#how to get sugar mummy on facebook

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

Emmrich works, Rook shops, dinner is imminent

Link to ao3 or read below the cut.

“Three times?”

“Yup.”

“And then this morning too?”

“Mhmm.”

“Damn. He must have been thirsting after you for ages.”

Rook tried not to look too pleased with herself as she regarded the shelf of dried pastas in front of her, purportedly deciding what shape she wanted, but in reality her mind was wandering down the enthralling path of recently forged memories from the night before.

The feeling of his lips on hers.

His scent.

The way he moaned while he was fucking her: not forced or put on. Instead, it was like he had never enjoyed anything in life quite so much as being entangled with her…

I’m in the grocery store with my best friend, picking up supplies for dinner - now is not the time.

Too late though: thoughts of Emmrich had already taken root, and sinful need slithered through her organs, twining around her guts and settling deep in her belly, impossible to ignore.

Later. Soon…

“Does he have Instagram? Facebook? I wanna see this silver-fox-fuck-machine for myself.”

“He doesn’t,” Rook said quietly, her lips curling at the absurdity of Emmrich having any kind of social media accounts. Most funeral professionals had nearly invisible online footprints - in an age where everyone you ever met was likely to look you up online, remaining largely unsearchable was the only sure way to guarantee your privacy.

“LinkedIn?”

Rook wrinkled her nose and pulled a box of linguine off the shelf, tossing it in the basket Leon held. “What? Cuz he’s old?”

“I mean… yeah?” Leon shrugged, his soft, dark brown eyes widening innocently.

“Shut up, Leon,” Rook squeezed past him, bumping her shoulder against his pointedly despite the abundance of space in the empty aisle.

“What?” He giggled, falling into step behind her, shaking his luxurious mane of thick black hair. “Nothing to be ashamed of - you were the one that couldn’t shut up about him at the Mussels Absinthe show a few weeks ago. You bagged yourself a sugar daddy - good for you! Wish I had that pull.”

Her cheeks heated as they wandered towards the produce section, “Can you maybe try not using your fucking radio voice while we’re discussing my sex life in the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon?”

“Just sex then?” Leon forged on, not bothering to lower his warm, booming voice at all. “Or have the seeds of romance been planted and fertilized?”

“Leon.” Rook ground out, looking around to make sure no one else was being subjected to this.

“Oh yeah,” he remarked observantly, “You fucking like him, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Rook retorted, manhandling a practical, sound-minded bit of dignity into the conversation as she selected a basket of mushrooms. “He’s stable, supports himself, has a functioning vehicle that’s not filled to the windows with garbage, doesn’t bitch when I tell him to wear a condom, and knows how to get a girl off.” She dropped a mesh bag of garlic bulbs into the basket with unwarranted spite. “Bet he won’t ask me to buy weed for him and his band buddies, or go running to Mummy for rent money each month either.”

“I love it.” Leon said, rubber voice adopting a whimsical tone, as he switched the basket to his other hand and squeezed a grapefruit because Rook knew he’d eyed it and felt like he needed to. “The complete about-face rebound from pie-in-the-sky wannabe rockstar burnout to sophisticated man-about-town is truly inspiring. Tommy is gonna shit himself.”

“It’s not a rebound, and Tommy’s not gonna know a damn thing about it,” Rook snapped, sounding just as harsh as she intended to. “That fucking dickhead doesn’t deserve a window into whatever happens to be going on in my life. He lost that privilege when he fucked that stupid waitress at The Hanged Man… and that was after the shithead already fucked around once and got caught.” She shoved a few shallots into a bag, pretending she was shoving them down Tommy’s throat. “I know he asks around about me - I’m not stupid - and you’d better not be fucking telling him anything about me: I don’t want him knowing where I work, what I’m up to, who I’m fucking, or even what I’m doing with my fucking hair these days. He’s a piece of shit and I hope he chokes on his fucking tongue.”

“Point taken,” Leon raised his eyebrows. “And just so you know: I haven’t said a word to him - and I never would. I haven’t even seen him around at shows or anything for the past month at least.”

“Good,” Rook quipped, calm entering her voice. “Maybe he’s finally made himself useful and gotten a fucking job. Or better yet: done us all a favour and dropped dead.”

It was always one thing to make arrangements with a family that clearly didn’t know much about their loved one in life, but it was quite another thing altogether to sit in an arrangement office with the overwhelmed family trying to guide them towards decisions while simultaneously steering them away from ones that their loved one was blatantly disagreeing with in real time.

“Next! I really don’t care for gerber daisies and I haven’t a clue as to why they think I have some sort of attachment to them.”

Emmrich subtly glanced up from the pages of the binder of floral arrangements into the ghostly visage of the recently deceased octogenarian hovering around it with the rest of her family.

Over the years he had mastered the art of subtly urging the living towards the decisions of the dead, but it wasn’t always easy: it was a balancing act on both fronts that to his knowledge, no other funeral professionals but himself had to manage: the rest only had to worry about satisfying the living. Emmrich had to make sure everyone was pleased.

Try explaining that to the dead, though: the average person rarely considered it in life, but the reality was that funerals were - and always had been - just as much for the living as they were for the dead. Of course celebrating the life and legacy of the departed was of utmost importance, but the communal event itself: the ritual of a funeral, be it Andrastian, Qunari, non denominational, or anything in between was arguably more for the people left behind than the ones who did the leaving: an opportunity for the bereaved to come together and support each other through the heaviest days of their grief. To weep, and laugh, and share stories and regrets. But the world was changing, and fewer and fewer people saw the value in said rituals. Thought them trite and old-fashioned and impractical.

It was a shame, really. But as it stood, society seemed to prefer to grieve privately… or not at all, preferring to bury their sorrows in busy things like work, and commitments; happy to deny that they felt anything at all in favour of letting that vacuous wound inside of them fester and scar rather than accepting the laborious journey of grief and the healing that came with it. No one liked saying goodbye. No one enjoyed losing a loved one. But… that was life, wasn’t it?

And of course, what came after death was a mystery to everyone. Even Emmrich, who had been able to commune with the metaphysical imprints of the recently deceased since childhood was unable to say for certain what followed that final breath: not everyone became a ghost, it seemed, and those that did tended not to linger overlong - less out of choice, he knew: the echo of a soul could seemingly only sustain itself in this realm for a finite time, becoming progressively less substantial before eventually fading away forever. Where it went after that, he couldn’t say.

That was what kept him awake at night. Not the awful music someone might choose, or the fear that his funeral would be poorly attended. No - it was the creeping, uncaring entropy of death itself. The utterly dispassionate way it claimed everybody and everything. The way it would eventually claim him too.

“While we were working on your Mother’s obituary, I recall that you indicated she kept a garden at your childhood home in Cumberland. Are you able to remember if there were any flowers that she particularly enjoyed growing there?”

Of course he was asking her surviving son and daughter, but he was most certainly asking the ghost of Maude Laviolette as well. Something to go off of from any of them would be helpful at this point - they had been in arrangements for nearly two hours by then, and it was clear that everyone was growing tired.

“Delphiniums. Stock. Snapdragons.” Mrs. Laviolette ticked off garden flowers on her ghostly fingers, her voice an echoing melody composed of emotion and memory.

As the Laviolette siblings looked at each other over the table, trying to work out exactly what flowers their mother might have grown all those years ago, Emmrich flipped a few laminated pages of the binder, allowing himself to idly wonder what sort of flowers Rook liked - or if she even cared for them at all. It was so difficult to tell with her - assumptions almost always turned out to be wrong in her case, but she clearly had an affection for things that grew, so surely she appreciated the beauty of flowers?

“Perhaps an arrangement similar to this one here? The ‘Garden Stroll’ casket spray?” He tapped a ringed finger over the picture of a stunning arrangement of delphiniums, spray roses, mums, and iris that ranged from a delicate, powdery blue, to deep violet, to white.

“Oooooh you clever man!” The echo of the elderly woman clasped her hands under her chin and joy crept into her voice. “This is lovely! Could we swap out the mums for stocks and add in some snapdragons?”

“Oh yeah! Some of these look a lot like what Mum grew. The blue ones especially!” Eve Laviolette looked at her brother and pointed at the delphiniums in the photo. “Remember these ones, Aiden?”

Aiden Laviolette scratched at his dark brown beard and squinted at the binder.“I do. I do remember those. But there were others too that were kind of similar…”

“Snapdragons?” Emmrich prompted, for all intents and purposes, a senior mortician who was very well acquainted with flowers after so many years of doing this.

“That’s it!” Aiden exclaimed, “Snapdragons!”

“May I suggest if you’re adding the snapdragons, for the overall shape and spirit of the arrangement, you might consider switching out the chrysanthemums for some nice, gentle stocks? I’ve seen a similar arrangement where it was done to great effect.”

It wasn’t lying. Not really. Just… massaging the truth such that everyone - whether they had a pulse or not - was happy… or as happy as they could be given the circumstances…

He flipped to another page to show them an arrangement that featured some stocks.

“Eve, don’t you think that maybe Mum grew these too?”

Eve leaned over the page to take a closer look and gasped. “She did! What are the odds?” She looked up at Emmrich, her thin lips curving into a generous smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she was giving you instructions from beyond the grave!”

Emmrich returned the smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly as his face took on the oft-used expression that imparted comfort and peace to those living through dark days.

“A happy coincidence only, I’m afraid, but one that Mrs. Laviolette would be pleased with, I hope.”

His eyes strayed ever so slightly over Eve’s shoulder to see the phantom of Maude Laviolette, looking chuffed as anything as she looked over her daughter at the picture of the chosen floral arrangement.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, rubbing her daughter’s upper arm with the tender familiarity that only a mother could impart. Eve’s expression changed to one of surprise as she looked up at the touch, looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing. “You really are a credit to your profession. Thank you for taking such good care of my kids - Maker knows they need it right now.”

Emmrich entered the customizations for the casket spray into the file, went over the remaining details that needed to be decided that day, and printed the contracts to the administration office.

Taking the navy blue garment bag containing the clothing that Mrs. Laviolette’s family had brought for her to wear, he excused himself, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. He would see to the contracts and give Eve and Adrien a few minutes to chat openly amongst themselves and have some space without the pressure of a near-stranger sharing the room with them.

Rebecca (‘Becks’ as she was known to most) handed him the itemized clothing intake form he’d gone over with the family and printed out, and he folded it in half and placed it inside the garment bag before writing Mrs. Laviollete’s name on a manila tag and attaching it to the clothing hanger with a rubber band.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” he handed the permanent marker he’d used to sign the tag back to Becks and took the contracts from her next. “Oh, could I trouble you for a jewelry envelope? They also brought her glasses, her wedding rings, and a pair of earrings if memory serves.”

The relief admin reached into a drawer under the desk and surfaced with a self-sealing, manila envelope, adding it to Emmrich’s growing pile of paperwork.

It was always strange seeing someone else sitting at Rook’s desk. He’d gotten so used to seeing her there over the past months. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rebecca - quite the contrary: she was very good at her job, and a lovely person, but she wasn’t Rook.

“Did you get permission to post the obit on the website?”

“Ah! I thought I may have forgotten something… my apologies, Rebecca - I’ll be sure to ask before they leave.” He treated her to an apologetic smile and scrawled a few x’s on the contract to better indicate where the family needed to sign.

“Forgetting things, Emmrich?” Remarked Joan, the other permanent chapel administrator from her own desk. She was in her forties and had tightly curled hair the exact colour of nutmeg. She twirled her pen in her hand and smirked at Emmrich - this sort of harmless teasing was not unusual from Joan. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fight you clearly lost with an octopus last night, would it?”

Oh dear - his collar must have slipped down, revealing the deep mauve love bites Rook had left on his neck.

“That’s hardly any of your business, dear Joan,” he retorted curtly, adjusting his collar with dignity as he continued to review the funeral contracts.

“You gonna bring them to the Wintersend dinner?” She demanded, and Emmrich threw a cautionary glance at Becks as she failed to subtly lean over her desk to try and catch a glimpse at his neck.

“Perhaps,” he flipped the page, circled the price of the casket upgrade that they had discussed. His phone vibrated in his breast pocket, heralding the arrival of a text message - he already knew who it was from, and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. “We shall see.”

“You haven’t brought a date in years,” Joan said. “Was just talking about it with Wayne-“ ah yes, Wayne: Joan’s husband who worked at the nearby cemetery - somewhat rough around the edges, but a lovely fellow all the same. “- last one was that uh… what was she an art appraiser or something?”

“An art dealer,” Emmrich sighed, focusing intently on the contract hoping that Joan would take the hint: he saw little reason to stand around discussing a former flame with colleagues. Not with a family next door.

“That’s right!” Joan pointed her pen at him. “Any idea what she’s up to these days?”

Emmrich bit back his annoyance and forced his expression to remain stoic. “I haven’t any reason to, so no.”

He preferred not to think about Philomena. Preferred not to think about how the avant-gardé and eclectic Orlesian patron of the arts was initially swept off her feet by his charm and eccentricity; his passionate need to understand death and all of its facets, and his almost poetic talent for finding splendour and hope amongst decay and putrefaction.

He felt terrible about himself whenever he thought too hard about her, and he was reminded by his subconscious that she’d gone back to Orlais about a year into their relationship and stopped calling him, texting him, and emailing him without a word of warning.

He never really understood why - never got a tidy explanation - but he had a few guesses: likely a culmination of many things - one too many cocktail or dinner parties amongst the elite creatives of Nevarra where he misread the room. One too many anecdotes about death or decomposition delivered with the casual ease of someone describing the process of preparing an omelette: “It’s a commonly held misconception that rigor mortis is a permanent affliction, however, the stiffening of joints and muscles after you pass on only lasts for a few short hours. Admittedly it can make it challenging for one to manipulate the extremities during that time, but simply massaging the affected areas causes rigor to subside in short order, restoring flaccidity and range of movement so the limbs can be moved freely once more.”

“… Ohhh!” Someone would say with feigned enthusiasm after too many moments had passed without anyone saying anything. “How… interesting!”

The slightly agape mouths and raised eyebrows told a different story.

Add to that one too many declarations of love and romantic intent: words trotted out in flowery verse; expensive gifts lavished with the unspoken hope that they could make him enough in her eyes: I can provide, see? You will never want for anything. I am safe. I am kind. I love you, I love you, I love you - will you love me?

He knew he got too attached too quickly and too easily. He always had, and when he was inevitably left to clean up the aftermath of another lover’s hasty departure from his life, his old friend and colleague, Johanna was always quick to point out that of course he had managed to frighten yet another one away with his saccharine yearning - as if he needed reminding.

Not that he cared what Johanna thought, but he could practically hear her calling him a cradle-robbing pervert upon learning about Rook.

And would she be wrong?

Sighing again, he marked up one more place on the contract before heading back to the arrangement office.

As he vanished around the corner, he heard Joan say to Becks too loudly for it to be accidental, “Seems pretty miserable for a dude that just got laid.”

I really should have taken her out for dinner first. How thoughtless of me…

The guilt hadn’t subsided by the time he arrived home to shower, change, feed Manfred, and return to Rook’s apartment.

She’d messaged him twice throughout the day. Once in the morning to say she���d had a nice night, and once in the afternoon to say she was looking forward to seeing him again shortly - that one had been accompanied by a picture of her wearing nothing but a towel, the curves of her perfect breasts just barely concealed by the grey terry; drenched hair dripping tantalizingly over her skin.

He was grateful he’d waited to look at that one until after the Laviolette family left, because within minutes of opening it, the utterly gorgeous still frame of her had him rock hard, and he found himself shamefully jerking off in a stall in the staff bathroom, desperate to finish so he could refocus himself and concentrate on his final arrangement meeting of the day like he wasn’t some sort of lurid sex obsessed deviant who had successfully reduced a woman like Rook down to a vapid sex object.

He was grateful for a change that the family he was assisting wanted a direct cremation with no service, no viewing, and no obituary. The sole executor brought the will, and was the only person attending the meeting. Everything had been prepaid in advance by the deceased, so there were no changes nor any new decisions to be made: simple, quick, and to the point.

Despite this, Emmrich still managed to spell the word ‘preparation’ incorrectly three times in a row, and almost gave the son making the arrangements Rook’s business card instead of his own.

There was nothing for it: he was a mess.

A besotted, smitten, horny mess, and at this rate it wouldn’t be long before he frightened her away too. What was he thinking? That this young, beautiful creature with a lifetime of promise and possibilities before her would be in a hurry to tie herself down to a man old enough to be her father?

That she would happily embrace the strange looks they would almost certainly get in public as people drew conclusions they had no business drawing?

That she would quickly come to know the worst of him that dwelled beneath the thin veneer that was the ‘best’? The insecurity and loneliness and self-loathing; the irrational fears and anxieties that kept him awake at night and overwhelmed his mind at times, leaving him little more than a quivering, hyperventilating wreck, curled up under the blankets and praying for the Ativan to kick in soon.

She would figure out that he was too much. Too different. Too weird - even by the very broad definition applied by morticians.

He would have to tell her that he could see and speak with the dead.

He would have to tell her that more than anything in life, he was afraid of dying - a wildly contradictory fear for one in this profession.

She was going to know before long that the carefully crafted facade of Emmrich Volkarin was a lie - brazenly thrust into the world, and effective only because of the sheer amount of time he’d been insisting upon it.

She doesn’t deserve this.

She deserves a future full of joy and potential and dreams that are entirely attainable, should she only dare to wish for them.

I didn’t even ask her to dinner before I slept with her…

It seemed stupid to get hung up on that, but he was: mutual feelings or not, it fell to him to take the lead, and rather than controlling himself and treating Rook with the respect she was due, he took her to bed and didn’t even have the decency to spend the entire night.

She deserves respect, and here I’m treating her like a fantasy…

Tuning out Manfred as he twined around and through his ankles, coating the hem of his pant legs with white fur, Emmrich sighed and pulled out his phone, preparing to call Rook and tell her he couldn’t do it - he wasn’t coming over.

But before he could place the call, a banner appeared at the top of his screen.

Another message from Rook.

‘Are you on your way yet?’

A reasonable and fair question - that wasn’t the part of the message that made his eyes prickle unexpectedly. It was the words that followed.

‘I miss you.’

‘I just made it home - I’ll be over soon - close to 7:00. I miss you too, Rook. I missed you all day.’

Just as he said he would, Emmrich arrived right at 7:00. Rook had spent the last twenty minutes stationed at the window again, staring down the length of her street, her stomach leaping whenever she saw headlights turn off the main road.

When she finally saw the recognizable shape of Emmrich’s lights, her stomach flip-flopped even harder, and she pushed away from the window, taking a moment to check herself over one last time in the mirrored closet doors to make sure she had dressed herself properly: her hair was nicely pinned up in a bun with stray wisps pulled loose to frame her face, and she turned her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder to check for the twentieth time that she hadn’t accidentally tucked the hem of her stretchy burgundy velvet mini dress into her thong. Her stockings were free of runs, and she hadn’t managed to soak sweat stains under her arms yet - though she suspected that was about to change. Her makeup still looked pristine, and the softly tinted gloss she’d chosen over her traditional matte red lipstick still looked good.

Satisfied, she slipped out of her apartment and down the stairs where she waited at the front door for Emmrich to appear, emerging from the dark to stride up the walkway, as elegant and refined as ever.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight she’d been waiting all day to see: him - with his perfectly styled silver hair and his angular, distinguished face. He wore the same black pea coat from the night before, and had switched out the brown chinos for charcoal grey tweed trousers that bore the same impeccable tailoring. With his expensive looking Antivan wingtips and his cream coloured scarf he looked like a bougie fashion journalist or something.

He looked fucking hot.

“Fuck me…” she murmured under her breath before flinging the door open and grinning at him. “Hey.”

“Hello, Rook,” he beamed, stepping inside and taking the weight of the door from Rook, letting it close shut gently behind him.

He was holding a white paper shopping bag, and his glasses fogged up again the same way they had before, and for a moment she was at a loss for what to do with herself as they occupied the small vestibule.

Making a decision for both of them, he swept her against him with his unburdened arm and brushed his lips over her left cheek, then her right, before releasing her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long - traffic and Manfred, you see.”

Hoping he couldn’t see her sway in place as the elation of being touched by him again negated her ability to balance properly, she unlocked the main door and he followed her inside and up the stairs.

“Oh no… no problem at all. I know it’s a long drive. How was Manfred?”

“Oh he managed to break into the pantry today and ate an entire loaf of bread. I think he’s rather upset that I was absent last night for far longer than I usually am.”

Guilt wrung Rook’s gut then. “Sorry,” she glanced over her shoulder at him, offering a sympathetic grimace as they continued their ascent. “I’d say you could bring him with you next time, but there’s a ‘no pets’ policy and my landlord is a real prick about it - last year the old man in 204 got a hermit crab to keep him company after his wife died and the prick made him get rid of the little guy.”

“How sad,” Emmrich frowned, looking genuinely sorrowful at this.

“I brought him a house plant - a cutting of Perry, actually - and I try to visit him once a week for coffee. He’s grateful, but I think he’d be happier with his hermit crab… or his wife for that matter.”

Emmrich’s mouth curved in a soft smile, though the melancholy didn’t leave his eyes. “That’s very sweet of you, Rook.”

“It’s not,” she argued placidly. “It’s just the right thing to do: people should look out for each other, but for some reason they just… don’t and it annoys the fuck out of me.”

“That makes two of us,” Emmrich agreed, wincing slightly as they made it to the landing of Rook’s floor.

“Shit, sorry - are you okay?”

“Oh yes, just the ever-present protestations of knees that I should have cared for better in my youth.”

Rook didn’t know what to say to that. She certainly couldn’t render solidarity in the form of a believable ‘Ugh! Me too! Fucking achy joints amirite?’

She didn’t have achy joints: she was 25.

So instead she just nodded and opened the door to her apartment, ushering Emmrich inside with the same elevated politeness that she ushered families into visitation rooms with.

“What have you got there?” She asked, pointing at the bag that he had set down in the entryway so he could undo his scarf and slip out of his coat.

“Give me a moment to sort myself out and I’ll show you,” he retorted with the tempered ease she’d come to know. He hung his coat and the scarf on a hanger and put them in the closet before removing his shoes. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Damn right I do - I don’t dress up in my own house for just anybody.

“Thank you.”

Emmrich straightened and pushed his shoes to the side of the mat with his foot. He was wearing dark green dress socks with a beige diamond pattern on them, and a black turtleneck that made for a decidedly Warhol-esque look.

They regarded each other silently for moments that lasted far longer than they had any right to, clearly both at a loss as to how best to proceed.

“I uh… haven’t started dinner yet, but if you want some wine, I—“

Something seemed to snap into place in Emmrich’s brain and his eyes widened at her words. “Wine. Right!” He scooped the white paper bag up from the floor and reached inside, withdrawing a visibly dusty bottle and handing it to Rook. “You must forgive me - I didn’t think to ask what was on the menu tonight, so it might be a poor pairing - foolish of me - but the… the wine I brought you last night is… well it’s…“ he sighed wearily, “This will be far more palatable, trust me.”

Rook looked at the bottle in her hands, swaths of dust cleared away to reveal dark, shining glass where her fingers and his had touched it.

She was far from a connoisseur of wines, generally opting to drink anything that had a price tag of $10 or less - or came in a box - and would surely get her drunk faster than beer.

“This is… this is… really nice wine, isn’t it?”

Emmrich made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, “Hardly the nicest, but a definitive improvement on anything with a screw-top.”

Rook swallowed, feeling out of her depth: poor… stupid… uncultured.

Seeming to pick up on her discomfort, he plucked the bottle from her hands and wiped the remaining dust from the label. “It’s from my personal collection: one of a few that I have left from a good year. I think I purchased a case of these for eighteen dollars per bottle, so it’s less that I broke the bank, and more that I stumbled upon something good and decided I wanted to hold onto it.”

“I don’t even know if I have a corkscrew,” she admitted, still feeling sheepish.

“Well we’ll sort that out if we need to,” he treated her to that easy, nonjudgmental smile again and picked up the bag again, handing it to her. “For you.”

Rook’s eyebrow raised when she accepted the bag. She peered into it, then back to Emmrich, then she abandoned the entryway, placing the bag on the kitchen counter and reaching inside.

Her fingers closed around a hard ceramic pot, swaddled in cardboard and plastic. Carefully lifting it, she set the pot on the counter and pried the plastic away, revealing a plant with deep green leaves and a woody stem. Its delicate limbs curled prettily upwards, and small white buds were nestled in the fragrant greenery.

She gently rubbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger, saying hello to her new friend.

“You brought me a plant?” She asked, staring at the fledgling creature, her heart filling. “What florist is even open at this hour?”

“Odella’s, of course,” Emmrich answered, naming the florist that McDermott & Rafferty had contracted out for funeral flowers for years.

She felt his presence drawing close to her, heard him place the wine bottle on the counter gently, then felt his hand on the narrow curve of her waist - almost tentatively at first until it became obvious that she was not going to flinch away… only then did it settle. With his other hand he brushed a sprig of leaves and stooped slightly behind her, placing his face alongside hers.

“I thought to bring you flowers at first, but this seemed a more fitting offering than an impermanent and fleeting bouquet, given your passion for growing things.”

She didn’t understand why at the time, but the fact that he remembered - or even cared - about her affinity for houseplants made something tighten in her chest.

Tommy hated them. He thought they were a waste of time. Told her if she was gonna bother putting so much energy into growing something, it might as well be smokable.

“Do you… like it?”

Rook realized that she hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t said anything. Not so much as a ‘thank you’.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she hadn’t any clue what it was. “It’s… it’s a…?”

“A jasmine plant,” Emmrich assisted. “It will bloom for you in time, so the flowers are forthcoming.”

Rook pulled her gaze from the small potted plant and turned against the edge of the counter so she was facing Emmrich.

“Something to look forward to, then,” she smiled, looking up at his kind face. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Thank you. For the plant, and the wine… you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” he entreated, his sweet, spearmint scented breath washing over her cheeks as she fixated on the enticing shape of his lips.

She still needed to start dinner. She hadn’t even put music on. She promised him a meal, and here she was, wasting time…

“You been tested recently?”

The amorous look in Emmrich’s eyes vanished, replaced with confusion. “Tested? I—?”

“STI panel.”

“Oh!” The faintest blush crept over the bridge of his nose and he looked at the cupboards over her shoulder. “Every year, or after a new partner, whichever comes first, but… I haven’t had a new partner in some time and-“

“You’re clean?”

The flush deepened, diffusing over his cheeks. “W-well yes, of course, but-"

Satisfied, Rook pushed away from the counter enough to drop to a crouch, one knee brushing the floor as she undid Emmrich’s belt buckle and slipped the button of his trousers loose.

Catching on, he managed to babble, “Rook, darling, y-you don’t have to-“ before she dropped his zipper and pulled his dick out of his underwear, casting one cheeky look up at the stammering man in front of her before taking him in her hand and dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock.

“Ah!” He moaned unbidden at the sudden wet warmth when she took him into her mouth, buckling slightly against the counter behind her. “R-Rook!”

Her other hand found the back of his thigh and she locked him in place, filling her mouth with his semi-hard length, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him in, her pussy immediately responding to the high pitchy breaths - little half groans and whimpers - that poured from his lips.

He was surprised by this sudden turn of events, yes, but he didn’t pull away; didn’t tell her to stop. Instead, his gasps gave way to deep elated sighs as she worked him with her mouth and her hand, taking her time and worshipping his long, thin cock, tracing every handsome vein; revelling in the salty tang of his skin and the slickness of his precum on her tongue as she knelt in front of him.

“S-so good…” he whispered, carding the fingers of one hand through her hair, his head tipping back, “Oh… that feels so, so good…”

I know it does, handsome…

Rook hummed approvingly around him, feeling him throb against the roof of her mouth. She let go of his cock, wrapping her wet fingers around the back of his other thigh before slackening her jaw, opening her throat, then taking him deep, deep, and deeper still until she felt him butt against the space just beyond her tonsils. He squirmed in her hands, biceps femoris fluttering coyly under her fingertips. His hand tightened in her hair, but not enough to hurt.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, filling her lungs and belly, lost in the cathartic victory of the bliss she was subjecting him to; the smell of him; the dainty sweetness of the viscous, anticipatory fluid that continued to seep from his sensitive slit...

He moaned her name quietly again when she eased him further down her throat, exhaling slowly… so slowly through her nose as she went, bobbing her head slightly and going further with each stroke until he was fully seated and her nose brushed skin beneath the coarse thatch of hair on his lower belly.

He positively vibrated in her hands - ass clenching, thighs spasming, hips jerking, the nails of his free hand scrabbling over the smooth surface of the counter as Rook swallowed around him and fucked him with her throat, each lewd wet thrust punctuated by the unseemly sound her vocal cords made as they were repetitively prodded by his intrusive length.

“Darling…” he whined, a man toeing the chasm of abandon. “D-darling please… I can’t… oh - I’m going to— ohhh!”

His words were cut short and he went rigid as a corpse before uttering a strangled yelp and collapsing against the counter with a thud, propped on an elbow as his hips jerked gracelessly against Rook’s face and she felt his hot, thick cum spill down her throat - one satisfying, relieving pulse after another.

She moaned as she swallowed him, cunt aching as she drank him deep, his warmth spreading through her, her name falling raggedly from his mouth over and over and over, each repetition more reverent than the last.

When he was done, she twitched her jaw, let him slip wetly from her, traced her lips with her tongue, and smiled up at his fucked-out face.

“I was looking forward to an appetizer, and it was delicious…” she rose, tucking his cock back into his pants and doing them up. “So… how about that glass of wine, handsome?”

It was actually pretty funny, the way that Emmrich was gaping at her with his unusually clumsy fingers absently trying to configure his belt buckle, his face flushed and shiny with post-orgasmic bliss.

“Wine,” he swallowed, throat bobbing, hazel eyes blown out behind the lenses of his glasses. “Yes, yes… allow me.”

He seemed to grasp onto some scant flotsam of rational thought amongst the pitching sea of post-nut clarity and finished with his belt, sliding his sleeves up his forearms and clearing his throat before saying (roughly), “If you did happen to have a corkscrew, where might it be?”

[imsoawkwrrd]

SEX ADDICT SUGAR MUMMY FROM ELDORET IN NEED OF A TOYBOY

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[lydibee]

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Dating sugar mummies can be a very exciting experience for young men nowadays. It can also get quite intimidating if you are not fully prepared for whatever it is that lies ahead of you. In addition to this, sugar baby dating and sugar momma dating is still being frowned by some people nowadays. This means that you might catch a couple of stares when out on a date with your sugar mummies. If it…

[xandermaxim]

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Dating sugar mummies can be a very exciting experience for young men nowadays. It can also get quite intimidating if you are not fully prepared for whatever it is that lies ahead of you. In addition to this, sugar baby dating and sugar momma dating is still being frowned by some people nowadays. This means that you might catch a couple of stares when out on a date with your sugar mummies. If it…

[triplecosmic]

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Going Out with Sugar Mummies for the First Time

Dating sugar mummies can be a very exciting experience for young men nowadays. It can also get quite intimidating if you are not fully prepared for whatever it is that lies ahead of you. In addition to this, sugar baby dating and sugar momma dating is still being frowned by some people nowadays. This means that you might catch a couple of stares when out on a date with your sugar mummies. If it…

[runenc03]

Four

Writing date: around October 2020, I think? Not sure tbh, lol

Genre: fluff

Warnings: no warnings! :)

Word count: 3.1k 

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

The first time you saw him with a baby was in the hospital. You were four, nestled in your mum's lap beside your godmother's hospital bed. You watched with big eyes as your godmother gave her second - barely one day old - son to her firstborn, who took his little brother eagerly but gently, making sure to support the baby's head at all times just like his mum had told him to do. You smiled, he suddenly looked so big in comparison to the small baby in his arms.

"They grow up so fast"

That was your mum, complaining to your godmother - her best friend since kindergarten. Your smile morphed into a grin as she put one of her arms around you, rocking you from side to side, as if she was trying to shrink you to match the little baby in your best friend's arms. Needless to say, she failed miserably. You were a big girl after all.

"Tell me about it. They're already going to school! Not that it isn't nice to see them grow up, but, well, I missed having a baby in the house. As hard as it is, it makes me feel so empowered, taking care of such a small miracle..."

Your mum nodded, a nostalgic gleam in her eyes. You smiled too, knowing you'd been that baby for your mum, a long time ago of course. The baby in your best friend's arms started fussing, not quite crying but not as happy as possible either, and you recognised the fleeting panic in your best friend's eyes. It was the same look he'd had when the teacher asked him to show his teddy bear to everyone - you knew he was very protective of his stuffed friend and only wanted to share it with you. Your godmother quickly took the baby from her oldest son's arms, naturally taking him into her arms, and started breast feeding him. Your best friend moved as well, crawling through the hospital sheets to get closer to his little brother once again, placing a kiss on his forehead, as if to say sorry for whatever he'd done wrong.

As you watched the scene in front of you, you heard your mother's 'aww', but your smile faltered a bit. The kissing on the forehead was something exclusively for the two of you, or so you'd thought. Was he going to forget all about you now that he had his own personal playmate at home? Were you going to become just another girl in your class he was scared he'd get cooties from? He'd always assured you that the two of you were an exception to that, claiming it was because your mum was his godmother and vice versa, or something like that.

You decided you'd seen enough for now and wanted to take a nap. Turning your head to the side, you readjusted your head to lay on your mum's chest, closing your eyes and - after checking to make sure no one was paying attention to you - sucking on your thumb before slowly falling asleep.

You weren't sure how much time had passed since you fell asleep, but when you woke up, your godmother was asleep and your own mum was scrolling through her Facebook feed on her phone. You rubbed your eyes, trying to push away the last remnants of sleep in them, and focused on your best friend. He was still sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, looking every bit as energetic as he did whenever the two of you ate a bit too much sugar. Again, his gaze was turned to the baby, a small smile playing around his lips. You decided with a frown that you still didn't want to talk to him, stubborn as always. You closed your eyes again, pretending to sleep.

"You know, buddy, mummy says you'll have to learn to walk first, but as soon as you can, I want to take you with us on our adventures. 'Us' is my best friend and I. She's sitting here as well, you see? Our mum is best friends with her mum, just like I'm best friends with her. She's my best friend though, so you can't be her best friend, I'm sorry, but you can play with us! She's the best in playing tag, oh and also in telling stories! You should ask her to tell you a story sometime. Mum also told me it'll take a while for you to be able to speak, but I can ask her for you if you want to..."

And as much as you tried to fake being asleep, your smile won.

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

The second time you saw him with a baby was on an indoor ice skating rink.

Okay true, he wasn't holding a baby, but you were both sixteen and he had grown so tall over the years that everyone looked like a baby in comparison to him. You were no exception to that by the way, but you'd never admit that in his presence. About a year ago, your town had decided they wanted to present themselves as a place where all children could grow up in peace while having fun, and so they came up with the idea to organise little holidays for kids. Your best friend had instantly loved the town upon learning that they still needed young adults to go with the kids as supervisors. He'd bugged you for weeks, claiming it would look just as good on your resume as any other thing you, as a responsible teen, had planned to do during the holidays, and so you found yourself living the first day of said holiday, on an ice rink, surrounded by exactly 19 kids, a dumb grin on your face because you were having way more fun than you originally anticipated.

You were shaken out of your stupor by a little girl tugging at your gloved hand to get your attention. She pointed towards the large clock hanging above the ice rink, and you were reminded of your promise to buy everyone a hot chocolate at 4 pm. Your best friend had shaken his head a little, trying to let you know that you were an idiot for giving kids hot chocolate in summer, but you'd just shrugged your shoulders, a provocative smile around your lips.

"Just because you had to vomit that one time we each drank an entire bottle when we were 8, doesn't mean it's a safety risk for every child."

You took the girl's hand with one of your own and whistled to let all the kids know you were taking a break from skating. The result was 18 kids bolting to the door of the cafe connected to the ice rink. 18 kids, your entire group except for one. You turned around after counting them, looking to see where your last kid had gone to. They were normally all very quick to gather around you upon hearing your whistle.

"Don't worry, we're coming!"

That was your best friend of course, yelling from the other side of the ice rink. You noticed suddenly that this was the first time you'd actually seen him interacting with one of the kids today. Before, you'd been so busy learning names by heart and organising everything that you hadn't paid attention to how good he actually was with them. You felt a weird move in your stomach, like a tingle quickly shooting through it, but you decided to ignore that.

The 19th kid out of your group - her name was Alicia - couldn't ice skate. Her posture was awkward, her legs wobbly, her face the same as yours that one time your best friend had convinced you to go on a rollercoaster with 4 consecutive loops. You honestly felt sorry for her, although you expected that the panicky look in her eyes would soon be gone because you thought your best friend would just pick Alicia up, she probably didn't weight more than the ice skates themselves.

You raised a brow when he crouched down to whisper something in her ear instead of carrying her to the other side of the rink. You watched intently, seeing a small smile slip onto Alicia's face, her hand grasping onto his as firmly as she could. And then, very tentatively, she let her right foot glide forward. Then her left, and the right one another time. Her smile broadened, before quickly slipping away because she started swaying on her feet again. Your best friend immediately reacted though, steadying her on her feet and saying something that sounded a lot like "don't give up!"

You suddenly knew what you had to do. You started yelling to Alicia, clapping in your hands, sending encouraging words her way, and soon all the other kids followed, cheering on their friend. The closer Alicia got to the group, the bigger both the sound echoing in the rink and the smile on her face.

Once Alicia reached the other kids, she got tackled into a group hug, and your heart warmed at the sight. This was only day one and they were already such a close-knit group.

A soft hand on your shoulder and a warm breath on your ear made you focus again.

"I believe someone deserves some hot chocolate."

You were about to rub in his face that your idea had been brilliant, but the words were stuck in your throat when you finally looked at him.

"You are brilliant."

His eyes twinkled, and you knew you wouldn't be able to stop the heat from residing in your cheeks for the rest of the day.

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

The third time you saw him with a baby was in your neighbor's house. In this case, you had just turned 20 and the baby was more of a toddler, but you didn't want to ponder the details: it was cute.

You were actually supposed to be studying for your exams, but your best friend had asked you if he could come study with you, and foolishly you had agreed, convincing yourself you'd be able to motivate each other. What started as a study session transformed into a pillow fight, and, when your neighbour called you to ask if you could come over to look after her toddler, it ended up being a babysit date.

You looked at the clock above the fireplace, already getting a headache at the prospect of having to study all night in order to keep up with the schedule you had sworn to follow. If it had been up to you, you would've just been honest with your neighbour. She liked you a lot and wouldn't have minded if you'd just honestly told her that you were in the middle of your exams. Your best friend, however, had immediately agreed to babysit, telling your neighbour that the two of you would take good care of her baby. Truth be told, the woman's relief had been visible on her face, and it did make you feel good to take care of someone else.

"Hey buddy, it's getting late, and your mummy told us to get you in bed on time. What about this: we go get you ready for bed now and if you're quick enough, I'll read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?"

You watched your best friend almost being knocked down by the eager boy. As the toddler ran to the bathroom on his chubby legs, your best friend threw his head back in laughter, dimples in his cheeks. Your stomach did something strange, as it usually did nowadays whenever you were in his presence, but you ignored it. You had to focus on the little one now, you could dwell on your emotions later on.

Your best friend's strategy worked. Within a quarter of an hour, you'd managed to put on the little boy's pyjamas, brush his teeth, go to the toilet with him, and get him into his bed. You tucked him in, making sure all his stuffed animals were in the right place as you did so, and giving him a kiss on his forehead.

"Are you reading a story for me?"

You chuckled, and you heard a lower voice behind you match yours. He came up to you and your young neighbour then, a gigantic book in one of his hands. You swiftly noticed the veins on his under arm, and turned your head, forcing yourself not to get distracted. You weren't even together for God's sake, you should actually be able to keep yourself in check.

"Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away from here, there was a dinosaur called Inky. He was the most beautiful dinosaur you could ever imagine, with big, blue eyes, green skin and two gigantic wings. Inky ..."

Your eyes took in the scene in front of you, your small neighbour watching your best friend intently, eyes wide with wonder, sometimes giggling a bit when the story was particularly funny or when the narrator imitated Inky the dinosaur.

By the time Inky's adventure was over, the toddler had already fallen asleep, his breathing evening out, a content look on his face. Making as little sound as possible, you both tiptoed out of the door, keeping it ajar in case the little one wanted to come to you.

As you sat down on your neighbour's couch, your best friend wrapped an arm around you, and you leaned into him. You didn't say anything, it wasn't necessary. A new episode of peppa pig started on tv, and you stared up at him. His eyes stared back, full of unspoken promises.

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

The fourth time you saw your best friend with a baby was in your own house. Today was actually supposed to be all about your 25th birthday, but your party had ended up being about something entirely different, although you wouldn't have traded the day for something else even if you could have. You had started the day off together by preparing some snacks for your guests, but those preparations had quickly come to a halt as you'd gotten a call from the adoption agency, stating that some things had shifted rapidly, resulting in you being able to bring home your baby that exact day. If everything would go smoothly, the baby would be officially your child within a few weeks to months. As exciting as the day had been, it had also been tremendously exhausting, and so that's how you found yourself waking up from your slumber on the couch, your watch telling you it was only 9 pm. Embarrassingly early. When you let your eyes travel further than your own wrist, the first thing your vision fell on was the mass of congratulations cards scattered on the table. Oh, how people had probably stressed themselves out, trying to find a different kind of congratulations card last minute. You grinned, a warm feeling you could only identify as true happiness spreading in your chest.

A gurgling sound made you look to the left, your smile unfolding completely now. Sitting in the armchair was your best friend, holding a baby with dark, curly hair in his arms. The baby was staring at her dad with big eyes, as if trying to drink in as many details as possible, learning every crinkle and dimple by heart.

She was claiming him as her dad.

Your best friend didn't need to look away from his daughter to know you had woken up. He simply brought one hand to the baby's stomach, slightly tickling her there, and her small gurgling sounds intensified, her legs wiggling as if trying to get away, but not having enough strength yet.

"Look darling, mummy is awake. Now I need to share you again."

His face morphed into a fake pout, and the baby, your baby, stopped her gurgling, trying to figure out why her dad suddenly wasn't smiling anymore. Too late, your best friend realised his mistake, but his attempt to cheer her up again was to no avail, she started fussing, and even though you'd never done this and she had come way sooner than you had anticipated, you knew that that wasn't a good sign.

"Give me my daughter please, I missed her."

Your best friend handed her to you, and you gently bounced her in your arms, kissing her little forehead. Instead of going back to sit on the couch, you went to your dinner table, now morphed into a congratulations card holder. You sat down on one of the chairs, turning your daughter around so she had a good view of the table herself.

"You see that sweetie? All for you, all those people already love you! Isn't that nice?"

You traced her cheek with your finger, and she grabbed onto it with her fist. You observed how both of your skin colours contrasted. Though that was only a coincidence seeing as children of all skin colours got adopted, you loved it, loved the variety of it. While your skin might not match your daughter's in colour, it matched in beauty.

On the other side of the room, soft snores were coming from your best friend's lips. That's right. After all these years, he was still your best friend. Not just your best friend, but not more than your best friend either. To you, he had always been a special someone, you had always loved him, from the day he had been your friend in kindergarten to your partner and the father of your child now.

At the end of the day, those names were only labels, a way for society to put feelings into boxes. The thing is, feelings aren't made to be put into boxes. Love is love, and there are different kinds of love, yes, but one isn't necessarily less important than another. You loved that man just as much now as you had as a toddler, the feelings had just evolved, you had moved several boxes, and now fit into 'family'. Or maybe not entirely, your skin colours didn't all match, after all.

You grinned. Your daughter would grow up knowing the concept of love. Not in boxes, but in all its beautiful, overflowing, free glory.

[sweetescape01748]

The recipe that started it all...

Kate O’Connor | Photo Essay | March 13 2021

At 5:00 a.m. when most people are slamming the “snooze” button on their alarm clocks to get some extra rest, Melissa Roiter is packing her kids lunches, walking the dog, and getting ready to prepare some delicious desserts. Shortly after that, she then wakes her 13 year-old triplets up to start her day as a single mom, and being a self-employed bakery owner. After a short drive to Yummy Mummy Bakery, Roiter scurries inside to begin gathering brownie ingredients and whip up the first batch of the day-as the aroma of Semi-Sweet cocoa fills the air. 

Roiter is a successful businesswoman carrying on her grandmother’s baking legacy at Yummy Mummy Bakery in Westborough Massachusetts. Her introduction to baking is “all about nostalgia and fudge-style brownies”.

Yummy Mummy specializes in homemade, delicious, American sweets. Roiter proudly exclaims that “our best seller is our brownies and our most popular varieties are salted caramel, peanut butter, espresso and cheesecake”. 

Roiter of Southboro grew up in Holden Massachusetts, attended Worcester Academy and graduated from Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. With her family background, Roiter seemed destined for the food business. Her mother, Nancy Benjamin was a caterer, and owned “Smart Cookies Catering” in Worcester; her aunt, Jody Garber, owned the Cambridge -based company, “A Mere Truffle”, and her grandmother was a baker at heart. Roiter excidelty adds, “my grandmother’s homemade fudge brownie recipe was the start to my whole business”. Roiter describes her mother as a perfectionist who would test a recipe up to four times before putting it on a menu. “She’s a great cook, really the best ever’. While sighing, Roiter said she personally isn’t into cooking. “I think it’s because my mom spoiled me,” she said. “I really have an appreciation of how hard she worked and what she accomplished. To this day, my mom cooks for family and friends and still loves it”.

Roiter’s journey began in the corporate world at a bank, and she felt that the financial world was not suited for her. However, when her friend, Stephen Kramer got married, Roiter offered to give the couple a brownie bar as their wedding gift. And from that point on, people were begging for more brownies. 

Roiter reminisced by explaining, “My business started over 15 years ago out of my home. It was called Yummy Mummy Brownies. Based on my grandmother’s recipe, I baked and sold over 20 different varieties of brownies.” When Roiter started her business, her triplets were 2 years old, “I was a momtrepreneur!” she said giggling. 

Roiter sold her first few batches of brownies at farmer’s markets and online. “My business grew and grew until after 8 years, I could no longer do it out of my home. I had taken up too much of my house with ovens and extra refrigerators in the basement, freezers in the garage and the only things to eat were eggs, butter, sugar and chocolate” Roiter said while laughing. With limited kitchen space,  Roiter decided to open a retail bakery. At first, she had a small space for 3 ½  years which enabled her to “get started”. Now, the bakery has fifteen employees, and has relocated to a bigger space, at 50 East Main Street, right down the road from their former site.

Being the owner of this small business, Roiter quickly moves around taking calls, making coffee, boxing up goods, and directing her staff in the kitchen. “I put in about 70 hours per week at my business but I don’t consider this work. Yummy Mummy’s talented staff of thirteen employees consisting of bakers and cake decorators, help to produce not only decadent brownies (of course!),  but other American sweets like cookies, cupcakes, coconut bundt cake, bars, cake pops, etc.” According to the momtrepreneur, “brownies are the most popular as that’s what I’m already known for. However, I highly recommend the doughnut muffin, double chocolate pecan cookie, coconut cake and pb&j bar”. 

According to Roiter, “after sweets all day (shhh, don’t tell anyone), I like to make a big salad with fresh veggies, feta cheese, slivered almonds and topped with homemade lemon dressing”.

Owning a small business is difficult. Roiter explains that she has learned a lot of life lessons throughout her time of being an entrepreneur. Some of the most challenging lessons she has had to face are learning “to incorporate a business, getting my food permits, negotiating my leases”. However, she explains that she is learning as she goes. Some of the struggles she faces on a daily basis include “being a single mom and finding work/life balance, learning how to stand up for myself in business matters like my bakery build out, negotiating best prices on ingredients, managing an ever growing staff, being organized and (finally) being a fair yet effective boss” said Roiter.  

What makes Yummy Mummy Bakery different from others? According to Roiter, “Everything, and I mean everything, is made fresh and from scratch every morning”. There’s no cutting corners, “only real butter, eggs and chocolate are used”. Every recipe is tested multiple times until it is yummy. The baked goods are also traditional American treats: chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and popovers. There’s nothing too fancy - just real and just real good. “Just the smell of brownies baking in the oven is enough to make you swoon” said Roiter. 

Roiter said she is fortunate to have been surrounded by strong women who have supported her on her journey. As Yummy Mummy continues to expand, Roiter said she is busy scouting other channels of sales. The business currently caters events, ships corporate and personal mail orders nationwide, participates in farmers markets and wholesales many of its products.

“We recently started offering cake and cookie decorating classes,” added Roiter. “We try to have fun each and every day while making people’s lives sweeter.”

As expected, business at Yummy Mummy Bakery has been disrupted by the Coronavirus pandemic back in March. Bakery hours were condensed, and Yummy Mummy asked customers to pre-order at www.yummymummybakery.com to keep the baked goods comin’. Roiter even set up Saturday pop-ups for the safety and convenience of customers.   

The bakery used social media to its advantage as another way to publicize at-home events, such a cooking challenge they coined as “Chopped.” Roiter challenged customers to tackle a bag of mystery ingredients she put together and sold at the shop. “We threw our own Food Network ‘Chopped’-inspired party,” she said. Participants were asked to use the mystery ingredients to make something special at home and then post a photo on Facebook.

Roiter judged the challenge. “It was fun and well received,” she said about the more than 300 submitted photos.

When asked about her success, she responded with “Strong support, especially from the community, family and friends, has helped as we innovate during difficult times. Definitely being at the right place at the right time helps as well. It’s not all just about luck” chuckled Roiter.

Roiter has been appreciative of all the love she received during these past few, difficult months. “I’ve been blown away by online orders. I feel very fortunate, and I am very thankful.”

[heylittleriotact]

👻 WIP WEDNESDAY 👻

Have I vindicated myself? Will I be flagged as a pervert again? Only one way to find out!

Thanks for the tag, @by-ilmater! Already loving your bodyguard AU!

Tagging @emmg @razildor @mageofquandrix @allofthebarks

Emmrich x Rook Modern Funeral Home AU

“Three times?”

“Yup.”

“And then this morning too?”

“Mhmm.”

“Damn. He must have been thirsting after you for ages.”

Rook tried not to look too pleased with herself as she regarded the shelf of dried pastas in front of her, for all intents and purposes supposedly deciding what kind she wanted, but in reality her mind was wandering down the path of recently forged memories from the night before.

The feeling of his lips on hers.

His scent.

The way he moaned while he was fucking her - not forced or put on. Instead, it was like he had never enjoyed anything in life quite so much as being entangled with her.

I’m in the grocery store with my best friend, picking up supplies for dinner - now is not the time.

Too late though: thoughts of Emmrich had already taken root, and arousal was already coiling deep and heavy in her core.

Later. Soon…

“Does he have Instagram? Facebook? I wanna see this silver-fox-fuck-machine for myself.”

“He doesn’t,” Rook said quietly, her lips curling at the absurdity of Emmrich having any kind of social media accounts. Most funeral professionals had nearly invisible online footprints - in an age where everyone you ever met was likely to look you up online, remaining largely unsearchable was the only sure way to guarantee your privacy.

“LinkedIn?”

Rook wrinkled her nose and pulled a box of linguine off the shelf, tossing it in the basket Leon held. “What? Cuz he’s old?”

“I mean… yeah?” Leon shrugged, his soft, dark brown eyes widening innocently.

“Shut up, Leon,” Rook squeezed past him, bumping her shoulder against his pointedly despite the abundance of space in the empty aisle.

“What?” He giggled, falling into step behind her, shaking his luxurious mane of thick black hair. “Nothing to be ashamed of - you were the one that couldn’t shut up about him at the Mussels Absinthe show a few weeks ago. You bagged yourself a sugar daddy - good for you. Wish I had that pull.”

Her cheeks heated as they wandered towards the produce section, “Can you maybe try not using your fucking radio voice while we’re discussing my sex life in the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon?”

“Just sex then?” Leon forged on, not bothering to lower his warm, booming voice at all. “Or have the seeds of romance been planted and fertilized?”

“Leon.” Rook ground out, looking around to make sure no one else was being subjected to this.

“Oh yeah,” he remarked observantly, “You fucking like him, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Rook retorted, injecting a practical, sound-minded bit of dignity into the conversation as she selected a basket of mushrooms. “He’s stable, supports himself, has a functioning vehicle that’s not filled to the windows with garbage, doesn’t bitch when I tell him to wear a condom, and knows how to get a girl off.” She dropped a mesh bag of garlic bulbs into the basket with unwarranted spite. “Bet he won’t ask me to buy weed for him and his band buddies, or go running to Mummy for rent money each month.”

“I love it.” Leon said, switching the basket to his other hand and squeezing a grapefruit because Rook knew he’d eyed it and felt like he needed to. “The complete about-face rebound from pie-in-the-sky wannabe rockstar burnout to sophisticated man-about-town is truly inspiring. Tommy is gonna shit himself.”

“It’s not a rebound, and Tommy’s not gonna know a damn thing about it,” Rook snapped, sounding just as harsh as she intended to. “That fucking dickhead doesn’t deserve a front row seat to whatever happens to be going on in my life. He lost that privilege when he fucked that stupid waitress at The Hanged Man - despite having fucked around and gotten caught before.” She shoved a few shallots into a bag and tied it off, imagining she was shoving them down Tommy’s throat. “I know he asks around about me - I’m not stupid - and you’d better not be fucking telling him anything about me - I don’t want him knowing where I work, what I’m up to, who I’m fucking, or what I’m doing with my hair these days. He’s a piece of shit and I hope he chokes on his fucking tongue.”

“Point taken,” Leon raised his eyebrows. “And just so you know: I haven’t said a word to him. Haven’t even seen him around at shows or anything for the past month at least.”

“Good,” Rook quipped, calm entering her voice. “Maybe he’s finally made himself useful and gotten a fucking job. Or better yet: done us all a favour and dropped dead.”

It was always one thing to make arrangements with a family that clearly didn’t know much about their loved one in life, but it was quite another thing altogether to sit in an arrangement office with the overwhelmed family trying to guide them towards decisions while simultaneously steering them away from ones that their loved one was blatantly disagreeing with in real time.

“Next! I really don’t care for gerber daisies and I haven’t a clue as to why they think I have some sort of attachment to them.”

Emmrich subtly glanced up from the pages of the binder of floral arrangements into the ghostly visage of the recently deceased octogenarian hovering around it with the rest of her family.

Over the years he had mastered the art of subtly urging the living towards the decisions of the dead, but it wasn’t always easy: it was a balancing act on both fronts that to his knowledge, no other funeral professionals but himself had to manage.

The average person rarely considered it, but the reality was that funerals were - and always had been - just as much for the living as they were for the dead. Of course celebrating the life and legacy of the departed was of utmost importance, but the communal event itself: the ritual of a funeral, be it Andrastian, Qunari, non denominational, or anything in between was arguably more for the people left behind than the ones who did the leaving: an opportunity for the bereaved to come together and support each other through the darkest days of their grief. To weep, and laugh, and share stories and regrets. But the world was changing, and fewer and fewer people saw the value in said rituals. Thought them trite and old-fashioned and impractical.

It was a shame, really. But as it stood, society seemed to prefer to grieve privately - to bury their sorrows in busy things like work, and commitments; happy to deny that they felt anything at all in favour of letting that vacuous wound inside of them fester and scar.

What came after death was a mystery to everyone, even Emmrich, who had been able to commune with the metaphysical imprints of the recently deceased since childhood was unable to say for certain what followed that final breath: not everyone became a ghost, it seemed, and those that did tended not to linger overlong - less out of choice, he knew: the echo of a soul could only sustain itself in this realm for a finite time, becoming progressively less substantial before eventually fading away forever. Where it went after that, he couldn’t say.

“While we were working on your Mother’s obituary, I recall that you indicated she kept a garden at your childhood home in Cumberland. Are you able to remember if there were any flowers that she particularly enjoyed growing there?”

Of course he was asking her surviving son and daughter, but he was most certainly asking the ghost of Maude Laviolette as well. Something to go off of from any of them would be helpful at this point - they had been in arrangements for nearly two hours by then, and it was clear that everyone was growing tired.

“Delphiniums. Stock. Snap Dragons.” Mrs. Laviolette ticked off garden flowers on her ghostly fingers, her voice an echoing melody composed of emotion and memory.

As the Laviolette family looked at each other over the table, trying to work out exactly what flowers their mother might have grown all those years ago, Emmrich flipped a few laminated pages of the binder, allowing himself to idly wonder what sort of flowers Rook liked - or if she even cared for them at all. It was so difficult to tell with her - assumptions almost always turned out to be wrong in her case, but she clearly had an affection for things that grew, so surely she appreciated the beauty of flowers?

[bates--boy]

The scale’s monitor blinked, the numbers climbing steadily higher as the contraption calculated his weight, and recalculated it after Peter had to shoo away his cat who kept stepping on the scale to rub himself in-between Peter’s legs.

56.25kg

“Shit.” Peter stepped off the scale and moved towards his sink, leaning back against its edge. He crossed his arms over the bandages bound around his still tender chest and rubbed a palm along what was left of his bicep. He looked around the bathroom, a place that felt so unfamiliar and cold without the presence of the souls to make existing even more of a nightmare, in order to keep his eyes away from his torso --

And fuck, since he kept thinking about it, Peter did end up gazing at his torso. The shadows that the lights cast make his ribs look more protruding than he sure they really were, his belly more concave, his collarbones sharp enough to cut. He didn’t need to look in the mirror, he had done so enough times to notice the dark circles under his eyes and the dryness in his cracked lips and hair.

Peter pursed his lips. Fifty-six point twenty-five kilograms. Despite their best efforts of pumping sugar water syrup into Peter’s body and shoving cardboard-tasting solids down his throat, the hospital staff just could not bulk up his body while he laid wasting away in the bed (now that he no longer imprisoned in that sterile place, he had half a mind to deliver a bunch of candy baskets to the place). The number meant that he had actually lost around three kilos, and he was already at what he liked to call the “heroin chic” end of his fluctuating weight issue. Minus the extra weight of his highly-dense bones, that meant that he was how much underweight? He did some quick math...

Okay, he was going to need to eat. A lot. (He had half a mind to log onto his Yummy Mummy sock account on Facebook and boast his newly discovered weight loss program-- Astro-Metaphysical Battles! Burn three kilos of fat within a week, guaranteed!) He was going to need to cut back on the cigarettes a tad, and switch to decaf coffee with whole milk; at least he will be able to get away with going heavy on the whipped cream and sugar and drizzle because he will need all the calories and fat his body could rebuild from. 

He could hear Dr. Rydell over his shoulder, yelling in his ear, already -- You cannot just eat sweets, son! You need nutrients! Protein! Vitamins!-- so alright, already! Okay! Peter will throw in some steaks and potatoes, and some fish, might as well get some Omega 3s while he’s at it. In the meantime...

Peter pushed himself off the sink, but his arms flew outward as the floor swayed beneath him. He blinked until the tiles stopped spinning. He grabbed his robe on the way out the bathroom and shrugged it on. He got to the kitchen to grab a bottle of sports drink and a handful of granola bars, took them to the living room where he dumped them all on the coffee table and picked up the book that lied there. 

The leather-bound necromancy text, its pages bulked up with the stray notes he took during his research. Peter settled onto the couch, stretching his legs out on it and draping the afghan over himself. There was no point in wishing he could get back up to just turn on the heat, especially when he knew that getting back up meant risking passing out in the middle of the living room. He cracked open the book and yanked the cap off his pen with his teeth. Picking up the first stack of notes, Peter read his scrawl and reviewed what he had learned through his experience.

Or, he at least tried to; an itch crawled all over his skin as he thought about what it was like to be in a black hole, or having souls hang themselves onto him in order to escape it. It turned his stomach to try to recall the exact method to use to weaken and then effectively destroy one of those beasts. His chest grew tight, his hands shook, and worse than any of this was the headache pushing against the inside of his skull, making Peter drop his pen and squeeze his eyes tight --

There’s no need for you to keep hanging on to all this pain...

A loud thud bounced against the walls of the living room. When Peter opened his eyes and took a deep breath that centered him to the present, he realized that he had threw the book; he had probably meant to lay it back onto the table, but used too much force and sent it flying to the wall next to the television. Letting out a groan, Peter pressed his hands to his face until the groan stretched out and grew louder, becoming a muffled and choked cry.

He would have to try again, he knew he would. This was not a fight he could just give up.

[victoria3455]

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When it involves sugar mommas, this popular app is all about saucy pictures, alluring captions, and sexy DMs. A sugar mama is seen by many cubs as a cash bag, however she is an individual with feelings and pursuits who wants to discover a associate who will care about what she wants and likes. So ensure to bear in mind her favourite film, music, food, as well as data about her hobbies, pets, etc., and use it to level out her your care and love.

Just make sure to create a good-looking profile, show your style and hobbies, and message lonely girls; however do not neglect that finding a sugar momma on such platforms is challenging. A few of them point out their preferences and way of life of their profiles. Social media is commonly used to build new connections and grownup dating. And many male sugar babies use Instagram and Facebook to search out sugar momma. Babies seek for potential SMs, but in addition develop in style profiles to draw rich women.

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At SugarBook, though, it’s all in regards to the sugar momma dating! If you’re looking for a place the place you'll have the ability to join with exactly what you’re looking for with out the distractions, strive SugarBook. As a rule, male sugar babies don't pay for something how to get a sugar momma in this type of relationship. But if you need to pay for one thing your self, you presumably can totally do that. According to the report, sugar momma is extra prone to take the primary move than sugar daddy to flirt with favorite sugar child.

Besides, some of them want to discuss their profession and recent chilling plans. While some cubs favor casual sugar relationships, others seek an older lady to marry. No matter what kind of relationship a cub is excited about, his primary function is to get materials benefits from his sugar mama or sugar daddy. Most websites for sugar preparations have free memberships for sugar babies. But even when you assume that you simply don’t need it, premium sugar baby profiles get highlights and attain more people. Sugar momma relationship value investing as premium may help you meet a girl thinking about a youthful man and who needs to spoil him quicker.

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Another traditional dating app that's used as a substitute of sugar mama apps. With around 75M month-to-month visits, Badoo is certainly one of the hottest methods to fulfill dates of all kinds. We gathered the best sugar momma relationship sites which may be price exploring when you dream about dating a sugar momma. These sugar mommas support their sugar babies like the method in which mamas treat their babies.

In all seriousness, though, it doesn’t matter how big and robust you might be in relation to monetary crimes. The greatest sugar momma sites have techniques, teams, and processes designed to protect you from any potentially unsavory folks seeking to benefit from you. Finding a sugar momma can take some trial and error, and that’s okay! With so many websites and apps on the market, it could be onerous to decide on just one at first. Sign up for the free trials of a number of platforms to give as many as you’d like a try. By the tip of the trials, you’ll have a better idea about which options you like and dislike.

You can say that money is important to you in a relationship however postpone extra specific conversations till the second when a spark flares up between you. Is another famous sugar momma web site that involves dating for varied functions. The website supplies verification with video, so here you'll not meet bots, and additionally, you will encounter a minimal of scammers. Is one other wonderful sugar momma website the place you can find a man for various purposes. The site presents a handy platform where you'll have the ability to trade messages and likes.

Embrace True Self

A cub is a youthful one who prefers dating older girls to get monetary benefits. As a rule, a cub is a handsome man who is aware of tips on how to satisfy a woman each sexually and emotionally. He normally pays a lot of attention to his hairdo, clothes, body form, and just about every thing that influences his attractiveness. When you are in search of sugar momma you ought to be open to speaking your needs and wishes. And the benefit of using specialised sugar web sites is that registered members are sincere about what they expect. Most users spend lower than 10 seconds on the brand new relationship profile.

These platforms include Seeking Arrangements, SugarBook, Secret Benefits, SugarDaddy, Cougar Life. All of them are distinguished by many users, convenient search, and a continually rising database of people. The best sugar mommy websites can also be distinguished by free registration. Is a web site specifically created to search for relationships between sugar mothers and sugar infants. The platform provides a internet site, and a simple utility adapted to totally different operating systems—the main category of users—residents of the United States. According to user evaluations, members of the positioning willingly reply to messages.

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"Sugar Mamas" have a lot to reply for, this letter proves ... A man who would let a married girl spend her husband's money on him is worse than the bottom thief. Use the site’s paid options to succeed in your relationship targets as quickly as possible.

A vast number of filters and a convenient search will permit you to find the right particular person shortly. A cougar is a woman who seeks out sexual relationships with younger men. This is completely different from a sugar mama as a result of they don’t necessarily plan to help or spoil the younger lover. If you’re thinking about this kind of relationship, we’d recommend testing the guide to cougar dating sites. The service is mainly a dating site that focuses on sugar relationships. It is used by both women and men, so it would not matter what associate you are interested in, you will little question discover essentially the most appropriate one for you.

Secret Benefits accepts Australian, the United Kingdom, the United States, and Canadian users. If you meet a sugar momma on a relationship platform they usually bug you about sharing your cell phone number immediately, it’s probably a rip-off. When you first begin messaging a potential sugar momma, stick to getting to know one another. Ask her about her desires and needs, discuss interests, and compliment her. Sure, she’s running an unbiased business, however compensation shouldn’t be the very first thing on your lips.You need to captivate her and make her need you.

Tips On How To Start A Conversation With A Sugar Momma

An experienced lady as a rule will take the lead in your relationship if she is on a extra dominant site. However, typically sugar mummies need their babies to act like actual boyfriends but drama-free and don’t thoughts compensating for it. But individuals interested in sugaring still handle to search out suitable arrangements using functions that weren’t meant for sugar dating initially. Take a look at the most well-liked apps which are used for sugar courting in 2023. We assume the safer methodology is to find a sugar mama through a devoted app where you already know the attractive ladies you find are excited about a cougar/cub relationship. Finding a sugar mama in the real world could be fairly troublesome.

When it comes to discovering a sugar momma, there are hundreds of apps and sites on the market. We’ve compiled an inventory of the most effective online platforms to help you out, so maintain reading to be taught more. A sugar momma could also be what you’re looking for to enliven your life! Sugar mommas are sometimes older women who financially help younger people in trade for sexual pleasures and companionship. With the excessive popularity of the sugar dating phenomenon and social media sites like Instagram, it was only a matter of time before once they ...

Initially developed for married individuals looking for somebody on the facet, Ashley Madison has turn into one of many world’s most popular sugar dating platforms. It attracts sugar daddies and cougars on the lookout for youthful companions to spoil and pamper. Ashley Madison presents an impressive range of free and premium options, so you’ll have every thing you have to chat, flirt, and date. The courting site is free for women, however males have to acquire credits to access premium features, like private photos and messages.

Thus they will embrace their true self and stay a means of life as they anticipate. They have no real curiosity in marriage and embrace their need for sex or companionship. It may sound funny to some, however experience, intuition, and common sense often tell us the place the deception is hidden, however we choose to ignore it. For instance, a sugar mother speaks normally terms or guarantees an extreme amount of already within the first message. If something looks unreal, unusual, and suspicious is most likely it.