#i think it is worth soaking and boiling them

[indecisivemuch]

Scandalous

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship).

Warning: allusions to sex, but no explicit details.

Word count: 2k

You and Luke have been going out for well over a year now. Yet, he never failed to make you feel like it would be an eternal honeymoon phase: whispers of sweet words about a lifetime’s worth of promises, delicate and sacred touches, looks filling in for unspoken words.

Loving Luke was as easy as having a daily routine - so natural and almost like a grounding thing from the life of a Demigod.

Currently, Luke was training with Percy. You were not too far away either, sparring with Clarisse. Despite the area being occupied by many other Demigods engaging in similar activities, Luke could not help but frequently glance over at you.

Luke has always been mesmerized by the way you combat, which he metaphorically compared to a ballerina. So precise, yet deadly. Every move was with intention and purpose. 

The way sweat glided down the side of your face, your cheeks flushed from fighting, eyes darting with strategy, heavy pants in between dodging and attacking your opponent, the smirk hinted on your face - all of it made Luke’s mind grow flustered. Somehow, he found everything you do attractive.

If he was honest, his mind seemed to be doing nothing lately but think of you, especially when you’re not beside him. The memories he has harvested over your time together only transformed his brain into a cinema, which constantly played montages of you. Every morning, he’d wake up from a dream about you to the sight of you in his arms - that is before he had to sneak out of your cabin back to his. You constantly occupy every cell in his mind, like an uncontainable virus spreading. Yet, for some reason, he was not scared. He welcomed this feeling with his whole arms wide open.

You broke eye contact with Clarisse to look at Luke. Almost instantly, your eyes melted into ones filled with adoration and his own eyes mirrored the same emotions - if not tenfold. 

You were absolutely enamored with how Luke looked at you. Even before dating each other, people have mentioned the eyes he was giving you. But being oblivious, you did not see what they were talking about. However, it all became clear when you started dating. You started noticing how he would look at you like you were a rare artwork he would most likely never see again or a shooting star - a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence kind of thing that left him in awe all the time. He would do it so endearingly as if it would help to absorb every detail of you and imprint them into his memory. His looks have always made you feel loved - like you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if he has not told you this verbally and through actions already. Usually, you’d feel slightly insecure if somebody was staring so intensely at you, but he did it in a way that made you feel like your flaws were created to be loved for. 

However, a gasp escaped your lips as Luke was showered by a wave of the ocean. Everybody else also drew their attention to the head of Hermes’ cabin and the newly claimed Poseidon kid.

When Luke looked back at Percy, he was faced with a sheepish grin.

“I had to get your attention somehow. I tried calling your name like ten times already,” Percy shrugged his shoulder with feigned innocence, but the glint of mischief told Luke that the kid was anything but feeling guilty about soaking him from head to toe. 

“Percy,” Luke groaned as he could feel the fabric of his clothes cling to his body. Percy bashfully chuckled and offered another sheepish look to the counselor who was meant to train him. 

The cool water did offer a temporary fix to the boiling summer heat. But mixing that with sweat, combat, and Luke's long-sleeved shirt underneath was disastrous. The Hermes boy sighed as he slowly took off the bright orange camp shirt. After struggling slightly, he managed to pull the shirt off from over his head. However, the gray shirt he was wearing underneath got pulled up more than slightly from the extra friction between wet fabrics, revealing the majority of his back to Percy and others. 

He did not think much of it until gasps - including yours - could be heard as this happened. Chris even whistled as he and everybody else spotted what Luke did not notice.

“What?” Luke asked as he pulled down his gray shirt and started wringing his camp t-shirt, trying to rid it from being as wet as possible. 

“Damn, did you get mauled by a minotaur or something?” Percy asked. 

Almost immediately, Luke paled at Percy’s words as he realized what the kid was talking about.

Indeed, as Luke’s gray shirt underneath got pulled up, which revealed the majority of his back, this had also put on display the scratches down his back left from nights that he spent with you. Some were evidently old and healing, as seen by how Luke’s skin was patching itself up and matching closer to his skin tone. Others were somewhat freshly red, while a few were like wounds being reopened. To make matters worse, they could spot the occasional crescent shape bruises that were indentations of your nails. 

Considering your guys’ relationship was not a secret, there was no room to deny it if somebody pointed fingers at you. You blushed as people now averted their eyes to you as if this was the most scandalous thing all year. Clarisse and Chris, on the other hand, were both smirking. 

The whole camp knew you were the one who left those scratches there, and you sincerely wish you could dig a hole to hide yourself from all the attention right now.

Luke’s eyes darted to you, and you offered him an awkward smile as your face grew a darker shade of red.

“No, seriously, dude, you gotta get it checked out at the infirmary. How did that even happen?” Percy only continued, somehow actually clueless about the cause of those marks. You could see Annabeth sending Percy a somewhat side-eye from nearby at his words while Grover let out a deep sigh. 

You started approaching the two, hoping you could intervene and save the both of you from this situation.

“Uhm…well,” Luke started, unsure how to even answer the kid or divert the attention elsewhere as his cheeks flushed and ears tinted pink from trying to ignore memories of what you two had done the night before.

The Hermes boy has jokingly sweet-talked you before on how he might walk out shirtless after one of your rendezvous to show off the marks you left on him. Never would you two think that that idea would ever happen like this.

“Yeah, I reckon you should get that checked out,” you decided to say as you reached Luke, settling your hand on Luke’s lower back and greeting Percy. “Thank you for worrying about him.”

“Yeah, no problem. I mean, it must have been quite a minotaur to land that much of a number on him,” Percy somehow carried on and was utterly oblivious to Clarisse and Chris, who almost bursted out laughing at his latest comment. You, on the other hand, squinted your eyes at the kid. You turned to Luke and you could see it in his eyes that the boy was on the verge of laughing as well. You were sure he would have done so if it were not for your glare.

“Well, we best go heal those wounds now, right Luke?” you gave your boyfriend a look, hoping he would get the message to play along.

“Right,” he agreed almost instantly. 

“Alright, bye, Percy,” you hastily spoke, before dragging Luke by his hand away from everybody's eyes.

“Bye guys,” you could hear the kid’s voice as the both of you retreated. It felt like a walk of shame as the semi-crowd parted ways for you two to leave the scene. You immediately let out a deep breath as soon as nobody was near anymore.

“Gods, that was so embarrassing. The kid basically repeatedly called me a minotaur.”

“I mean…you can be my minotaur?” Luke cheekily jested, trying to tease you a bit more over the situation.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not making that a thing. No, absolutely not are you ever gonna make that a nickname,” Luke only laughed at your reaction before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you into a hug. As he did so, you wrapped both your arms around his waist, face colliding with his chest the way it would usually do when you guys cuddle. He gave you a few peppered kisses on your forehead, close to your hairline. 

“They’re never gonna let us live that down, will they?” You asked after letting out a muffled groan against his chest.

“Nope,” Luke admitted. Despite the Hermes boy usually easing away your worries, even he knew this would be the talk around camp for a while. Nevertheless, he unwrapped his arms around you and cupped your face with both hands. Using his callus-filled hands, yet gentle touch, he soothed your furrowed eyebrows by rubbing over them to urge you from scowling.

��But…you know what? I’m kind of glad this happened. Sure, it might be awkward and a tad bit embarrassing. But now, they finally get to see how lucky I am to have been given a chance by such a gorgeous and sweet Demigod. And…” he paused, giving you a quick kiss. “This way, any guy potentially still after you know to keep their hands off.” He cheekily winked at you after saying so. 

Gods, you remember how jealous Luke would get before you were together. It was lowkey hot to see him so riled up. Though, after the both of you got together, you have always reassured him that you had eyes on him and only him. 

“I guess that also means any girls still thinking they could steal you from me would know they have no chance?” you questioned, smiling ear to ear when he nodded eagerly at your words.

“Exactly. That’s a win-win in my book. I’m not embarrassed they saw what you left on me. They could talk for all I care. So stop worrying, or else you’ll start getting wrinkles,” he lightly flicked the area between your furrowed eyebrows. As you were about to complain, he quickly kissed you right where he previously flicked you, and that immediately melted away any bit of feigned irritation you had with him. He chuckled at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows untangling itself.

“Thank you,” you muttered, showing your gratitude towards Luke. 

If Luke had a superpower, it would probably be calming you down. He has always managed to tame your emotions whenever they were drowning you. He was like an anchor to you, always grounded you during chaotic times. Sometimes, you wonder how you got so lucky. 

You peered up at him sweetly, and the look alone made him lean down to capture your lips with his again. You chuckled at his action and kissed him back with just as much passion as he was leaving on your lips. Your hands started playing with the hair close to the nape of his neck. He let out a content sigh while still showing your lips just how much he loved them and you. However, he abruptly pulled away before dropping a question. 

“Are we really going to the infirmary?” Luke hesitantly asked, bringing up your words from earlier. He watched as you gave him an amused look.

“What did you think?” As soon as his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what you wanted. He gave you a sheepish grin before the two of you quietly giggled to each other before walking further away from the training grounds.

Let's just say you two did not follow through with your words of going to the infirmary, and neither were you tending to his “wounds”.

——————————

masterlist

Join my Luke Castellan tag list

[madsxyins]

Off the Court

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: sexual content, rough sex degradation, and strap and vibe use

synopsis: After a loss Paige takes her anger out on you

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The locker room was silent except for the hum of the overhead lights and the hollow thud of Paige’s fist hitting the metal locker door. Another loss. Another night in Dallas where her team choked the win away like it meant nothing. She’d dropped twenty eight points, fought through it all, and for what? A scoreboard that said she wasn’t enough.

Her hands were still taped. Sweat clung to her skin beneath her practice gear — a soaked compression top, baggy shorts riding low on her hips. Her blonde hair was messy, pulled half loose from the bun she’d tied it in before the game. Her jaw was clenched, that ever-sharp gaze burning holes through her reflection in the mirror.

She didn’t even hear the locker room door open.

“You done punching shit?” The voice came cool and low.

Paige didn’t turn, not at first. Just let a smirk curl across her lips.

“Not even close.”

“Good,” came the reply. “Then let’s make tonight worth losing for.”

They made it back to the hotel room fast. Paige’s tension was already boiling over — muscles tight, eyes wild, breath heavy. The second the door shut behind them, her hands were at the waistband of her shorts, stripping off like she needed to shed the entire night with them.

“On your knees,” she snapped.

Y/N barely had time to respond before Paige shoved her down. No patience, no sweetness. This wasn’t about comfort or romance — this was Paige exorcising demons through flesh and control.

Paige wore the strap, the base thick and strapped tight against her toned hips. Matte black, veined, and heavy, it matched the hardness in her stare.

“You gonna take it like a good girl?” Paige growled, grabbing a fistful of hair.

A nod. That’s all she got — that’s all she needed.

“Open.”

What followed was a mess of spit, moans, and wet, gagged gasps as Paige worked every inch into her mouth. Her grip never loosened. She fed her frustration through every thrust of her hips, every groan as her partner drooled over the shaft, mascara already smudging down her cheeks.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Paige snarled, hips snapping forward. “Use that throat. Like the team should’ve used their fucking defense.”

The rhythm was brutal. Y/N was a wreck, eyes watering, drool dripping off her chin. Paige didn’t slow, she used. The slap of fake skin against flushed lips filled the room, broken only by Paige’s gritted teeth and the wet, sloppy rhythm of it all.

Eventually, she pulled out with a slick pop and grabbed her partner by the throat.

“Get on the bed. Face down, ass up.”

Y/N scrambled to obey, legs shaking with anticipation.

Paige climbed on behind her, spit-slick strap already gleaming. No teasing. No warming up. She grabbed both hips, lined herself up, and shoved in with a grunt.

A cry ripped from y/n’s throat, muffled against the pillows.

“That’s right. Take it. All of it.”

Her hips pounded hard and fast. Skin against skin, lewd sounds echoing through the room. Paige leaned forward, one hand gripping hair, the other reaching around to rub rough circles — just enough to drive her wild, never quite letting her finish.

“Not yet,” she whispered darkly into her ear. “You don’t come until I say. You want relief? You earn it.”

Sweat dripped from Paige’s back. Her body moved with a brutal rhythm, abs flexing, her thighs slapping against slick, trembling skin. Her frustration poured out through every thrust, every slap on the ass, every filthy command.

The sheets were already damp with sweat and slick when Paige rolled Y/N onto her back, straddling her hips. Her abs glistened under the soft hotel light, still flushed from the first round. Her strap-on was still attached — wet, gleaming, veins catching the light — and her hand was already reaching into the nightstand.

“You think I’m done?” Paige asked, tone low, dangerous.

Y/N swallowed, lips parted, breathing shallow.

“N-no.”

“Good girl.” Paige pulled out the slim, black remote-controlled vibe and clicked it on. A low hum vibrated in her palm. “You’re not gonna cum again unless I say so. And this—” she pressed it right against Y/N’s already-swollen clit, taping it in place with a pair of sheer lace panties — “is gonna help with that.”

Y/N whimpered, her hips twitching already under the teasing pulses.

Paige smirked, climbing off her to kneel beside the bed. She grabbed Y/N’s ankles, yanked her to the edge with zero gentleness, and spread her legs wide. The vibe was humming mercilessly now, low at first, but growing.

“You’re gonna keep that inside your panties the whole fucking night. And if you make a mess on the sheets without permission?” She leaned down, licked a slow line up Y/N’s inner thigh. “I will punish you.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back when the first wave of near-orgasm hit — and stopped.

The remote clicked off.

“Nope,” Paige whispered. “Not yet.”

She leaned in again, dragging her tongue over the toy, over the panties, teasing and cruel.

Y/N sobbed. “Please…”

“Oh, we’re begging now?” Paige smirked. “Thought you liked being my good little stress toy.”

She pulled her back onto the bed and tied her wrists in front with one of her own sweat-drenched warm-up shirts. The knot was rough, the fabric smelling like courtside pressure and frustration. Paige didn’t care for finesse. She wanted control — and Y/N gave it to her willingly.

Then came the next wave.

Paige clicked the remote back on. Full power. The vibe buzzed mercilessly against Y/N’s clit, and her hips bucked in raw desperation. Her thighs clenched, but Paige was already there — hand between her legs, slapping her inner thighs open.

“You stay open. You don’t squirm. You take it like my little whore,” she hissed, mouth brushing hot against Y/N’s ear.

Y/N was already unraveling — flushed, soaked, legs trembling.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

Y/N nodded frantically.

“Say it.”

“I want to cum, Paige, please—fuck, please!”

The vibe cut off.

Paige chuckled darkly, tilting Y/N’s chin up to face her. “Then maybe you should’ve won the game for me.”

She leaned down, kissed her roughly, and rammed the strap back inside her in one hard stroke.

Y/N screamed.

“God, you feel better than victory.”

The night stretched into an endless loop of denial, edging, and total submission.

Paige used her. Mouth. Hands. Toys. Her own body pressing her girlfriend into the mattress like she could fuck the loss out of her bloodstream. There were slaps — stinging and sharp — followed by soothing fingers and degrading praise whispered into tear-streaked skin.

“My perfect toy.”

“Such a desperate little slut for me.”

“You belong under me, crying from needing to cum.”

“This is what you’re good for.”

Y/N was wrecked.

She begged. She cried. She came once — without permission — and Paige saw it in the way her thighs spasmed and the way the sheets were soaked.

“You came without permission?” Paige’s voice dropped to something dangerous.

Y/N froze. “I— I’m sorry—”

Paige flipped her over fast and delivered a brutal slap across her ass, then another, then another, until her skin burned red.

“Count. Every. One.”

Y/N sobbed as she counted each punishing slap, voice breaking by number eight.

When Paige finally pulled her close again, she was breathless. Eyes sharp. One hand slipped back between Y/N’s legs and pressed the vibe in again—taped tight, humming loud, relentless.

“You’ll cum again now,” she whispered. “And again. And again. Until I say stop.”

And Y/N did — helpless, screaming, twitching under the force of it all.

By the time dawn cracked through the window, Paige’s rage had melted into something else — not tenderness, not quite. But satisfaction.

The only scoreboard that mattered was the look on Y/N’s face, ruined, blissed out, completely claimed.

Paige traced a finger over her lip, then leaned down to whisper

“Maybe I should lose more often.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: this is absolute filth…THANKS FOR READING THO!!!

[v7lgar]

for @star4daisy, this is very late but happy birthday!

trans!reg tw: dubcon, taking virginity, blood mention and dirty talk

“You can trust me,” James breathed right under Regulus’ ear. He pressed soft kisses and it tickled. “I got you, baby.”

Regulus trusted him but at the same time, he didn't want to trust him. He wanted James to do whatever he wants to do to him. He didn't want to have a saying in it. He wanted him to look at him and think, Yeah, no. I am doing it on my way.

Maybe they didn't talk about this often but he was sure he hinted a few times that what he actually wanted. What he needed desperately. Because it was a sensitive subject to be vocal about. He didn't want to tell James beforehand. He wanted him to take a fucking hint.

“Look at this pretty hole,” James spread his ass cheeks and slapped one of them playfully, “I want to ruin it.”

Fuck, yes.

Regulus grabbed his legs under his knees and pulled them until he showed both his holes, waiting to be fucked hard. But that was the thing, he was still a virgin.

He could sense the animal that is sleeping in James. He just needed to poke it until it woke up. He didn't want to be desperate for it, because it would kill all the fun. But there wasn't much he could do too.

“Fuck, you are soaking wet.”

James pressed his veiny cock between Regulus’ wet folds and slowly grind between them and fuck. He was so close to seeing the stars.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?”

James didn't answer, he spit on his cock that is between Regulus’ swollen pussy lips. And he spread it to his clit by using his dick.

“What if you get hurt? Have you ever thought about it?”

James wasn't concerned, he was just really curious.

Regulus grabbed him by his neck and pulled him down until his lips touched his ear.

“I don't fucking care.”

And James laughed, slowly standing straight, his eyes were devouring his cunt and Regulus wanted more.

“Oh, you shouldn't have told me that.”

Regulus moaned when he started moving his hips, gliding between his swollen folds, he could feel that he was leaking on the bed but he didn't care. He wanted to get fucked, he wanted to make it hurt. He was addicted to it.

“Why?” He breathed hardly.

“Because of this.”

With a quick, sudden move James pulled back until he directed the tip of his cock to Regulus’ virgin pussy and pushed all the way in.

And Regulus screamed from the top of his lungs. He never experienced this kind of pain, ever.

“FUCK!”

“Yeah, that's right baby. Such a tight pussy you have here. Gonna make it worth it to make you bleed.”

Regulus’ was in shock, the pain was all he could feel and James fucking did what he was thinking all night. What he was thinking all the time whenever they were making out. He took his virginity without asking him or making it awfully slow. He took it like it was his birthright.

And that turned him on so much that he felt his body was descending to heaven.

“James.”

“Fuck, I've been dreaming about your pussy since the day I saw you.”

Regulus felt like dying.

“Oh, fuck—”

James pulled back and slammed hard, pounding into his virgin hole as if it belonged to him only. The sound of their skins slapping against each other made his blood boil.

“James, James, James!”

“Fuck, the way you are clenching around me. Do you want me to stuff you with my cock before sleeping? Because I can do that, love. I can fill you with my cum and feed it to your cunt all night. Even when you are sleeping.”

“Oh, fuck— fuck, yes!”

“Fuck, look at this,” He pulled out and spit on his bleeding cunt and shoved his cock in a one ruthless move. Regulus kept screaming his name over and over again.

“This,” He grabbed him by the chin and make him look into his eyes and thrusted inside of him hard, “Fucking belongs to me, do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes! He is yours, I am yours. Fuck me harder, I want it more.”

James laughed and it was sinister, “Greedy, are you?”

Regulus could not answer, he only kept screaming his name everytime he pushed all the way inside. The pain turned into a masochistic pleasure. And he was so close, he was already right there when James took his virginity without asking.

“Gonna fuck you so good, make it bleed like its the first time over and over again. Do you hear me?”

Regulus could only scream, “Yes!”

[dreaminofdixon]

Eight.

Alright, the GIF has nothing to do with the post. He's just too pretty not to use it? lol Kind of a little filler spot. :)

Carol, Lori, and I trudged down to the quarry pond, hauling bags of dirty laundry. The sun was a bastard—blazing hot, scorching my skin darker than any tanning bed ever had before the world went to shit. Sweat stung my eyes, but the heat’d dry the clothes fast, so I couldn’t bitch too much.

Lori was growing on me, slow like moss on a rock. Not bestie material—hell no—but we’d had some real talks. She’d let slip she wasn’t sure this life was worth the fight, a doubt that gnawed at me too. Said she’d thought Rick was dead before he found her, which made the Shane mess click a little clearer. Didn’t mean I liked that prick any better.

We set up by the water’s edge, dunking clothes in soapy buckets. The pond lapped quiet, a hum that felt half-dead, half-alive—peaceful in a way that made my skin crawl.

“So,” Lori said, cutting through the stillness, “where were you when it all went down?”

I shoved a shirt into the suds, letting it soak. Thinking back was like picking at a scab I wanted gone. “My condo,” I said, voice flat. “Figured I could ride it out. Had a go-bag ready. Then the screams started—gunshots ringing out.” I shut my eyes, the memory sharp as broken glass. “Grabbed my shit and ran. Spent weeks drifting, dodging death, looking for anything safe.” I snatched the shirt, slapped it on my busted washboard, and scrubbed, hands jolting over the ridges.

“Alone?” Carol asked, soft but probing.

“Yeah.” I squinted at them through my scratched sunglasses, the sun a bitch even with the tint. “Moved here from the West Coast solo. Didn’t know a soul. Just… existed, I guess.”

“Oh, honey…” Carol’s voice dipped, pity creeping in.

“Maybe that’s why you made it,” Lori cut in, wringing out a pair of jeans. “Being alone forced you to toughen up.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, shoulders stiff, and tossed the shirt into the pond to rinse. “You two?”

“Shane got us out when it hit,” Lori said, voice low. “Met Carol on the highway—traffic jam from hell, everyone scrambling.”

“Ed came home ranting to pack up,” Carol added, hands steady on her wash. “He’s always been paranoid��doomsday prepper type. Had shit ready to go.”

Made sense. Ed was a walking red flag.

“Bombs started dropping in the city,” I said, staring at the rippling water. “Couldn’t find a hole to hide in. Then three armed strangers rolled up. Scared the shit outta me, but it was perfect timing—I was damn near done.”

“Glad you made it,” Carol said, her smile thin but real.

“Single, huh?” Lori asked, eyeing me.

“Yep.” I leaned on the washboard, hands still, feeling the weight of it spill out. “Last guy fucked me over years back. After that, dating felt like a chore I didn’t have the stomach for.” I glanced away, uneasy with how raw it sounded. “Too damn tiring.”

“Preach,” Carol muttered, a knowing edge in her nod.

We laughed—short, bitter, a shared scrape of truth.

Then Ed’s shadow loomed, souring the air. His voice scraped like gravel, rough and mean. “Less yappin’, more scrubbin’,” he barked, lighting a cigarette, eyes slitting as he glared.

I rolled my eyes behind my shades—small rebellion, but it felt good. Carol didn’t flinch, just kept washing, hands moving like a machine. She’d learned to take it, and that pissed me off more.

I wanted to yell, tell her she didn’t have to eat his shit. But that’d just light the fuse, wouldn’t it?

Andrea and Amy fished from the boat, water lapping soft. The kids screeched nearby, chasing each other. For a second, it almost felt normal—until I caught Carol’s blank stare. If Ed hurt her, what’d he do to Sophia? My gut twisted, sour and tight.

“Get it done,” Ed growled, snapping me back.

My fists balled, nails biting my palms. “I’m gettin’ hungry,” he muttered, smoke curling from his lips.

The simmer in my chest boiled over. “Then go get some food, Ed,” I snapped, voice sharp.

He turned slow, eyes narrowing. “Say that again?”

I stood, hands steady despite the tremor in my bones. “I said get your own fucking food, Ed.” I flung the wet shirt—slapped it hard against his chest, water soaking his grimy tee.

His face twisted, dark and ugly, hand rearing back. I didn’t budge. “Try it,” I hissed. “I’m not a kid anymore. I hit back.”

The air went thick, stagnant. Ed snarled, “Shut the hell up, bitch,” spit flecking his words.

Boots crunched gravel—Shane stormed in, voice slicing through. “Problem here?”

Carol darted forward, grabbing Ed’s arm. “Girl, it’s fine,” she said, desperate, tugging him back.

Ed shoved her off—hard, like she was trash. That did it. Rage flared, hot and blind.

“Don’t fucking push me,” he spat at her, and I lunged—heart hammering, fists ready.

Shane beat me to it, tackling Ed to the dirt. Fists flew, meaty thuds echoing as Shane pounded him. Blood smeared Ed’s face, and a dark, twisted part of me liked it—‘til Carol’s scream cut through.

“Stop it! You’re hurting him!” she cried, voice shrill, hands clutching air.

I froze. She’s worried about him? My chest knotted, confusion choking me.

“Enough, Shane!” I barked, sharp and loud.

“Shane, stop!” Lori yelled, stepping in.

Shane paused, then slammed one last fist into Ed’s jaw—left him groaning, bruised, a mess in the dirt. Carol sobbed, tears streaking her face, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Fucking buzzkill,” I muttered, the brief rush souring into a heavy, bitter weight as I watched my friend try to pull her piece of shit husband together.

****

@imadisneyprincessiswear

[voretwink]

pred kidnapping prey at some loud concert only for it to turn out that the pred is the lead singer so he occasionally puts the mic up to his gut letting everyone hear the screaming guy boil alive and crunch up into gore soup. pred belches up the preys bones and tosses them out into the crowd as a fun 'collectable'. people pay mega money to buy all the acid stained bones the singer coughs up. entire skeleton collections can be bought.

thank you anon for blessing us again🙏 your a sick fuck and i love it😘😘

he’s the hottest new tiktok pop star, think benson boone but actually talented. he started with simple livestreams singing pop hits, pregnant ballgut in frame as it boiled away at a bloody hunk of flesh. now he’s really made it, playing at the superbowl bowl halftime show. he tanked both team’s mascots in a playful jest, costumes and all, but he didn’t know he was supposed to spit the men out after the show. it took weeks to fully digest the furry suits, which absolutely scorched the crying men who donned them. they had to have stayed alive for days as the costumes slowed digestion to a screeching halt, the fur instantly soaking up the acids as the kneading walls slowly eroded them away. it was worth it though, as those half digested mascot suits sold for thousands once he shat them out.

his best performance though was when he headlined coachella with some twink fighting for his life inside those bloated abs. it was a shock to the crowd that the boy survived til the second weekend, his body barely intact in the gurgling orb. everytime something fell apart in his gut or he let out a rank squeal into the mic, the crowd went wild. his corroded, acid-bleached bones were sold out instantly on his store, becoming instant fan favorites. nothing rivaled the less digested items that he sold, entire undigested hands and fleshy, sizzling skulls that passed through his bowels relatively unscathed~

[bonbonrobespierre]

I begin to think there is a sort of currency in being hated.

Not merely disliked—such tepid disdain is the common lot of men—but reviled. Truly hated, with venom. With bile. With sharpened teeth and cold fingers wrapped round my throat.

To be so important one’s enemies must invent cruelties in order to dismantle your name—well. That is fame, in this age. That is proof you mattered. It’s not the destruction they bring that marks you, but the fact that they are compelled to. To go so far as to shape their cruelty around you, to make you the focus of their rage.

Not because I thirst for violence, no. I know what violence is—I know it in the bones. But because there is a truth in hatred that love rarely dares to touch. Hatred strips the skin back, bares the nerves, tells you exactly what you are. If they hate you, it is because you have threatened the world they would rather keep. If they hate you, it is because you shook something, even if only for a second.

I look at them—those “great men,” whose very breath kindles fury in my chest—and I wonder what it must be like to mean something. To carry enough weight in your words that they provoke fury. Real fury. Not pity. Not condescension.

I’ve hated people like that. With a certain kind of obsession sewn into the hatred, because it meant they mattered. It meant they existed in me, around me, in the walls and the air and the conversations I wasn’t invited to. They haunted everything. I wanted to be like that.

I hate with so much precision, so much focus, that I could hollow someone out with it—strip them down to their marrow with the sharpness of it—but I’m not important enough to hate back. That’s the worst part. I carry this boiling violence in me and it lands on nothing. Because to them, I’m not worth the rage—not even worth the ruin. I burn at the thought of them, and they barely register my name.

And I think, in some sick corner of my heart, I am… ashamed. Ashamed I am not hated. Ashamed I am not worthy of being destroyed.

Which is absurd. Which is vanity.

But how else do I know I exist?

I wanted to be seen as just as devoted, just as incorruptible, just as ready to die for liberty. If I have not earned their hatred, their lies, their venom, then perhaps I have not done enough. Perhaps I have not been enough.

God help me, it gnaws. And I—I feel like I could scream forever and no one would flinch. I could fall on the steps of the Convention and bleed and they would step over me like rain-soaked parchment. I could set myself ablaze in the middle of the street and people would only pause to warm their hands. I could carve manifestos into my own skin with a penknife and no one would bother to read. I could leap from the galleries mid-session and shatter like glass at their feet, and they'd debate procedure over my body.

I think about it more often than I admit—not because I wish to die, not truly, but because I want to prove something. That I am real. That I take up space. That I, too, have a pulse loud enough to echo off the walls of history. It is a sort of madness that whispers: If they will not look at you, then make it impossible not to. But there is no wound deep enough. No fire hot enough. No gesture grand enough. Still, I consider it.

Is that mad?

(Yes.)

if i am not enough of a threat to suffer, then what am i?

Perhaps one day I will be hated, and then I shall know peace. Or, at the very least, relevance.

[ichinisankaku]

Backstage Translation - Sharing Out Cuteness (Part 2)

Sakuya: Muku-kun, have you had this chocolate before? Looks like it's being sold at a nearby supermarket for a limited time next week.

Muku: Ah! That truffle's from a brand that's super popular online. You can't order it, so I thought I wouldn't be able to eat it.

Sakuya: Let's go check it out together, then!

Muku: Yeah!

Homare: Ooh, here you two are!

Sakuya: Homare-san?

Muku: What is it?

Homare: Right. I have a present for you two.

Muku & Sakuya: These tea bags are…!

Homare: They're the rabbit ones you showed me the other day. I happened upon them at a supermarket just earlier.

As you said, Sakuya-kun, there are animals other than rabbits, and so I bought a whole variety of them. I'll give these ones to you.

Sakuya: Thank you very much, I'm so happy!

Muku: Let's drink them right away! I'll boil the water.

Sakuya: I'll prepare the cups, then.

Homare: …

Homare: Fu fu fu…

Hisoka: …You're in a good mood.

Homare: Ooh, you're here, Hisoka-kun!

You see, Sakuya-kun and Muku-kun were very pleased with the animal tea bags I gifted them.

Their happiness made buying them worth it. I know! I shall give one to you as well, Hisoka-kun!

Hisoka: …Marshmallows'd be better.

Homare: Hmm… for you, perhaps a cat rather than a rabbit? Or maybe a penguin…?

Hisoka: …You're not listening.

Izumi: …Phew.

(Shouldn't be too long now until these documents are done… wait, it's that late already?)

(Well, I'll keep going until I reach a good stopping point anyway.)

*door opens*

Homare: Oh my, I was wondering who it was. If it isn't Director-kun.

Izumi: Homare-san! So you're still awake.

Homare: Indeed. I was making good progress on my writing, and before I knew it, night had befallen us.

Izumi: It's hard to stop when you're on a roll, isn't it.

Homare: Are you working as well?

Izumi: Yeah. I plan on going for a bit longer.

Homare: Wonderful timing, then. I was about to brew some tea, would you care for some as well?

Izumi: Oh, I'd love some!

Homare: Thank you for waiting.

Izumi: Wow, cute! It looks like the rabbit's soaking in a bathtub!

Homare: Doesn't it just? Sakuya-kun and Muku-kun told me about them.

Izumi: Seems like the type of thing those two would like. It smells lovely too, just looking at it is soothing.

Homare: I shall gift you some too. They're a good companion for work.

Option 1: I'll take you up on that

Izumi: I'll take you up on that, then.

Homare: For you, maybe a cat, or a dog… no, you should have both of them.

Izumi: I can have two?

Homare: Of course. After all, it was thanks to you that I came upon them at all.

Izumi: It was?

Homare: They were at the supermarket we stopped by during the day.

Izumi: Oh, it was then! I noticed you bought some stuff, but I didn't think they would be this cute.

Option 2: I'd feel bad

Izumi: I'd feel bad, though.

It'd be better to give these to Sakuya-kun and Muku-kun…

Homare: No need to worry about that. They were the first ones I gifted these to. Therefore, you can accept them without restraint.

Izumi: You're sure? In that case… I'll take these.

Izumi: Thank you very much. I'll use them when I want to feel relaxed.

Sakyo: …

Izumi: Sa-Sakyo-san, do you think it's maybe time to take a break?

Sakyo: …Good call.

Homare: If you're taking a breather, you should try one of these tea bags!

Sakyo: Excuse me?

Homare: For you… I know. This lion one is rather good, isn't it?

Or perhaps your preference lies with this herbal tea penguin?

Itaru: …Homare-san's been handing out a lot of those recently, hasn't he? I got some too.

Hisoka: …He said he went to buy more just to hand them out.

Izumi: Everyone's pleased with them, so I think it's great.

Yuki: Well, it's not like it's an issue to get tea bags.

Tsuzuru: Even so, Arisugawa-san butting in when Furuichi-san looks like THAT is… pretty amazing.

Taichi: When Sakyo-nii's irritated from the numbers not adding up, I can't talk to him! Not at all!

Hisoka: …Alice doesn't know fear.

Part 1

[samapollon]

A young cave girl hunts a swan monster so her sister my be properly laid to rest after her untimely death. She faces pushback from her tribe, whom have interpreted her decision to hunt as selfish rather than the necessary venture it is. (6.1k words)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a bloody affair, birth usually was. But this was something else. Skadi couldn't stop thinking about it as she picked up the blankets that made up the floor of the tent. They had been thoroughly soaked, a full person's worth, and the worst part was that it wasn't an exaggeration. As she stepped out and tossed the cursed things into the fire, she watched the smoke rise, smelled the acrid stench of burned fur and boiling blood, and she heard the junior wise-woman, Ada, chanting, bidding the spirits that had done such a horrible thing to go away, begging for them to take mercy on the child in her arms, hearing it as if she was underwater. She watched as her mother, the senior wise woman, sat near the fire, tending to it, ensuring the taint of death would be burned away, as any wise woman should, even though she had tears in her eyes and stains on her cheeks Skadi could not help but feel confused, numb. It had started so normally after all.

The night before, the chill had not been as terrible as it usually was, a sign that the winter was leaving for now and that spring was upon them, an auspicious time for a child to be born. Hele had gone straight to her mother's tent to complain of labor pains. Normally, she would then be compelled to wake the eldest wise-one, but with her mother also being the eldest wise-one, that was wholly unnecessary. Instead, Ula merely went to go wake Ada before leading Hele to the birthing tent, where she was fed herbs for milk and luck and calm. All of this done with the expectation that they would have a proud mother and a new baby to introduce to the daylight, right at dawn if they were lucky. Skadi had been woken too, made to stand guard while her father, Nansi, held Hele's hand. All of it done to utter perfection.

And yet, though was a squalling babe at dusk, there was no pride, only pain. When Skadi looked at Ada's eyes, she saw that the tall woman was staring at nothing, only holding shock in her gaze. When she realized Skadi was watching, she forced herself to focus, finishing her chant and asking, "Has she been put in the snow?"

Skadi nodded, telling Ada, "Father did it. He took her to the burial grounds and is still there now. He'll have made sure that she was covered."

"Good, go and tell the others."

It was then that a strangled sob came from Ula. She covered her mouth but was still heard by the other women. Skadi crouched down and wrapped an arm around her as she began to properly sob.

Skadi shushed her, "No, no, don't Mother, please don't. No one could have known, not even you. What else could be done?" There was nothing to be done for Hele bleeding out.

"I know, that doesn't mean I shouldn't have tried harder. What kind of wise woman can't even save her own daughter?" She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Just head back to camp. We have arrangements to make."

Skadi nodded, standing up and taking a breath before she headed for camp. It wasn't a long trip, just out of ear and eye shot of the birthing tent. Skadi suspected that it was to ensure that others didn't hear screaming, rather than for the mother's sake.

It was strange to see him so calm when he came back. Nansi wasn't the type to hide his emotions, the first to laugh and the first to cry. And yet now, after the loss of his lover's child, his eldest daughter, his eyes were dry. The last time someone had lost her daughter to childbirth, she had supposedly sobbed and beat at her chest for days on end. Though it wasn't as though Skadi could say much, feeling as far away as she did. With this in mind, Skadi let him join her in telling everyone what had happened, until everyone knew that Hele wasn't coming back. They all headed to the ritual cave to await their wise women. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long, as they both arrived and headed to the back of the cave. Ula took up her staff and Ada lit the fire, the baby handed to a nursing mother.

The ritual cave, when lit up, was a glorious place. The fire itself was on a natural shelf where the wise women stood. Both had brought in a stag's skin, putting them on so that the antlers rested on top of their own heads, Ula's bigger than Ada's. There was art on every surface of the cave; the little handprints of children lifted up by their parents covering the upper wall, the rest of the surfaces covered in all sorts of animals. Hunt-luck paintings of aurochs with spears in them, horses that were so skillfully drawn that they looked like they were running, the beasts so beautiful that they simply had to be captured forever. And on the wall behind the wise women was a painting of a great stag. No,The Great Stag. His legs were long, thin, and pointed. His chest proud and thick. His neck curved and elegant. And his antlers were magnificent, having more points than any deer could possibly have, for he lived longer than any deer possibly could. This was a deer that sired many fawns indeed, their spots making up the stars in the night sky. And yet, looking at it, Skadi felt that distance she felt earlier turn to anger rather than awe or comfort. Why? Why hadn't The Geat Stag, or the many, many does in his herd, protected Hele? They had done everything right.

Ula spoke first, her eyes red from crying, but she was otherwise the vision of a calm and dignified wise woman. "On this night, we have lost Hele as she birthed her child, a son. I thank Skadi for informing you all. While she did so, we burned everything that was tainted by that which killed her, the ashes scattered wide where it happened. However, that is not the only reason we are gathered here, in this noblest of places."

Ada spoke then, "Hele has not been buried but remains in the snow. We need a pit prepared so that she may properly sleep."

Nansi spoke up then, not needing to step forward or raise his hand with how tall he was compared to everyone else. "I'll do it, it's only right. Anyone who wishes to can help me."

Someone else spoke then, a young man, telling him, "But Nansi, you've already buried your children in your homeland. You don't need to do it for someone who wasn't yours too. You've been through enough."

Nansi glared at the young man who said it, the expression not befitting the gentle man's dark face. "She was my child. I may not have helped make her, but she was mine. And where I am from, the eldest of a person's loved ones always buried them and I am older than Ula. I'll do it."

The young man backed down. Ula nodded at Nansi, and he nodded back. "Thank you, Nansi. I have no doubt you'll help her rest well."

Ada spoke then, telling the crowd, "We also need a hunting party to prepare her bed. We'll need something she would have liked. Something beautiful."

Although she was not as tall as her father, Skadi had no need to raise her hand when she spoke firmly, as she was the tallest woman, "I'll hunt a swan-hawk for her. She always liked feathers. And if nothing else can be used, just one wing will hold her."

And just like that, whispers broke out. Was Skadi serious? A swan-hawk? And at her tender age of 15 summers? There was devotion, but this was something else. Not to mention how selfish it was.

Skadi heard these whispers and turned around so that her back was towards the shelf. She told them all, "I'm not doing this for glory, and I don't care that I'm young! I'll go take it down and give Hele the best bed I possibly can. Isn't that what she deserves?"

A cry of, "Enough," rang out, Ula's arms raised and her staff in the air. "She is a huntress and has volunteered. It is her right. She shall help us prepare Hele's bed. And so, it shall be her first big game hunt, you will then allow her to join hunting parties, as is her right."

The cave quieted down. Skadi would hunt a swan-hawk. It was not as though she was an incapable hunter, having brought in plenty of small game. No one could stop her.

Ula spoke once more, with finality, "We start at dawn, it's getting late, and we should all rest." She climbed down from the shelf, putting her staff down and removing her deerskin, Ada following her lead and everyone else following her.

No one spoke once everyone returned to the campfire. No one was sure how to break the silence, so the only sound was that of the cooing baby, a baby they had all expected to return with Hele. Finally, an old man spoke, "Have you had a single thing to eat since yesterday?"

Skadi confessed, "No, we thought we would be here by morning, so we took nothing but water."

"No wonder you spoke nonsense then." He went to a pile of snow nearby, "I was saving this for Hele. I knew how much she loved them and how hungry she would be after her ordeal, but you should have it. Be full for your hunt."

It was a fat and plucked bird, which Skadi took gratefully, setting to cook it immediately. As she did, quiet fell over the campfire once more. The bird changing color from pink, to white, to brown before Nansi asked, "Do you remember when you were weaned, Skadi?"

"I do, but only vaguely."

"You refused to eat birds at first. Hard to tell why, you simply refused."

Skadi grew a bit embarrassed, telling him, "I'm sure there was a reason."

"I'm sure there was but either way, you cried when we tried to feed it to you. That was until Hele tore it up and ate a piece. You must have thought that if your big sister ate it, then it must be good. Never mind that I caught it for you."

"In my defense, you also like eating roots."

"Because I have good taste and you're still a child."

That got a laugh out of everyone. The baby squirmed in Ada's arms, and she rocked him gently. And Ula looked at him as she spoke, telling of her memories. "I still remember the day she was born. It was in those days where spring was turning to summer. One of the happiest days of my life. Steved nearly fainted, my mentor practically attended to him more than he attended to me."

"Really? I thought he would be more resilient about these things than I am," Nansi added.

"Oh, you know very well that hunting and birthing are not the same thing, Nansi. You're hardier than he was in a lot of ways."

"You're right about that, Ali always hated to watch butchering, but had no problem watching the healers." He sniffed and rubbed at his face then, as if he was wiping sweat but Skadi noticed tears. And then, he began to weep.

Skadi could only imagine what her father was feeling at the moment. Ali had been her father's son, her brother, in Nansi’s homeland, he was only seven summers when he died. Now, Nansi was losing a child all over again. And the worst part was that they had truly believed that Hele would be fine, and yet the only evidence she had ever been here was in Ada's arms. Skadi offered him water from her water skin, and he took it gratefully, chugging it as he tried to stop crying.

The old man spoke again, looking to Ada and telling her, "I saw a bull with a calf today. No cows around, just him. He wasn't an old man with only the little one to his name or a young thing with a sibling tagging along. This looked like a strong bull. One who should already have more. What do you suppose that's an omen of?

Before Ada could answer, an old woman interrupted, "What does a bull have to do with anything? And why are you asking now of all times? And why are you asking Ada of all people about bulls?" She even glared at him suspiciously.

"It doesn't have anything to do with anything Narna, that was the whole point. It's called a distraction!"

Skadi took a sharp breath through her nose and instantly regretted it, the cold burning her nostrils. And then the baby started crying. This was going to be a rough night.

Skadi was the first one up, before dawn. The night watcher was heading to sleep as she came out of her tent as he told her, "The fire's already lit. You don't need to worry about it."

"Thank you," Skadi said tersely as she went to the fire to warm up. There was new snow on the ground, so she had extra hunting time. She also roasted some roots for her morning meal while she was at it.

After that, she headed to the ritual cave. She took off her mittens and took up the shell dust kept in a bowl and mixed it with water, making white paint before dipping her fingers in and drawing on the wall. It was then that Ula came in, early riser that she was, and saw Skadi painting. "Already preparing?"

"Yes," said Skadi. "If I don't start now, then I may lose time we don't have."

"You know, Skadi, I've been thinking. There are plenty of hunters; I don't think you should take this as your hunt.

"You said yourself that it's my right and it needs to be done. Does it matter if it's a hunting party or by myself? It's not as though I'm doing this for glory."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. It's just such dangerous prey-"

"I know it is."

"Please don't tell me that's why you chose a swan-hawk."

"No, of course not! I only chose it because all the real swans are gone. We don't have time to wait for spring."

"Skadi, look at me."

Skadi stopped her painting and looked at her mother, instantly regretting it. Ula had been crying again. From how tired she looked; Skadi guessed she must have done so all night. Her hand was shaking as she reached up to grip Skadi's shoulder. "I know you want what's best for Hele, but I refuse to lose another child. And your father cannot stand to lose you either, I don't think he could survive it."

Skadi's eyes flitted to the ground in guilt. "I understand, but Hele needs this. I need this. I just," Skadi tried to find the words, "I need to kill something. I need to because what happened wasn't right. And there's a weight in my chest. Like I'll scream if I don't do this. Besides, what I said is true. Hele loved feathers and a swan-hawk has enough for her."

Ula took a deep breath, "Alright, I can see you need this. Just go talk to your father when you're done. He has something to show you."

"Of course, Mother." And so, Skadi went back to painting, Ula going deeper into the cave. The white bird looked quite fearsome, in her humble opinion. She made sure to capture its claws, its massive wings, both these things used in battle with swans. And though the bird's bill was closed, it was still dangerous looking. There was only one thing left to do. Skadi took up the red rock dust, mixed it with water and, using her pinky, swiped a single red line going into its breast. It was a messy stroke, but it struck true. The beast would surely die.

Just as Skadi was about to leave, Ula returned from deeper within the cave, carrying a bag. "Wait, take this with you."

Skadi took it and looked within. She expected to find some sort of herb blend or talisman. She instead found, "Dirt?"

"Trust me, it will save your life. Just don't get it wet."

Skadi was skeptical but nodded anyways, telling her mother, "Of course and I'll be careful." She thus left the cave and headed to the weapon makers.

Nansi stood out even when he was sitting with his fellow weapon makers. He was tall even when sitting. It seemed everything aboout him was longer than the average person, a sort of elegant quality to him. He also had darker skin than everyone else, the color never fading even into the coldest of months when everyone else began to match the snow. Skadi had inherited a mix of his and her mother's skin. Her hair in looser coils than his. He waved her over and said, "I'm sure your mother told you to come speak with me," as he stood up.

"She did, is everything alright? None of my weapons are broken."

"Oh, I know your weapons are fine. You're not foolish enough to go and hunt with broken tools. No, I have something new to show you." He then handed a strange looking branch to Skadi.

Upon closer inspection, Skadi found that it was not a branch, but something Nansi had crafted. Still, she puzzled over what it could be used for. One end was thicker than the other, like a club, but it was still far too thin for that. It had a divot on one end and was very flat overall. It was decorated with her father's usual flair of square patterns, so it was very pretty at least. At a loss, Skadi asked, "What is it?"

"It's a spear thrower," Nansi explained. "You balance a spear on it and throw. That way you can send a spear farther than you could before. I wanted to gift it for your first hunt but-"

"But you decided to turn your sister's burial into your first hunt," interrupted a woman who was knapping flint.

"That's not fair to her. If the other hunters had spoken up first, she wouldn't have needed to go hunt."

"She could have also chosen to stay silent, but she declared she would kill a swan-hawk instead."

Skadi stepped towards the woman, "If you're so opposed to me doing it, why don't you go kill it yourself!"

Nansi put a hand on Skadi's shoulder before picking up a second spear and telling her, "Let's just try this."

Skadi nodded and took the spear from her father, walking with him to a nearby tree, farther than the distance she usually threw a spear at. He showed her how to balance it before handing it to her and had her take position, "Now, throw with all your might."

Skadi did just that, launching the spear with all her strength. Unfortunately, she had underestimated how much grip she needed and launched the thrower along with it. The whole thing, spear and thrower, dropped like a stone

Nansi picked it up for her, telling her, "Well, I suppose now we know that we need to hang onto it tightly."

Skadi nodded and gripped it more tightly this time. The spear flew, but not much farther than it normally did, it didn't strike the tree.

Nansi hummed in thought, "Did you throw from the wrist or the shoulder?"

Skadi groaned at her own foolishness and told him, "The shoulder. I suppose I should be flicking it like a spear instead of using pure force."

"Yes, that would do it. Precision may be the issue here."

Skadi nodded and took the spear from her father before trying again. This time, she used her wrist, and the spear flew into the tree and hit. Just as surely as if she had walked up and stabbed it in.

"And there you have it. You're ready for your first hunt."

Thus, Skadi prepared properly for her hunt, double checking her spear and her knife, making sure her shoes and coat were dry, refilling her water skin, and said farewell, assuring everyone that she would slay the swan-hawk. As she headed to the lake however, she needed to pass by a certain area of camp. The lair of the friend-wolves.

Friend-wolves were strange beasts. They lived at the edge of camp, eating what they were given and only hunting if they wished to. They were a touch smaller than regular wolves and more colorful. And the reason they lived at camp was because they were loud. Barking and howling in the night whenever they so much as smelled something that didn't belong. They had once pinned a bear that had tried to sneak into camp and tore it to shreds. The beast that had no doubt been trying to eat people at camp instead found himself the meal. All in all, useful in the unpredictable night.

Nonetheless, they were always fed each day, such as now. They were given cuts of meat that were a little too tough or weren't very tasty for people. But then Skadi noticed something, "Umen! Don't give them marrow bones! That's people food!"

"But they've been so good," the young boy countered.

Skadi sighed, not happy about the delay but going up to the friend-wolves anyways, making sure that Umen wasn't giving them anything too important. Luckily, she found that they were not being fed marrow bones at all. It was cleaned ribs and aurochs' tails. Skadi then sat down with a huff, making sure none of the friend-wolves got too nippy with Umen. "Why isn't your mother helping you with this anyways? She clearly gave you the food." She looked at the eldest she-wolf gnawing at a particularly large rib.

"Because Mama is with Hele's baby, and I wanted to do this all by myself."

Ah, that would explain it. Both who was nursing Hele's babe this morning and why Umen was here. It would be very strange indeed for Chara to truly allow her child to do this all by himself. She must have been watching from nearby. One of the friend-wolves, a pup no older than a summer, went up to her and Skadi absentmindedly scratched behind his ears.

"If you have this handled then, I'll leave you be." She used her spear as leverage to get up and walked away. But as she walked, she felt as though she was being watched. At first, she thought it was some rabbit or bird keeping her away from its nest, but it persisted. After a while, she turned around and saw who her stalker was. "Oh no."

It was the friend-wolf she had pet. He was the very picture of a pup at play, with his tongue out, tail wagging, and in a position ready to pounce. He bounded up to Skadi and tried to jump on her, but Skadi pushed him away, "No! I don't have anything for you! Go away!"

But the friend wolf would not go away, he simply stared at her.

"Look, this is my first hunt alone. I'm not supposed to bring anyone, let alone something that's just going to steal from me."

Once again, the friend-wolf only stared at her. Skadi wasn't even sure he understood her at all. Groaning at the realization that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon, she told him, "Fine, but if you steal from me, I'll make you into a blanket."

He gave no response to the threat. In fact, he followed her as she kept walking. Through the plain and into the forest until they reached the lake. And it wasn't even high sun yet.

The lake was always a pretty sight. In the spring and summer, it was a lovely sky color, its waters cool and full of fish. It often attracted deer, the most sacred and noble of animals, but they weren't the only ones; it also attracted birds like ducks, geese, and swans. And where there were swans, there were swan-hawks. Though in the winter and autumn, when the water froze into ice, the swans left while the swan-hawks stayed.

And that was exactly what Skadi found when she arrived. A swan-hawk sitting upon the ice, scratching at the surface with the claws of its webbed feet. No doubt it had seen a fish and was trying to get at it for lack of its usual prey. How strange that something that looked so similar to a swan feasted upon them, sneaking under the water and grabbing them with its toothed bill or pouncing upon them and dragging them away. The swans would fight back, of course, but so rarely won. But Skadi didn't think of that now, only that she needed to kill it. With this in mind, Skadi balanced her main spear on her new thrower, took aim at the beast's heart, and launched her spear.

Unfortunately, the friend-wolf stepped on a stick at the exact wrong time. The swan-hawk turned and found its wing pierced instead. It shrieked in pain and Skadi knew that the hunt was truly on. It couldn't fly away, so Skadi gave a cry as she ran straight for it with her second spear in her hands.

The swan-hawk gave a loud hiss in turn and ran towards Skadi, enraged and in pain. Now it was a matter of who struck first and how.

The swan-hawk stretched out its great neck to bite Skadi, but she jumped out of its way. Skadi in turn thrust her spear but the swan-hawk wing-slapped at her with its good wing, forcing her to turn away. Skadi growled and, feeling her arms already bruising from the wing slap and trying to think of a different approach, ran to the bushes, her quarry now chasing after her.

It was then that Skadi heard a bark. She looked and the friend-wolf was just standing there on the banks of the lake. But the swan-hawk had also been distracted. Skadi took the opportunity to put her spear back in its holster and take out her knife instead, jumping on the beast's back to try and slash its throat. However, no sooner had she gotten on top of it did the swan-hawk throw her off, her knife falling into the bushes. Worse yet, she heard a snap as she landed on her back. Her free spear had broken.

The swan-hawk attacked once more then, slashing at Skadi's chest with its talons, managing to break through her coat and her undershirt. She screamed as she was ripped open, deep slashes already oozing blood. She only just managed to roll over as it went to bite her. How as she supposed to kill this thing now? Her spear was too short to attack it safely and trying to stab it from behind had already lost her a knife. The thing somewhere in the snow and dirt.

Wait, the dirt!

Skadi opened the bag of dirt and took up a handful, flinging it in the swan-hawk's face as it went in to try and bite her again. It shrieked and shook its head this way and that, blinded

But then the friend-wolf came back, lunging at the swan-hawk. Skadi took out her now much-shortened spear and screamed, "No! How dare you!"

But instead of ripping his stolen prey apart, the friend-wolf simply held the swan-hawk down. Teeth digging in to make the smallest of cuts on its neck, but no more. And he stared at Skadi as if waiting, as if he wanted Skadi to make the kill.

Now that her victory was assured, Skadi gave a primal scream and thrust her spear into the swan-hawk's heart. Screamed even louder as she felt the crunch of bone and the resistance of meat. It was even louder than when Hele had screamed the day she died. She screamed through the beasts' death squall. She continued to scream for a good while before she began to cry. Fat tears falling from her eyes as she fell to her knees upon the feathers. The sting on her skin nothing compared to the ache in her heart. She then broke down into sobbing for even longer, her tears hot against the frigid air until she had no more tears to shed.

And then, it was over. The friend-wolf let go of the swan-hawk's neck. Skadi panted and leaned on her broken spear for a moment before pulling it and the one stuck in the swan-hawk's wing out. She then recovered her knife and her thrower as she sniffled before she hauled the beast onto her back, its bloodied chest staining her jacket and its wings draped over her shoulders.

The walk to the river was, naturally, more arduous than the walk to the lake, though the friend-wolf also provided some relief, guarding her from anything that would seek to steal from her. When she finally arrived, she was a bloody vision. The swan-hawk's neck fell behind, its wings over her shoulders looking as if they were her own. And when she dropped it in front of her mother, Ada, and two butchers, she told them, "It scratched my chest and bruised me, but I'll live."

Despite this, Ada checked the wound, the young huntress hissing in pain as the ruined jacket was pulled away from her and revealed her tattered shirt. "The wound is deep, though not to the bone, likely to fester and certain to scar. Let me treat you while your mother takes care of the swan-hawk." She led her to the river proper so she could clean. "It's lucky I made a poultice." And with that, the wise woman treated Skadi. The young girl tried to not make too much noise as the fresh wound was assaulted with a mixture of allium, willow bark, and secret herbs. It burned like fire, but Skadi knew it was necessary, and that Ada would not let her go untreated, even as the friend wolf growled at her.

One of the butchers stopped cleaning his knife and asked, "What is it doing?"

"He sees me as a friend," Skadi explained. "He followed me as I went to hunt. He even helped me. When it was time to kill it, he held it down for me." She then sighed, "So much for a first hunt."

Ula, who had finished inspecting the downed beast, asked Skadi, "Did it kill the swan-hawk?"

"No, I did, but it did hold it down for me."

"And is the friend-wolf a person?"

Skadi snorted in amusement, "Of course not."

"Then this was a successful hunt. Now, it's time for you to butcher your kill, Huntress Skadi."

And so, Skadi set to butchering the bird with help from the others. She was careful in removing the uninjured wing, not wanting to ruin even a single feather. One of the butchers poured hot water over the feathers on the rest of the body before plucking them away and keeping the unstained ones. Skadi also saved the liver for herself, the fatty meat no doubt going to make a fine meal. She looked to the friend wolf, who was sniffing at and licking the blood off the riverbank and had a thought. He had held down the beast for her when he could have easily killed and stolen it, yet he didn't. So, she took out the heart and whistled to him. When he looked up, she told him, "You've been a good boy. Here," and she threw the mangled heart towards the friend-wolf, who immediately set to devouring it, tail wagging at his due prize

When the butchery was done, the time for glory was over. It was time to bury Hele. Ula gave the wing a once over, ensuring that it was suitable, as they went off to the burial place.

The burial place was very lonely, each mound being the only sign that people were in the ground. Some were very old, hard and compact and they would have had grass growing on them come spring. Others were newer, still soft, but not loose, clearly having been dug and covered. And then there was the pit dug for Hele. It was deep and empty but wouldn't be for long. Ula put the wing down first, then it was time for Hele. Without another word, Nansi went to the nearby snowbank to retrieve her. The cold had kept her safe from rot, Nansi's presence and digging kept her safe from animals. When she was pulled up, there were a few gasps from the younger people in attendance, not having seen someone die in childbirth.

To say Skadi's peers had never experienced death would be an absurd lie. Everyone had lost someone before; a father to a mammoth hunt, a baby sibling to sickness; but none had seen a body like Hele's. Where those were mangled by injury or twisted by the agony of disease, Hele looked almost asleep, having been peaceful when she held her son in her arms before fading away. She was obviously gone, of course, the blood that still soaked her dress, the lack of breathing or reactions, and her deathly pallor made it all clear. The darkness of Nansi's arms made the pallor look even more severe. The baby in Ada's arms began to cry, almost as if the sight of his mother made him mourn as well. But she could not comfort him, she passed him for Chara to comfort before going with Ula to take Hele from Nansi.

When the wise women came to the pit, they climbed down and laid her down gently on the great wing. They then added the feathers the butcher had plucked as the final touch. When they climbed back out, Ula asked, "Would anyone like to say a few words before we give Hele her things?"

Unsurprisingly, Nansi agreed to speak first. He took a breath, gathered his thoughts, and said, "Hele was not my daughter by blood, but she was my daughter in all other ways. From the moment she hugged me in gratitude for saving Ula that fateful day, she was mine. I knew that though I would never replace her first father and that she would never replace my children, I would raise her and do everything in my power to ensure nothing ever hurt her. Not the animals that had stolen my children from me, not the men who had taken Ula, nothing." His voice cracked and he took a steadying breath. "She was a flame in winter and to lose her at the very start of her journey into motherhood, one she was already taking without a lover, feels like a cruel twist of the knife in my chest. I will miss her for all my days, we all will."

No one had better words for her than that, though others also said their farewells. The culmination of these processions ended in the laying of different things for her in the pit. Shells from the ocean, bowls and figures she had made, and decorations she had once worn. There were no flowers about, so they made do with branches from the evergreen trees. In the end, Skadi thought she looked very comfortable and that, when they filled the pit with dirt, she would want for nothing else. Never would she grow hungry or cold or need to seek beauty elsewhere. One by one, the mourners threw dirt in and on the pit and dispersed until it was only Skadi, Ula, and Nansi.Even Ada had gone to attend to the baby. Each one was kneeling in front of the fresh mound of dirt. Each one was taking in the silence now that Hele was truly gone and at rest.

It was Ula who broke the silence, "I suppose I should go prepare the paint for your ceremony, Skadi."

"No, I don't want a ceremony, not today."

"But I didn't do this because I want to hunt mammoths. I did it to say farewell, because Hele needed a place to rest."

Ula sighed, almost in relief. She told Skadi, "Hele would be proud of you, child."

"Thank you." It was all Skadi needed to know.

[vonlipvig]

Hi,

I know that you don't really focus on food or anything, but I was curious if you had any recipes for stuff you really enjoy that are typical to your country/home?

I've been browsing some wikipedia pages on pastries and dishes lately and I wanted to try making something, but I couldn't find it in me to choose from the almost infinite selection of things, so I thought asking my mutual from another part of the world may be a good idea :)

You can just give a name of something you feel is worth trying if you don't know/don't have the time/don't want to share a recipe, but I'd love to get a recommendation or two!

Hi! Yes, of course I'll tell you some of my fave dishes that I think are fairly easy to make (I mean, not that I cook, my specialty is putting frozen stuff in the oven or boiling something so yeah lmao). I'll drop some recipes I found in English for you, cannot vouch for them personally (again, since I can practically burn water), but maybe they're a useful jumping off point for you!

Chocotorta: This is the best cake/dessert in the world and it really is the stupidest thing to make. You need to get your hands on some dulce de leche, which I don't know how difficult that can be, but you get that, you get some cream cheese (that recipe says soft cheese? pretty sure that's not the same, get cream cheese, lmao), and you get whatever cookie can replace our chocolinas (basically any squareish, flat chocolate cookie).Then you mix the dulce de leche with the cream cheese until you get a light brownish mixture. You're gonna lightly soak the cookies in some milk or coffee (lightly, so they don't break), then you're gonna make a bed of them on a baking tray. Put a layer of the mixture on top of that, then another layer of cookies, then more mixture, etc etc. Then you chill, and ta-dah! You can leave it like that, fancy it up a bit, but that's the important part.

Pastel de papa (potato and ground beef pie): A really delicious dish, basically a pie or casserole made with mashed potatoes and ground beef all seasoned and with extra ingredients to make it really yummy. I leave you a recipe in english and one in spanish.

Empanadas: I mean, that's the classic! Basically our version of the 'food-encased-in-dough' staple across the globe. The traditional version is, again, with ground beef, but you can really put anything in there (other typical variants include ham and cheese, onion and cheese, corn paste, etc). IMPORTANT: If the recipe says use raisins for the filling, IGNORE IT, trust me, every good argentine will thank you (Personally I'd take out the olives too, but if you're my grandma I NEVER SAID THAT I LOVE RAISINS AND OLIVES NANA).

Milanesa napolitana: Another big fave, this is our breaded steak (usually fried, but it can go in the oven, it just takes longer), with added tomato sauce and cheese on top and it's delicious. Serve with fries or mashed potatoes for the perfect combo.

I hope that helps, let me know if you ever make some of these! Bone app the teeth! (and everyone else, feel free to drop some good argentinian recipes!)

[voidbellamy]

ANATHEMA • Kaz Brekker

• four

The rain had soaked through Kaz's coat, fighting his shivering and chattering teeth. His arm was linked around an equally soaked and shivering figure, her head ducked low under her hood. Kaz winced, the cold having an even worse effect on his leg.  "Oy, girl," a gruff voice spoke, "I can give you somewhere warm to sleep, girl!" Kaz growled under his breath, his now boiling blood bringing slight warmth back to him. The girl beside him tensed, Kaz's hand tightening on her shoulder. "Leave us alone, if you know what's good for you." His voice was hardened, cold- making him sound much older than he was. The crutch under his arm shifted, his grip tightening on it, waiting. "Aw, boy thinks he's tough stuff on these streets." The man cracked his knuckles, staring down the duo, trying to intimidate. Kaz's mind worked faster than the men moved, his large and stupid cronies taking steps towards them. They were big but the amount of alcohol clearly in them would slow them down, and just looking at them he could tell they were stupid. Kaz's freshly broken leg was excruciating, the cold dampness only making it worse, but even with that disadvantage he would still be faster. And he was willing to bet he had been in more fights. The girl stayed silent, a squeeze on Kaz's arm suggesting they just forget it and move on- find somewhere dry for the night. Kaz turned to walk the other way with an exhale.

"You know only monsters and worse are out at this time of night."

Someone certainly liked to hear his own voice.

"Say, don't I know you?" Kaz froze.

"Yeah, girl- I think I've paid for your time before. Well worth it, I think."  Kaz had spun around before the other two let out their chuckles, his crutch smashing against the man's head with a crack. The anger surging through him made him forget about the pain in his leg as he placed his full weight on it. The crutch shattered and Kaz let out a curse. The other two men jumped to action. Kaz braced himself, swinging the broken, now sharp, handle of the crutch into the nearest man's stomach, twisting it as it pierced through skin and intestine. Blood splattered Kaz's shoes; the man collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. Kaz ducked quickly as the second unfortunate soul lunged for him. He shifted his weight into the man's knees, barely holding in a scream as his fractured leg took most of the weight. The man tripped and rolled right over Kaz's back. The brawling pair tumbled down together, hands grabbing for Kaz's throat. Kaz would have panicked at the hands on his throat, had he not been filled with a blinding rage. His head spun, his heart racing against his temples. Kaz growled, his head coming back against the man's chin. He heard a crack, smelled blood, felt hot liquid seeping down the back of his neck. The man swore, stumbling back a step before grabbing Kaz's shoulders. Kaz fought against the hands on him, feet slipping in the quickly-growing puddles. He struggled to find solid footing, wincing at the man pushing his arms upwards. Kaz was bent over, far closer to a disadvantage than he would ever allow. The rain still fell, water pouring down Kaz's face, down his lip, nearly choking him. He gasped, feeling panic begin building in the back of his mind. Water was rising up to his ankles, the flooded alley only aiding his growing panic. There was a roaring in his ears; the anger and adrenaline mixing with the panic. Kaz let out a scream as he snapped the man's wrist, contorting himself to turn and face him. His feet slipped, sending both of them into the wet mud. Kaz moved to stand but a hand had slammed his face against the ground. He gasped at the impact, feeling his nose crack, immediately tasting blood. His vision swam, black creeping in the edges of his eyes. A hand pulled his hair, shoving his face further down, holding him in a puddle. Kaz's heart dropped, the water up his nose, the fighting only making it rise higher. He held his breath, forcing himself not to gasp, pushing the panic away.

    The grasp on Kaz's hair loosened- then was gone. He heard a sickening thunk, a body hit the ground. Hands were on him again, this time pulling him up, rather than pushing him towards the dark waters in his mind. These arms were gentle, welcoming. "Kaz," the girl rolled him onto his back, gasping at the state of his face. He flinched as the rain hit his face, but the girl lowered her head over him, shielding his face from the rain. Gloves cupped either side of his face, "You're okay," it was a demand, "Kaz look at me."  He heard the words but couldn't string them together properly, "Kaz!" A hand shook his shoulder, but all he felt was his heart racing, rising in his chest, threatening to choke him. His eyes were closed, feeling the water rising above his neck, drowning, dying, cold hands latched onto him, pulling him down to welcome him in a watery grave. No, these hands were soft- warm. He gasped, jolting himself back to the girl repeating his name like a prayer. He found her eyes on him, wide, dilated, watery. "Look at me," he focused on her voice- it was soft, inviting him to listen. He noticed the girl take a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. Her hand traced his jaw, the warmth bringing him back. He was lying on his back, covered in mud, completely soaked through with rain and blood. The screaming in his ears had stopped, his heart slowed. Kaz weakly reached a hand up to the girl's face, exhaled, almost relieved that she really was there.

    The girl slowly rose to her feet, bent down, pulled a dagger out of the dead man's head. She looked at it, wiped it on its found target's back, replaced it against her thigh. Kneeling again, she relieved the man of his coin sack and money pouch. She then turned, held her hand out to Kaz, frowning as she saw him struggle. Kaz was still breathing roughly, seemingly unable to find enough air to calm himself further. Finally, a gloved hand closed around her own and Kaz gasped at the pain that shot through his leg at the shift of weight. He leaned his weight into her, almost wishing he had not broken his crutch on a man's head. He straightened himself, finding his composure once again. His attention turned to the first man, now groaning on the ground, trying to find his way back to consciousness. Kaz's lip twitched up in disgust, he paused, looking down at the unfortunate man who should have kept his mouth shut.  "You were right about one thing," Kaz tutted, "There are only monsters out at this time of night," His boot came down against the man's skull before he found his consciousness. He likely felt nothing, though Kaz hoped he did.

    The pathetic looking pair made their way to an inn on the corner of the street. A board looking woman sat at a desk, half empty drink in her hand. Her eyes met the two kids in front of her, one shivering, one covered in blood and lifted an eyebrow. "Where are your parents? Ketterdam is no place for children at night."

Kaz refrained from rolling his eyes; fourteen on the streets of Ketterdam was hardly children anymore.

"Our parents are dead."

The woman's eyes shifted to sadness for a moment, then her gaze moved to the door, "I can't have people staying 'ere for free, loves. Boss won't have that and I can't afford to be out a job." "We can pay," Kaz fumbled a handful of coins out of his pocket, dropping them on the desk. The woman eyed him suspiciously, but moved to reach for a key hanging on the wall behind her.  "What 'appened to you two, anyway?"

Kaz dropped a few more coins on the desk, his eyebrow raising in a silent suggestion to stop asking questions.

   He tucked the key in his pocket and silently allowed the girl lead him up the stairs, to the room they had rented for the night. It was nothing extravagant. It had a bed, a desk and something that at one time may have been a fireplace, though now looked more like rubble and a fire hazard. It would do for the night. And Kaz planned to be gone before management discovered the coins he had given them were fake.

    Kaz woke before the sun, not having any recollection of falling asleep, nor of making it to the bed. A nearly-burned-out candle on the desk provided the only source of light in the room.

Of course.

His lip twitched into a smile; she could not sleep in complete darkness. He turned to look at the girl on the bed beside him. She was curled into herself, expression tight, likely in an unpleasant dream he wished he could do something about. Kaz draped the blanket over her. He watched her sleep quietly, her expression softening as she nestled under the blanket further. His eyes caught a reflection over Raven's shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. A cane rested against her side of the bed, a gold crow's head glistening in the faint light of the candle. Kaz winced as he stood to his feet, stiffling the hiss of pain as his leg protested angrily. He kept a hand on the bed, limping slowly around to the object that had caught his interest. The cane was high quality, certainly something Kaz himself would have picked out. His eyes shifted over to the sleeping girl, back to the cane. She had done this. Somehow; while Kaz was asleep. He traced the crow's head with his hand, silently admiring the detail and craftsmanship. Something else was sticking out from under the bed, lidded boxes, carefully placed out of his sight. He knelt down- now having a cane to balance himself, and slid them out.

New clothes.

Fresh clothes.

Dry clothes...

   Kaz sighed, making a note that he was supposed to be the one taking care of her. He also took notice of the fact that his soaking, filthy clothes had been stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. He moved to the mirror and, sure enough, his nose had been cleaned up, all the blood removed from his face and neck. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, thanking the Saints that he didn't believe in for the figure sleeping on the bed.

FIVE: https://www.tumblr.com/a8ofcrows/771681740106432512/anathema-kaz-brekker

[mrwexleysr]

Where: Sada's Loft When: Dec 17th, Noon

"He's dead, Sada! Laying there in his room, naked and dead, and now I have to explain to this entire building what happened? You truly think that's going to stay hush hush?" Almost able to feel the vein in his forehead threatening to burst, Tobias stared with incredulity at the woman who stood before him, cold and emotionless as ice.

"What do you expect me to say to you? You killed him."

"Excuse me?" The sharpness to Sada's gaze took on a razor's edge, locking on the man who had designated himself the leader of this little pack just because he owned the building. "I did nothing of the sort. Are you proposing that I caused the leak? If I had wanted to kill him, Tobias, I wouldn't have done it stuffing chimneys."

Heavy white fur swathed around her as scoffed in his face, Sada stepped around the man and toward her bar, speaking as she pulled down two glasses and filled them each to the halfway point with rich amber liquid. "Hawthorn was my... lover-" Though she almost cringed at the word. "I didn't want him dead. He knew what he was getting into, and it was consensual." Especially once she'd convinced him of just how badly he deserved to be punished for moving on so quickly when he'd thought her a victim of the outbreak.

"I don't need to hear about your intimate life, Sada. People are going to want something done about this. The fact that you forgot about him there is almost criminal in and of itself." Had she realized and untied him as soon as the alarm bells had been rung maybe he could have been saved.

Ignoring the drink for now, blood boiling as he watched her sip her own with a restrained rage he could see bubbling behind the porcelain mask she'd perfected.

"And who exactly made you judge, jury, and jailer? So now because you own the building you're president of this little community, is that right? Going to put me on trail? Send me Wexley jail?" Sneering the words on the back of a dismissive chuckle, she took another long sip off of her drink, stepping around the bar to all but shove the drink into his hand.

"What do you think would ever happen if there was a vote? Let the people decide who they want to lead them? I have my people here, too, Tobias. I'm far more one of them than you are, living forever up here in your lord's tower. How loyal do you think your serfs really are?"

"Are you threatening me, Sada? This is not the time for divisiveness. Winter is coming and all conflict is going to do is make things harder on us all. You fucked up. You will have to face the consequences." Reaching over to tip his glass so the scotch inside found a new home in her own glass, Tobias set it down on the table next to him.

"You're to be confined to a suite on the fourth floor next to the scouting headquarters until we can decide the best course of action. I have Mal turning the locks around as we speak. You can gather some things and come with quietly, but I won't hesitate to remove you with force if I have to."

"Fine." Looking down at the glass in her hand filled with liquor worth more than the rent than the apartment she'd be kept in, Sada tossed it to the floor at his feet and turned to head into her room without a second look back at the mess it'd made as it smashed on the marble flooring.

Returning not long after with an extremely large suitcase stuffed absolutely to the brim rolling along behind her and a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder, bunching up the sleeve of her polar bear fur coat. Bottoms of her platformed Louboutin's and the wheels of the suitcase crunching over glass she shoved the handle at him and then pushed past, obviously expecting him to carry it down. As if she'd be sleeping on whatever bedding was down there. "This is such a joke. You're a joke."

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say, Sada."

Taking a hold of the handle of the suitcase, he ignored that scotch that was soaking through his shoes and trailing along in two tracks off the wheels trollying along behind them. It'd be a wonder if they survived the stairs as he fully planned to just let it bounce down them behind him.

[stephjacq]

Garden to table

I’ve been struggling to find the spoons to cook lately, but there’s something so gratifying about picking the ingredients and it changes the whole equation. Brassica dopamine. I mean, look at those shapes and colours. How glorious.

Chop it. Think about your mouthful, create shapes accordingly.

I don’t think pressing tofu is worth the trouble. I buy the extra firm and slice it in half horizontally then into long strips. Tear the strips to create uneven squares that will soak up flavour. Toss it in a few tablespoons of cornflour, salt and pepper (or some ground Szechuan pepper, white pepper and five spice if you’re fancy).

Boil your fave noodle until just underdone, rinse.

Stir fry shallot and onion, then add tofu until browned.

Meanwhile, make a sauce. This one is based on this winner from the omnivore’s cookbook (the site is full of winners, you should check it out)

Stock, light soy, dark soy and hoisin.

Add your veg and stir fry until it’s bright green. Throw in the noodles and mix them through then add the sauce and stir to coat.

Extra bonus, veggies this fresh survive reheating as leftovers. The garden keeps on giving ✨

[fuckkbrunch]

Fuck, I've been putting off this post for so long. This one's going to be a little differently formated than the others.

I'm going to list them, and rank them. Hopefully I can cram in all the photos. My egg peeling game is horrid, so prepare yourself for some of the ugliest deviled eggs. I tried to get creative with the photos.

These were from the party section of the book, so I cut the recipes way down so I didn't have a million eggs on my hands.

| Caviar Eggs |

Can't fault the boiled egg method. 9 minutes is perfect. I find it hilarious that the first one of these I made was the caviar recipe. To be honest though, I didn't use fancy caviar. This is simple and cheap lump fish caviar. Basically, a regular ass deviled egg with faux fancy crap on top. Salty. Fishy.

| Anchovy Eggs |

Surprise! Another anchovy recipe! I made my own anchovy paste for this one. I even bought whole anchovies so I could make the optional garnish of boquerones. They're vinegar soaked fresh anchovy fillets, that are then marinated in garlic and olive oil. The recipe for them wasn't included in this book, but I might just make a separate post about it.

That said, that's the most interesting part of this egg. Salty. Fishy. Yet again.

| Hot and Spicy Eggs |

This one specified using either Chinese or German hot mustard. I really looked for Chinese but I couldn't find any, so German style it was. Other than that, the only other unique ingredient incorporated into the filing is Frank's Red Hot. Which is not hot.

Garnished with the white part of a green onion and a cilantro leaf. Oh and I had to buy Morton's salt for garnish. Much too fancy for a recipe with Frank's in it. It was very salty, and very not spicy.

| Mediterranean Eggs |

By far the most elaborate. I was supposed to use preserved lemon in the filling, but couldn't find it at any of the specialty shops in the area. So I googled it, and you can make a few different substitutes. I went the lemon zest and flaked sea salt route, since I already needed to buy that fancy Morton's salt for the last egg recipe.

This one was the tastiest. The filling is full of capers, harissa, the lemon zest with salt, and olive oil. Garnished with whole capers, parsley and saffron threads. Looks great (if you ignore my egg whites...), and tastes great. Salty, but with depth, tang, spice, and citrus. The first time I read through this book, I thought the Mediterranean one would be my least favorite.

| Deviled Egg Variations |

Taste is an overall 2 out of 5. It's boiled eggs.

Difficulty is a 2 out of 5. Finding the ingredients is the hardest part of these recipes.

Time was about 20-25 minutes each. An ice bath is your friend.

Personally, I hate egg whites. I think these would be better used as egg salad recipes, if not only so you don't kill yourself trying to peel eggs perfectly. So annoying.

That said, my ranking is:

Mediterranean Eggs - The winner by a mile.

Anchovy Eggs - The boquerones were the best part. I wouldn't say they're optional.

Caviar Eggs - Quirky. Fancy deviled eggs is an oxymoron.

Hot and Spicy Eggs - Not good. Not flavourful. Not worth it.

So glad to be fucking finished with these. Four recipes, done!

[syllarinfirinne]

Ive shared a few of these before, but my continued adventures of the Exquisite Exandria cookbook, decided to post them all with some opinions and ratings:

1.. Beer Basted Breakfast Brawts: 9/10 The slaw and butter recipes alone are incredible. Ive never been a coleslaw person, in fact long time followers might remember me railing against it at points. This slaw is fucking incredible and the compound butter makes for a *fantsatic* spread for a sweet bread. The Brawts are really good too, but theyre a very basic Soak Brawts In Beer Then Boil And Grill, of course that is good.

2. Spyre by Fire Beer Braised Brisket: 7.5/10 Fine enough oven made brisket recipe. Came out a bit on the dry side, but I think that had more to do with having a very lean piece of meat to start with. That said, I think the cook time was 4-7 minutes for searing and 3-4hrs of oven time, next time Im going to be sticking closer to 4 minuts and 3 hours. Also, the recipe says to strain out the veggies from the gravy. Dont listen to those fools, the carrots are so soft and delicious.

3. Coffee Brined Fried Chicken & Coffee Gravy: 8.5/10 Never wouldve thought to us coffee in a brine for chicken or as the main ingredient in a gravy, but holy shit this is good. The coating is a bit heavy and a little salty, but the chickent was so soft and tender, highly time consuming though because fried chicken is a lot of work.

4. Den Theyless Stew: 9.5/10 Book cost is worth it for this recipe alone. The complex flavors of the Japanese curry alongside the sweetness of the rice wine mixing with the savoriness of the beef is just incredible. Add on the dumplings and this dish is one of my favorite things Ive ever cooked. Only reason its not a 10/10 is the recipe as written doesnt have garlic or celery in it, I added 4 cloves of garlic and 2 stalks of celery and am happier for it. Also, ignore the directions, cook the meat first, remove it, then add the veggies its much easier.

5. Marquisian Street Meat & Concelatory Couscous: 8.0/10 The marinade is simple enough and makes for a fresh, herby taste on the chops (I used pork chops as opposed to lamb chops because lamb is a bit expensive) grills up quickly and easily. I recommend seasoning the meat though. 8.5/10 Couscous is something I have very little experience with but was very good and simple to make. Great option as either a side or a vegetarian meal.

6. Pocket Chicken Pot Pies: 5.5/10. Fine, nothing special. You can see from the picture that this was not an easy cook for me and I wound up having to make mini pot pies as opposed to the pocket one because I couldnt stretch the dough thin enough. Alot of my issues here were the dough, I think I started with the butter to cold...but like...the chicken soup bit was very good?

7. Bad Aim Chicken: 8.5/10 Really good. Easy enough to make and its really hard to go wrong with grilled chicken or pineapple. I personally didnt save any of the sauce for dipping and just used the entire thing as a marinade and dont think I missed anything. Highly recommend for bbqs.

8. Skaldseat Salmon & Heartmoore Harvest: 10/10 for the fish, flaky, juicy, and really well seasoned. My new way to make salmon just about every time, though I do think you could do it with fewer/no lemons if you wanted. 6/10 for the salad. Its...fine, nothing special, though the potatoes do make it a bit different for me. My biggest issue is it doesnt keep that well.

[illseeyouinidaho]

Learning to talk

How do you begin to write about what it was that we had? What we still have, in another form, its forms perhaps differently perceived, it’s all timing, my parents got that right, I’m re-iterating last night’s conversation, It’s still stuck in my head. They hugged me and told me it was okay, that they understood, that they, in part, agreed. I could say that I realized it all yesterday, but I knew before that, and I knew it all before I met them, that I was never ready, still the wet blanket constricting my chest, still the spits and sputters of an old engine, the mumblings of an old man, frail, and left with half-memories, severed-recollections. I’ve been watching the shadows flicker across my walls to the tune of a single flame, burning on whale blubber, emitting a sweet thickness. They, the flickers, jump and scream and cry and love, they love and love and love. Now, I don’t think I can ever say that it’s the simple things that I cherish. Simple things are comfortable things. And I’d happily forfeit those all.

When you run out of tea bags, and you can’t find the motivation to drink the boiling water on its own, thoughts fill the crevices of which the tea once filled. The pauses in my writing, I would think dully, drink the tea, feel it warm my chest then reside, I would continue. I used to swim with the fishes, and those warm ocean waters are all that I muse on. I chew, and I chew, and the tiredness of digestion makes my eyes sleepy and moist. The subtle pain in my eyes after waking, how I must close them hard to clear the gunk of last night’s deep slumber. Did those same fish appear, in my dreams, whispering old tales?

The other day I held a broken wing in my palm, faint flutters and whimpers along with it. Today I held a phone in my palm, tears, exhales, punches in the gut, a siren. Not all phone calls end with an I Love You, this I know well. What is a boy to do? You spoke of prophecies and old doctrines, scripture, dogma. Of rose thorns, from a tree top, 15 inches of hair in its wake. How does it feel from up there? Do you eat ripe figs? Do you sing soft tones to morning doves and they reply with kisses? Your a jukebox, a warship’s captain, a gas giant.

I sat alone in your apartment after having received its keys from its summer-time inhabitant. From the view from the window: little boxes filled with light, silhouettes dancing, dolled and stringed. Did they see me? Knees tucked into submission on the low sofa, still laughing about the stump and crib. A summer’s past and still canned cherries remain in their container, dried noodles in the cabinet, and kosher salt. When you make your homecoming, you’ll surely forage the remains. “Welcome to UWS - sjc”

When I was with you, I forgot how to speak. Your words hurdled at me like arrows, soaked in perfume and sweet wine. When you were wrong you wouldn’t concede until we were both worn down, breathless, ragged, and at times, left with nothing else but the need to hold each other. Your words were an impenetrable forcefield, they fogged my brain with relentless elegance, a wraparound blue-tinted fortress.

When you loved as hard as I did, there isn’t much to say. And so I sat tight, eyes wandering or either staring at a fixed point, when you ended things for the last time. What could I say? What do you say? I never had any idea. There was only one thing I knew for certain; I loved you so endlessly, so entirely. There was at times nothing else worth knowing, saying.

Sing me to sleep, to death: a fiddles’ choir, a low hum, a droning wind. Mother, I feel the dirt coming over me now. Rust of purple hue—the color of bruised mushroom stems or violet flower seeped in warm milk—covers my chest in a thin film.

Resentment was what I felt at times. Resentment of the rejection, the voice of painful truth, on my shoulder, through it all. You spoke so softly to me, little friend, re-iterating, as she would, that this could never be, that we’re better off elsewhere in both time and love and war. That the timing was never right. That you were not what she truly needed. That you were more in love. Not that you loved more. That you were more, so beautifully, might I add, in love. More attracted, more foolish, less desired. Why did I agree? Why did I not fight it? *

Please don’t try to make sense of it, look back try to tie the ends, fit the pieces, or believe what one would tell their peers about how it ended, how it was, the summary, the practiced dialogue, the kiss of death. Letting it be, letting it all be, is the greatest gift of love that you can show me.

Where cherry flowers once fell, decayed, and returned to the soil, I pick my head up from the grass and in front of me is a small clover patch. It’s the size of my palm and is soaking up sunlight from the opening between the branches of the tree, the tallest of the bunch moving ever so slightly from the breeze. When you see the sunlight disappear, in exchange for a dull shadow, over a patch of earth in which you might reside, do you feel melancholic? Within the same instance of time, the patch of clover floods my brain with serotonin, and then is enveloped in this soft shadowy blanket.

It was yesterday, technically, 12 or 1am, when I sent you a voice memo outside of a Fire Island yacht club, high from shrooms that me and my uncle took. I was absolutely ecstatic after coming to a beautiful epiphany about the absurd microcosm of the universe that I was witnessing. Dancing along with a girl from Australia and her boyfriend, my uncle, and his wife’s sister, or something like that, I started laughing uncontrollably, smiling from cheek to cheek, watching the scene unfolding in front of me. It was just too funny, too amazing, too perfect. I wandered outside to the club’s patio in order to view the scene from the window. It was then that I realized the implications of this hilariousness, and the greater ideas surrounding this feeling. It wasn’t that the scene was hilarious outright, it was that I had no ways to describe the true absurdity of it all, the beauty of it. This was when I decided to pull out my phone and tell you all about what I witnessed. There is no way to truly describe beauty, I said. Beauty is either sad, or hilarious. (I can’t say I agree with this fully now but it was the truth of the universe at the time). When we were together (together generally), I said, there was no need to describe something as it was, and then assure the other of how not to take that description as something else. “This is like this, but not on its surface level this". Of course there was no need, but we did it as a formality, you mostly. This was what I said to you, and I only half-way agree with this. It’s true, that we never needed to clarify what we meant when speaking of others, but when describing our relationship, clarification was absolutely necessary. Clarification was necessary, but rarely taken seriously. You could clarify something that could be taken as something hurtful, but just the fact that it could be taken as hurtful was often times hurtful enough. Or perhaps you had to clarify something that could be taken as too affectionate, or something of the sort, out of fear of its implications, or intolerance of me believing anything other than what our relationship actually was. This fear however was never resolved, no matter what you assured me of. This fear that I was unknowing of how you felt, unaware of our circumstances, was an old relic of a time where I did truly not know how you felt, unaware of our circumstances.

Why did I not fight it?”* This is a question of why I wasn’t confident enough, or why I was too weak to truly try to change your mind about something, make you love me more, like in the movies, or something. I think it started in September of last year, when I started feeling the fear of “disgust.” This fear stemmed from after our first break-up, in that park, on that bench, not too far from where you brought me for our last break-up. If I try too much, love you too much, be too affectionate, or what have you, I would simply push you away, cause you to feel disgusted. This wasn’t totally irrational at the time. It was after three-weeks of when this was probably true, it was a break that toed the line between “everything is going to be okay,” and “I’m going to be broken up with,” the outcome was a toss-up. This also stemmed from the time where we swore to be friends, that it would be better for us, and I believed you. And between that time and including this writing, I am in constant fear that you’ll be disgusted with me. Of course, this is a strong word, and the idea is pretty irrational in general. However it's a feeling that guided me through our time together, and I want to bury it forever.

I’m on a bullet train heading both forward and back in time, watching the colors swarm around me, and letting it leave a soft blanket of red, yellow, and the shade of a bare stone cliff worn by the elements. What’s that feeling you get when viewing the mile long field of small yellow and white flowers on the side of a highway? It’s surely not the same feeling the dark pine trees give you, or the rolling fields of the amish country, long barn, grass fields pregnant with seeds for the next season’s harvest. I ask myself, what is this bitterness? What is this bitterness in a world so ready to hug me and show me love? But it took me 20 years to love you. Am I fully ready to let it?

In this town of 30%-off flower shops, deer crossing signs, and white hippy trash, I wonder what a place like this would give me. My sister left home because she needed to create new memories, new ideas, and new conceptions of the world after her breakup. History repeats itself and is making me ask still, if not me then who, if not now then when? Tight streets, hard turns, yellow street lines, volunteered town libraries. Barns rotting from their foundations; gentrification will probably never reach here. 

Sometimes I can feel the warmth of chest and stomach against the skin above it. Like my organs are working overtime and in turn producing an unexpected heat. Sometimes I roll over in bed and imagine you’re there, in the white ocean, with the fish. The alarm is ringing and I hop out of bed quickly to turn it off and promptly retreat to the warm of the covers; you’re breathing gently. Somedays, like today, I miss everything about you. And days like today I’ll think kindly and with love, of you, and I’ll wish you well, soldier.

In my book of life where do you fit, take residence? I wonder if years from now we’ll give it a try. Or maybe I’ll meet someone who loves me how I need to be loved, like you would say, assuring me that your romantic suggestions had no implications, and me telling you that it’s only you that I want.

My dad says he remembers his first marriage as much as he does a good book. It feels like a dream, he says, something that you read about, or lived through in another life. I told my parents that I’ll marry quick once I’ve found the one, that I’ll know it when I feel it. We’ll see about that in time, I suppose.

We made something to be proud of.

Upward, into the abyss, the blue void, the moon is shining proudly against the sea. From here I can hear the whispers of love’s death and rebirth as street lights emit their florescent hues toward me: dinner tables, a new Danish TV drama. Onward, light speed, you super-sonic engine, roar-on, big beast. From here, memories of you jump out at me like photographs, film projections, morning-light against suspended dust. From here I can already see the cold, the fallen leaves and morning’s branch candied by last night’s icy wind. After it, the winter’s thaw and melt, the feast, the turkey leg’s sweet marrow sucked from its bone. City centers sprawl like a fallen snowflake, a mycelial network, a crushed spider’s sprawling legs, single lane highways like an ant trail, they to the mother hive, with their best offerings.

Tell me ol’ tavern fiddler, will you, of edible arrangements, mood boards, and words that rhyme with happy birthday, babe. Sing a song, good chap, (I’ll pour another), of what it takes to be the man, the top dawg, the big guy. 

So watch me crash down to earth. The LEDs are harsher down here. There are last stops and sore throats, blue seats and blue people doing blue things. They think of their first love, first heartbreak, or first kiss, and imagine what could’ve been, doing one of those frown-smiles. They think of their coworker, the one they want to fuck, or the ones they want to love and be loved by. They’ll dust off their skeletons, scrape the rust from their lips, and kiss the pebbles they skip.

[candy-floss-crazy]

The humble potato. Cultivated in the America's around 10,000 years ago, then brought to Europe in the 16th century by the Spanish. One of the most versatile foods available. Can be served boiled, roasted, mashed, or as is the case here, as French Fries. In these fair isles we more commonly refer to them as chips, rather that the Yankee 'fries'. This evidently dates back to 1769 and actually referred to fruit chips. To further confuse the matter, our American brethren, call crisps, chips. They can be crisp, or soft, indeed the British traditionally eat them soggy with vinegar and wrapped in old newspaper. The Variety Of Potato We Use The idaho Russet Burbank is commonly used by fast food chains. Developed by Luther Burbank, a plant breeder. Initially unpopular, growers cottoned on to the fact that it produced large potatoes that could be marketed as baking potatoes. Then the explosion of fast food chains further increased its use. The Best Fries Are Fried Twice The potato is cut into strips. Traditionally it was peeled first, but now is often enjoyed unpeeled as this retains beneficial vitamins. Soaking in water removes the surface starch. Missing this step will result in a soggy, mushy chip due to the starch blocking the evaporation of moisture from the vegetable. The best results are obtained using the two bath method. First they are blanched by being submerged in hot fat at 160C. Then briefly fried in hotter fat at 190C, to crisp them. They are drained ,salted and served. Vegetable oil is used for frying, though originally beef suet or as one fabulous chip shop in Yorkshire still uses, beef dripping. Indeed if you are ever in the vicinity of Sturgate airfield it is well worth a visit. In fact, you can fly into Sturgate airstrip and visit the chippie. Five Guys just had to be different, they fry theirs in peanut oil. French Fries Might Not Be French The French, Belgians and Spanish all claim the invention of French Fries. Though no one really knows the truth. The French claim is that they originated from street vendors in the vicinity of the Pont Neuf bridge in Paris. The Spanish were the first to bring them into Europe so claim they also invented chips. And the Belgian claim is that they are quite close to France and people confused their invention with a French one. In fact, they are so upset by France claiming them, that they have petitioned UNESCO to claim official heritage status for 'their' dish of fries and mayo. French Flag Thomas Jefferson Introduced Them To America President Jefferson worked abroad as American Minister to France. Whilst their he sampled the delights of the culinary masterpiece. When he returned home and became President, his chef James Hemings continued to cook them for him. A Typical American Eats 30 Pounds A Year In Fries Think about that. That's the weight of a small child. Your gonna need a hell of a lot of ketchup to go with that. Look guys we all love fries, but 30lb seriously? Charles Dickens Wrote About Fries Yup, one of history's most celebrated authors actually alluded to fries in his novel, 'A Tale Of Two Cities'. He called them husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil. TBF he also wrote about dozens of breakfast foods, dinners and pints of beer. Turns out he was a bit of a foodie at heart. Fries Are Little Kids Favourite Vegetables. A study by the Journal of Nutrition found they were the most commonly consumed vegetable for young children. A published study by the way. I mean, you needed to waste ink and paper to discover this, come on guys. A Sunderland fan who wasn't in possession of the communal brain cell could have told you this without wasting energy on research. Kid Eating Fries They Are Actually Healthier Than You Think No, we aren't saying they are healthy compared to say a salad or something. But being a potato, they actually include vitamins B6,C, magnesium and iron. So they do have some nutritional benefits. Congress Changed The Name To Freedom Fries. When the operation to invade Iraq was being planned. France refused to join in. Probably on account of not being allowed to be in charge. Jed Babbin, a former deputy undersecretary of defense stated that going to war without the French, would be like going hunting without an accordian. You are just leaving a lot of noisy useless baggage behind! To further underscore their displeasure. Congress changed the name on their in house menu's to freedom fries, and dropped the French from the name. They would have liked to have rolled this change out across the States, but as the war fell out of favour, so did the name. It was quietly changed back in 2006. Freedom Fries Burn Those Calories Baby A medium portion of McDonalds French fries would require 47 minutes of high impact aerobics or 58 minutes of cycling to burn off. One 'professor' suggested that a proper portion of fries should be around six. Really, just six fries, just goes to prove what planet professors are living on. For the 224 calories you are consuming you could also have 1.4kg of celery, 385g of apples, 588g of broccoli, 102g of canned tuna or 3 boiled eggs or a 51g piece of cheese. Nah, we'll stick with the fries. Thick Or Thin Traditional British 'chips' or what some called steak cut fries are actually a healthier option compared to the skinny fries typical of a fast food joint. The greater the surface area of a chip, the more oil is absorbed. So weight for weight, skinny fries have much greater surface area, therefore they will be higher in calories and fat. Fries Aren't Just Fries There are actually something like about 18 different types of fries. From the thick cut steak chips, to curly fries, tornado fries, waffle fries and more. Some People Put Sugar On Their Fries Different nationalities eat their fries in different ways. In Vietnam they sprinkle them with sugar. The Belgians and Dutch slather mayo on. Americans love their Ketchup. The South Korean's add honey and butter (really). Personally we think nothing beats good old salt and vinegar. Fries Have Been Tested For Use In Space E.S.A., the European Space Agency teamed up with Greek researchers to test making fries in a centrifuge. What they discovered was that as gravity increases, the fries get crisper. In fact perfect fries would need gravity three times that of Earth. Sadly the microgravity found in space means they would be a soggy mess, so no fries on that trip to Mars unfortunately. If you are planning an event, we can offer you both French fries, and dirty fries. Or even spiral fries. Resources; Freedom Fries https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freedom_fries Fries In Space https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20131219-can-astronauts-cook-fries Read the full article