on her clit, the overstimulation sending jolts up her spine as more tears slipped down her cheeks. JJ couldn’t take it anymore and tried her best to push him away, but he was too strong.

“Beg me,” Billy commanded once more. He wasn’t going to stop until she was a pathetic, weeping mess.

“Billy, please,” she cried. “I can’t take it anymore, please.” He gave one last long lick along her clit and looked up at her, his cerulean eyes shining like the surface of the ocean under the sun. He steadied himself on his knees and stretched his back, the glow of the fire rippling over his defined muscles before he laid down next to her.

“You taste divine,” he whispered. He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and she could taste the sweet and sour remnants of herself on his tongue.

Once she was finally able to string a coherent thought together, JJ knew she was in trouble. Everything about Billy consumed her entirely, and though she knew she’d never be the same, in that moment, all she wanted was to be completely immersed in him. He was going to ruin her, and she was content to let it happen.

💕Tag list: @imyourdaninow @justsimonrileythings @b1tchy3lf @jozstankovich @darleenjade @peachyaliien @dananahenderson @strangerthing93 @yoyokiss97 @californiaboytoybilly

[therealharrywatson]

Hi there my favorite line chef!

Do you have a good recipe for hot summer days? Thanks!

hiii, hmm let me see. cocktails.

err, i don't really work like that. i'd eat a blazing hot casserole on the warmest day of the year and you can offer me ice cream in the freezing winter and i'll gladly take it. 😁

anything seafood is usually great, like shrimps or crab. salad. cold pasta dishes. anything you'd fancy?

of course there is ALWAYS watermelon or icy popsicles. 😄

[jedusaur]

hot spiced whiskey sour

I love the vibe of mulled wine in the winter but am not actually that big on wine, so here's an alternative! all you need is:

whiskey (Brown Sugar Bourbon works great for this if you like it sweet) water sugar mulling spices (e.g. cinnamon stick, whole cloves, star anise, maybe some citrus peel, anything you'd put in mulled wine) fresh-squeezed lemon juice

first thing you wanna do is throw some water in a pot with your spices. the amount of water depends on the amount of simple syrup you want to end up with, but don't worry about measuring carefully at this point bc some will evaporate. simmer this until it smells super good (like 10 minutes) then strain out the spices and measure the water. add the same amount of sugar (e.g. if you have a cup of spiced water, mix with a cup of sugar) and stir until dissolved. this syrup should stay good in the fridge for a couple weeks, if you want to make it ahead of time.

now measure out 1 part syrup and 2 parts whiskey (I did 1oz and 2oz) into a microwave-safe mug and heat it up. I put it in for 30 seconds because my syrup was still warm from the stove; if yours is cold you'll need longer. AFTER heating, add 1 part lemon juice and stir.

btw you can do this with basically anything that will infuse into water—one of my all-time favorite drinks is a whiskey sour using strong Earl Grey tea as the water. it's an easy way to get creative with your cocktails without needing a whole mixological education :D

[jrooc]

🚄 w e e k ly 🌊 t a g ✨w e d n e s d a y ✈️

Thank you @deedala for putting it together this week! and thanks for the tags @juliakayyy @creepkinginc @mybrainismelted @michellemisfit

_____________________

Name: Jess (or J-rock as I randomly pronounce my own handle in my head like a weirdo)

Age: A little over a Nosho and a half (jumping on this train!)

Location: A cold winter tundra in which I'm afraid to go outdoors

we're going on a trip!! Thank fuck.

📍where are we going? Barbados

📍whats the weather like there right now? Hot and delightful

📍are you an over-packer or a light-packer? Over-packer. The last minute editing is real so I don't have to check a bag. 

📍are we taking a plane or a train? Flying Neeeooowww 🛫

📍early morning departure or an overnight trip? Early morning. Sleep is for the weak, let's get to the beach. (I'm basically the spawn of satan before 9am so sorry if you're travelling with me lol)

📍what song are you playing in the car while we drive to catch our departure? I'm late so something for driving fast? Kendrick Lamar maybe. Or Greta Van Fleet.

📍we need to grab something on the way, starbucks or dunkin? Starbs as the kids say (do they?). I like the egg bites.

📍we've made it to the transportation place 🚂✈️! be honest, are we on-time or are we rushing because we're running late? Late. I've never been on-time to an airport in my Nosho-and-half-years. I travel a decent amount so I've gotten real lazy. I show up and basically walk on the plane.

📍are you taking the window seat or the aisle seat? Window!

📍we're settled in our seats, are you gonna read or watch a movie/show? A long period of time where no one will interrupt my reading? Hello Fanfic.

📍what are you reading/watching? So much fanfic. Although I once had to stop reading a Porn Star AU for fear of the people behind me looking at my kindle.

📍are you using wireless or wired headphones? Wireless

📍are you going to take a nap or stay awake? I miss being young and being able to sleep on planes. My long legs don't fit.

📍do you want a salty snack or a sweet snack? both?  Yes.

📍we've arrived! are we heading straight to activities or are we gonna rest at the hotel? Pour me a cocktail and let me wander around the hotel. I always like to put my feet in the ocean.

📍finally, pick a treat to reward yourself for a travel day well done! Aforementioned cocktail and deep breaths of ocean air.

Also here's this cute picrew! It's sorta-accurate. The leather jacket and red lip certainly is.

Also I'm gonna tag you below - but as we recently chatting about in the fanfic discord. If I missed you, I didn't mean to! I love you all my mutuals. Consider yourself tagged if you see this. And if you don't want to participate you can unsubscribe at *fax dial-up sounds*.

Or I'm just waving hello! @ian-galagher @deathclassic @redwiccanrobin @mmmichyyy @stocious @skylerwinchester @mickeysgaymom @sgtmickeyslaughter @energievie @darlingian @thepupperino @skies-below @callivich @gallavichgeek @too-schoolforcool @guessiliedinthehook @cynfinsaa @bawlbrayker @rayrayor @ms-moonlight-inn @jessieoneday @crestfallercanyon @heymrspatel @such-a-barbarian @suchagallabitch @sluttygallavich