#i used to think the cover was a really dense ice cube

[felismors]

DRAKEVEMBER PART 4: A largely uninterested review of What A Time To Be Alive by Drake and Future.

via rateyourmusic

Nothing particularly remarkable on any side. Future is largely uninteresting to me in most contexts, and putting him next to Drake doesn't really do anything for me. It's like mixing two differently flavored seltzer waters and ending up with one still very diluted flavor.

There are moments on this album where Drake tries to sound aggro as to not sound like a total bitch in front of Future, and he just absolutely does not pull it off. It's hilarious. Big Rings is hilarious.

Aside from the usual experience of second hand embarrassment when Drake tries to get some street cred from a rapper seen as more "hardcore," this album is mostly unremarkable. I wrote in my notes that I thought some of the beats were cool, but I absolutely cannot recall what they sound like, so clearly they weren't interesting enough to linger.

The best thing I got from this album was the moment when I heard the lyric "I wake up on a daily basis..." and laughed so hard that a few people on the subway cart I was standing in were looking at me. Thanks, Future.

SCORE: 2.5/5

listen on spotify

[ficsnroses]

—𝑨𝒏 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆. 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

summary : you sell your virginity to John Wick.

warnings : smut, consensual sex. oral sex. x f! reader. 5.5k.

notes : hope ya like it! I’m hoping to actually maybe make a part two. I think it would be nice to explore how this turns out for them. please leave feedback! I’m a little nervous about this one, feedback would be so so appreciated. enjoy! xx

John Wick is a man of focus; little diversions that fray from his work were often absent of his mind. It’s been years since his semblance of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel had gave out on him, and he’d been dragged back into the world of gruesome sin for good.

Bound, serving under the table. A life liberate of vice was something John had stopped dreaming of long ago.

Work had been all that engrossed John, absorbed each inch of energy his battered bones could muster up for far too long. To be working, meant to be seldom alone. Being alone, translated to being unaccompanied, with himself. Listening to the weary, dark loomed thoughts that crawled in the crevices of his mind.  

A crisp pour of amber bourbon sloshes into the clear crystal glass; a lone cube of sparkler ice accompanies the liquor John would soon shoot. Something that burns, something that might ease the part of him that thinks, ponders, wonders if this was alright.

      Is what he’s doing, really, alright?

He stands, leaning on the high raised counter of the bar equipped in his hotel room. The crème walls of the Continental held many secrets, secured home to the worst of folk he’d had the ill-fate of dwelling among.

The men in here were awful. Cold, indifferent, chilled blood coursing wicked veins; John knew well of the evil that rummages within the corridors of this so called, safe haven.

Anyone else would destroy her.

Could ruin her.

John wouldn’t do that. Something separates John from the bulk of the crowds, something that differs him from the norm. John would on no occasion hurt an innocent being. John wouldn’t rip her to shreds. John would treat her as human; something people often forgot that John too, is.

Temporary relief, relaxation, substance; he’d vexed them all. Often, after a job well complete, he’d find himself in dire need of long repose; a minute to rest his somnolent composure. A moment to recharge, before he’d be forced to do it all over. Human contact, connection, was something he’d scarcely recalled.

A Bourbon would often have to do, the familiar scald down the cascade of his throat the only comfort he’d been accustomed to as of late. Yet recent, he’d been craving more. He’d been yearning for something more; something physical to satiate relief.

A heavy inhale floods his lungs, a lone hand held to his drink as his other toys with the collar of his brittle white dress shirt. Her eyes stayed on him, drinking in each of his features, desperate to understand how he’d be. John Wick is a man of few words, a stoic nature barely illuminating enough light to read.

He turns, the crystal glass set down on the hotel room table as he turns to her, on his bed, her legs crossed closed, silent. Like a lover, the silk of her short black dress seduces each curve of her devourable body, thin straps kissed to her satin shoulders, her silken skin gleaming under the hotel room lights. His voice is deep, ravishingly rich, throaty with gruff as it protrudes her ears. “You’ve never done this before?” He confirms, walking closer to her delicate frame, watching her equally unreadable expression.

When he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d found himself unable to look away. Captivatingly beautiful, enough to make any man week in his knees. John wasn’t one to fantasize, to want a woman, let alone offer a second look.

Yet seeing her, he’d downed in the enchant of her beautiful features; and the best part of all,

She was selling. She’d been looking to give herself to the highest bidder.

John Wick had found himself at the right place, at the right time. An impulsive buy, one might say. But he couldn’t leave her. Not only did his body yearn for someone, something to channel his deep need into, he also knew. She was far too precious, pure; whatever circumstances had brought her to do such a thing, he wouldn’t ask.

He’d buy her. And he’d use her service.

He needed it. Sex hungry, his body longs for someone real to take care of him.

Her eyes are soft, lips stained a rosy shade of mauve as she makes direct eye contact. Blushy cheeks, soft, shining hair flutters gentle in free air as she shakes her head ‘no’.

She’d never been with anyone before. She was pure. Untouched.

With a down of the final few drops of drink in his glass, John’s shirt unbuttons, peeled off his torso in a swift motion, revealing beautifully toned, bulked muscles; rosy skin, a broad back, tattooed with bold ink on display. John must have been 20 years her senior, yet his shape proved peak. Firm biceps, defined torso, beautifully groomed, lengthy chocolate locks only adding to his splendour.

She’d expected to be bought by some middle aged, unattractive man looking to be with anyone other than his wife. John was far from that. She didn’t know if he’d seen seeing anyone else, if he was married, taken.

Not that it was any of her business.

She watches his hands move to fondle a heavy worn belt, working the buckle as it comes off his dark slacks.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do.”

John’s rich voice surges through her ears, his question falling his thin taut lips as more of a statement, an establishment of boundaries.

She didn’t think she’d get that choice. She’d expected to be used however her buyer pleased.

With a gentle clear of throat, she nods her head no, gazing out the window of the high story hotel suite. Busy New York city life buzzes below, the nightlife pulsing through the city heart. Endless opportunity. Endless chance.

John’s belt thuds to the marble floor with a heavy clink, his body inching closer, hand dangerously close to her feeble frame as he asks, the question sending shivers down her spine. “Can I undress you?”

The question came with surprise. Part of her thanked the universe for delivering her to John, of all men. He’d been hard to read, reserved, but he hadn’t done what she’d prepared herself for immense. Although she knew, her body was merely a vessel for him to use, to get what he wanted, he hadn’t treated her as such. Hadn’t treated her as she’d gave up her right to respect when she’d bartered her purity.

When Y/N nodded, John moves in closer, placing his dense frame beside hers as he begins, unravelling her as if a present. Yearning, wondering of what held underneath the rippling drapes of the sleek fabric, his eyes gloss over her skin, thick fingers removing the straps of her dress, before reaching behind her to unzip the seams of her wear. Diminishing to her mid, her modesty falls perfectly plump on her chest, embellished in expensive lace. The swell of her chest leaves him feel the weight in his pants to harden, the sight of her cleavage, pursing together with hardened nipples. Unclasping the dainty hooks that shield her breasts from his prying gaze, John allows the thin textile to fall off, exposing her beautiful femininity; her breathtaking curves, soft, supple skin tender to the touch. His hands can’t seem to resist, callous palms moving in to roam the exquisiteness, thumbs swirling her tender nipples as he sighs, drinking her in.

“Stand up.” John’s voice demands, his own form staying placed at the foot of the bed as he instructs. Doing as told, she feels his warm hands tug at the seams of her dress, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet, leaving behind nothing but her lacy underwear covering what no one had indulged in before. Paired with pencil black heels, John takes a moment to devour the look of her stood in front of him; bare, voluptuous, almost entirely nude, causing a tent to rise in his pants. Without time to waste, his fingers intrude the skimpy cloth, gentle peeling her panties down, revealing all of her, solely, exclusively for his taking.

Had this not been an exchange where John owned her, he might have just fell prisoner to her mercy. Y/N was a beauty he’d never seen, mirroring a sex siren in her own right. The dips and curves of her frame mesmerise him, a gulp swallowed down his tight throat, a hefty palm unknowingly moving to palm his swollen cock through the fabric of his slacks. She bites her lip, vulnerable, never have being shown to anyone this way before.

John was the first to see her in all her glory, she finds herself moving shy hands to cover her form, nervous to the way he scans each inch of her body, as if memorizing it, keeping the sight locked away, stored within his gaze forever. “Gorgeous…” John’s voice whispers a gruff, two of his sturdy fingers moving to slick through her folds, palming her pussy as shivers tingle down her spine. She’d been trying her best to stay calm, to allow John to do as he pleased.

Right now, in this moment, her body rightfully belonged to him. He was permitted to do whatever he sought.

“I want you on your knees.” John explains firmly, connecting his bold gaze to hers and she nods, falling in front of his form sat on the silky sheets. Without a moment to waste, his hands trail down his zipper, throwing the expensively stitched slacks off his thighs to the floor, left in nothing but a pair of thin boxers. In a swift moment, his stocky fingers dip into the opening, allowing a hardened shaft to fall out in his grip, full, bursting balls to accompany.

She’d seen a man’s cock before; but John, John’s member was a sight to be seen. She swallows, intrigued by the grandeur, the rosy tip swollen, the thick veins that run up his length, a slight curve to its form. He offers himself a few measly tugs, dark eyes connecting to hers once again. “Do you want a safe word?”

A safe word. Perhaps if a word; a small, paltry word could save her from nonetheless being in this situation, she would have used it.

“No.” Her voice falls quiet, eyes diverted to the crème marble below. “If its too much, I’ll tell.” In the dim light of the room, a channel glow casts to her exposed skin; velvet and soft, making the plump of her mauve stained lips rouse John’s needy cock in desperate anticipation.

Without hesitation, John’s lust falls deeper, his throat tight, breath heavy.

Being with a woman, was something John felt had last happened centuries ago. Seeing her, stripped, uncovered, on her knees, keenly awaiting to be wrapped around his length; a fire burns in his belly. A hunger that rumbles across the surface, desperately ready to chase sweet, sweet relief, from her.

“Here,” John encourages, taking hold of his base with a loose grip. With his spare palm, his fingers thread into the locks of her hair, gently pulling her mouth closer. Slowly, firmly, his palm glides over the bottom of his shaft, beads of glossy pre cum quivering out the pink tip as he speaks. “Put those pretty lips on me.” Obliging, she nods, positioned between John’s thighs, nervous to the core.

She’d seen videos, heard people talk. But she’d never taken a man into her mouth before.

John would be the first, to feel her in every sinning way he pleased.

“Fuck,” John sighs through gritted teeth, feeling the warm haven of her lips circle around the thickness of his tip. Tightening on her tresses, his hand falls from his base, cupping hers in a gentle hold, before guiding it to replace his own. “Use your hands on what you can’t fit.” He instructs, walnut eyes darker, yet held with a certain sympathy.

A tenderness; mortality. “Move, baby.” John manages, eyes fluttering shut as his senses indulge, the feel of her tongue gently, kindly swirling his shaft take over. Gradually, his hand, laced within the locks of her hair guides her further down the bulk of his cock, forcing her to take a little more with each eager bob.

“Hallow your cheeks, darling.” John watches her intent, in awe with the way she learns so quick. “Eyes on me,” Practically sputtering into a pool of bliss, John’s deep baritoned words sear through her veins.

“Tighter.

Deeper.”

Drawn into his, her eyes pierce into his own earthy orbs, unknown to the throb of arousal growing in her core; John bought her for the evening. Was it sick of her to be…fascinated by him?

His room is simple. A suit jacket rests to the arm chair on the right, a barely touched bar of liquor to accompany. Little of him can be told from the depths of this room, perhaps he wasn’t here too often.

The folk of the Continental were scarce when not at work, leaving little trace of who they really were behind. She’d heard whispers of a man they called John Wick, she hadn’t been entirely unfamiliar to the dread he’d upheld within the sanctioned walls. Wick was a name that held fear to the tips of even the worst of sinner’s tongues; yet she finds herself far from. She wasn’t fearful of John Wick. She wasn’t scared of what he’d do.

As John urges her further, a choked gap emits her throat, eyes filling with a char of hot tears with his cock still shoved inside her mouth. Collecting herself, she keeps him inside, albeit, allowing some of him to fall out. “You’re alright.” John soothes, wiping escaped tears with his callous thumb. “You’re doing well.” With a nod, her movements commence, eager to find her pace again, free hands massaging his thick balls and veiny shaft that couldn’t accommodate in her mouth.

The sound of hallow gags and a mouth full of cock echo the room, throaty slickness and gasp for breath, John harshly praising her with a guide of pace. “Perfect. Fucking perfect.” A firm hand follows suit to her bare breast, palming, kneading the fleshy skin as her mouth words wonders on his sensitive skin. Without much notice, John’s eager hips buck impatiently into her mouth, so nonchalantly, a test of waters if you may.  

If he had it his way, he would fuck her tiny mouth senselessly right then and there. Have her throat bruising, aching for days in his aftermath.

But John Wick isn’t a monster. John isn’t selfish.

Each time she comes down, slowly, cautiously, his swollen tip hits the back of her throat, threatening to venture further with each throb John’s bulge radiates inside. With his hips thrusting into her mouth lightly, John’s jaw tightens, goosebumps peppering his ink adorned skin. With his pace fastening, his primal desires barely cease; barely offer mercy when he pulls her head closer, wrapping his palms firmly to her head as he moves her head on his cock hastier, stiff, needier, causing srteams of sweltering tears to flow her soft cheeks as she tries her best to hold in her gags. Dangerously close to release, her head yankers back in John’s grip; strings of saliva webbing off her lips, connected to his tender shaft, allowing the bulk of his member to fall out, still erect to an intimidatingly large size.

He could have done with just her sinfully tight mouth; yet he wouldn’t. Tonight, he’d cum inside her. Tonight, he’d have something other than the lonesome grip of his sloppy hand for company; to extinguish that rummaging burn.

With a rise off the bed, John offers her a larger hand, eyes interlocked as she accepts, rising off the ground. His gravelly voice is low, Y/N’s unchecked tears and swollen lips leaving her a beautiful mess as John’s inquisitive gaze washes over her. What comes next, causes her breath to hitch; her insides searing, arousal growing wetter by the second.

With his rock hard cock digging into the skin of her stomach, she finds her self locked lips with John, who’s taken her in a sweet kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. The kiss personifies appetite, thirst, all things John craved in the moment. With his hand taking hers, deliberate movements guide her to the tall side of the bed, silky sheets and cotton pillows awaiting her arrival. His skin smells of cologne, something expensive, something sauvage. The taste of his heavy liquored tongue meddles with hers before letting go, lustful eyes encouraging her to lay down in the ripple of sheets. With his cock firm in his hand, he continues to offer himself a couple of strokes, a spare hand intruding into the hard oak nightstand to the side.

“Are you taking anything?” His voice flows through the room, heavy, shallow, adding clarification when her brows furrow. “For protection.”

Fiddling with her growing nervous fingers, she tenses, suddenly urged with the realization of what would come next. This was happening.

This was

  really

     happening.

John was going to fuck her. John, soon, would take that piece of her. This beautiful stranger, mysterious, yet intriguing, would make a part of her belong to him

     forever.

“No sir.” She answers, eyes downcast, unsure of where to look as he preps himself. Fishing out a condom from the side drawer, the silver lining falls discarded somewhere on the marble floor along with the shambles of their clothes, mindlessly placed. “Lay down.” John tells, dimming the lights further, the curtains closed shut as night falls over the shadowy New York city horizon. She does as told, awaiting his body to accompany.

Her eyes find his back once again, watching delicate, cryptic ink that coats his broad skin in curiosity. A seemingly cross centers in the middle, an arrangement of words unknown to her cognizance bedecked along. As he finds himself crawling a top her sprawled figure, his hands guide her legs open further, hand palming her mound as she bites her lip. Slow, steady, he guides in the stock of two fingers, sensually slow, preparing her pretty cunt for his taking.

Coated with her silky arousal, his fingers gleam, a creamy mixture of her gloss glazed over his hand. Punctuated by her tender, soft, barely audible whimpers, a light chuckle emits John’s throat. “You don’t have to stay quiet.” He clears, fingers pumping slightly faster now, expertly judging her expressions. “Ever done this before?”

Y/N was a virgin; but no saint by any means. She’d touched herself before, even brought herself to orgasm on occasion. With a shy nod, she answers, punctuated by her own barely held together, soft moans to the feel of John’s much thicker fingers pulsing in and out of her. With the pad of his thumb, he works her clit, his hand arranging a beautiful symphony begging to fall off her lips.

The feel of John’s touch was nothing like her own, paired with the weight of his body on hers. As if habitually, her back arches, her toes curl, a whimper secreted when he draws his fingers out. With his heavy cock in hand, John lines himself up with her entrance, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside; to feel what she had to offer. With his enlarged tip rubbing over her clit, his voice registers barely in her ears, lost in the feel of him on her.

“Tell me to stop.” His gravelly voice reminds, assertion heavy on his tongue.

John was proving awfully hard to read. She appreciates the respect; the boundaries he was willing to set for her. She’d sworn, she could see a light of humility in him, contrasted, laced with dark need. If he wanted, she knew he could ruin her.

Without much warning, she feels his tip impend into her walls, sinking slow, stretched by his weight, her eyes widening noticeably when John’s girth pushes into her, cock widening her immensely.

She knew John’s member would be far larger than the feel of anything she’d felt before; yet perhaps she’d underestimated just how much larger it would feel. Plunging in further, a tight moan escapes John’s lips, drowning in further, slower, steadier, until he’s reached her end. Hissing at her tightness, he feels her clench around him, a breathy gasp of her own fleeing, nails sinking into the sheets in a fitted clasp.

Had the circumstances been different, he’d have asked her to hold onto him instead; maybe even let her burry her face in his neck as he works her body whole.

But that wasn’t what this was. This was merely an exchange. An agreement for him to get exactly what he needed;

       mind blowing sex.

All John needed right now, was a rough, and good fuck to hold him over.

He stays still for a moment, feeling her cunt pulse around him, and her eyes shut tight, breathing measured as she relishes in the feel of him full, nestled inside her wet haven, before placing both sturdy hands on her hips in a strong hold. Rapt with desire, John’s primal instincts kick in, the feel of her welcoming pussy so perfectly mould to his cock; he’d sworn or a moment that she was perfectly, exclusively crafted just for him to fuck. With his hips picking up pace, John sucks in a sharp breath, a groan of pleasure to the way her heavenly walls tighten around him, tight, blissfully gratifying.

She can’t help but gasp, searing tears returning once again to the ungodly stretch. John burns inside, allowing her minimal time to adjust. His hips buck into hers, gradually picking up pace as he thrust deeper, harder, conjuring up an almost selfish pace.

She’d never felt anything like this before. The pain, the pleasure. The sinful pleasure of him practically splitting her inch by inch. His cock glides in and out her constricted entrance, and she practically whimpers; unsure of whether the moans signified pain, or immense pleasure.

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His aggressive roll of hips only quickens, faster and faster until Y/N’s moans caged no more. Her lips longed to moan his name, scarcely able to keep her eyes open to see the way he pants above her figure.

With her breasts bouncing vigorously to his pace, John’s want only cultivates further. Watching his cock glide in and out of her sends him in a frenzy, the way she violently jerks with each movement, the sound of his balls smacking against her sweltering core give life to a filthy symphony of her stifled yelps and moans, blended religiously with his growls and throaty gruffs.

His eyes roll shut and he bites his lip, the sounds of her wetness bobbing him fill the room to his violent labour of hips, each time he sinks in and out. His cock glistens with her honeyed dew, her hand reverting over her mouth to confine a loud moan threatening to surface. Whimpering, she bites her arm in complete ecstasy, the feel of John throbbing, completely filling her whole becoming much.

John had been practically pounding her, minutes in. The feeling of having someone to spend the night with, left him far more aroused than he’d initially planned. Her legs tremble, gazing down to observe the way his load exits her cunt fully before slamming back in repeatedly, over, and over, and over, erratic imperative. With every nerve in her body threatening to snap, she relishes a moment to feel John inside.

John’s thickness is something she doesn’t think she’ll be able to forget. Each nerve, each throbbing vein, that curve of his shaft she witnessed earlier; his thrusts become urgent, cock twitching within, grinding vigorously to her g spot as his breathe lays hot, close to her skin. Ridged and rough, his fingers threaten to leave purple bruises peppering into her hips, his hold of her body immensely stiff, as if fearful of her disappearing. The bed below creeks, headboard assaulting the walls with profound hits to his demanding haste; she’s already sore from his massive size, and he hasn’t even finished yet.

“Fuck...you feel,” John’s deep voice, sultry and stiff surges her ears, rich as butter. “You feel fucking amazing, tighten up for me, darling.” He instructs, wanting to feel her milk his cock. She follows as told, squeezing her walls around him, squirming, wailing underneath his form. He pushes as much of himself in as possible and she screams, feeling a cocktail of their fusing released drip down her thighs. John looks delectable this way; beads of exertion peppered to his forehead, muscled skin sticking to hers, the smell of sex prominent around them as he continues pumping her relentlessly, senselessly. To a particularly rough thrust, her toes curl, arms coming around his shoulders to hold on dearly, tightly as he continues his rummage into her body. She holds tight, fingernails digging into his skin as grunts and ear-splitting moans intrude the atmosphere.

John is fucking her so well, so intense, that tears fall still, the raunchy sounds of skin slapping skin, enticing whispers of praise off his lips for her body only pushing her further. John feels his release close, lost in the tender haven she’d given him to spoil in, and he shudders; shivering, buried deep, deep inside her, the sounds of her wetness slicking his member echoing the walls. Within a few particularly lewd, unaltered thrusts, she screams his name, gasping, holding onto his biceps lifelessly as he quickens his pace, his own release not far behind.

He slams, harder, and harder, channeling an animalistic pace to her core, a rhythm of lust drunk pleasure imploring each inch of his body as he still deep, deep inside her pussy, spurting thick streams of sticky, glossing white cum into the dainty condom he’d worn. He stills for a moment, neither of them speaking; heaving sighs and rapid breaths as they come down from their highs, her limbs still securely wrapped around his frame. A joint euphoria; a paradise they’d created together. A creamy mixture of their releases drips to the satin sheets below, although John ceases to care.

Right now, in this moment, he finds himself truly, wholly

relieved.

He’d gone so long, so distant without sex. Without human touch, connection. With his cock still sheathed inside her warm harbour, he sighs, relishing even in the feel of her holding him.

And a moment passes, then another; and another. With his weight rested on shaky palms to the bed sheets on either side of her, John sighs, panting, watching the way she swallows a lump in her throat; beads of vapour dotted to her glistening skin.

Gorgeous, he thinks.

She’s got those pretty eyes, satin skin. She felt surreal. He’d seen the stars buried inside her.

Slow and steady, John moves, allowing his flaccid member to slip out her warm hold. The sun has fully set, and the moonlight barely filters in through the slits of opaque curtains. With a towel retrieved, one he’d set aside prior to their session beside the bedframe, he finds place back, next to her worn out frame.

John had fucked her so good, so hard, she’d worn her legs may just give out in any attempt of rising on her feet. Relishing, sunken into the mattress as she watches him move calm, collected, the feel of John cleaning what he’s left behind off her womanhood causes the softest of blush to intrude, peppering her skin. With the condom discard, John’s hoarse voice rasps, breaking the still of long endured silence. “You’re alright?” He probes, watching the way she sits up on the bed, the threads of the duvet he’d spent countless nights burrowed in alone fixed in her grip, pulling it over her bare breasts, covering herself from his chocolate gaze.

She’s shyer now than before, after sex bliss stippled over her skin, her pussy sore from the action. The emptiness John had left ached. She’d be reminded of the mysterious man with painted skin for days;

prompted by what story his back really told.

What intrigued her so much, about the man who’d taken her in the filthiest of ways.

“Did I hurt you?” He inquires, and she’d sworn the way he looks at her…the way his eyes glaze over her features, as if watching so intently her every move, a symphony flows inside her, coursing that acquainted boil in her stomach. Nodding her head, no, she watches him pull on a pair of long forgotten boxers, opting himself a seat to the edge of the bed as she stays put. Despite having just had had sex with him, she finds herself nervous to be exposed to his eyes again; a dire side effect of the toll his handsomeness had truly taken on her.

She finds herself, tense. Intimidated by his grandeur.

A story writes itself, a tale that brews in the depth of their minds. Racing a mile a minute, he’d known. And perhaps she had too; that the sex had been far too good.

Dangerously good.

The words brew on the tip of his tongue, yet he finds himself cautious of their release. Would he be awful for thinking these thoughts? Was he soiling her, tainting her for his selfish needs, thinking of the dirtiest fate he could try her; propose to her before she’d be gone.

A fuck this good doesn’t come easy, and John wasn’t looking for romance. Love was something he’d forgotten a long time ago, wasn’t sure he’d been worthy of such a thing.

      ;yet he’d found her. Someone who could take care of his physical needs; someone he could use for that intimacy he too, direly needed. Had lacked for years, finally tasting it, within her.

The way she felt was something John would find himself struggling to forget. The warm, wet, deliciously slick feel of her welcoming cunt; John hadn’t had someone as good as her. She’d ruined it for him. Nothing had compared. No one had taken care of his cock the way she’d done in a meagre 30 minutes.

He’d request. He’d propose. He’d bargain her an even exchange.

With a gruff crisp in his throat, his guttural voice catches her by surprise. Under the duvet, her naked skin flushes to a warm, temperate ease. Fulfilled, relaxed, riding high on sex satisfied clouds, tingles still felt within each snapping nerve of her skin. His tone is calm, collected; upheld with dominance.

She delighted in his dominance. “I want to offer you.” He begins, a hand placed on his bare thigh. “A contract. For your services.”

Services. Bold of him to assume, this was something she’d planned on doing for more men. “An offer…?” Her tongue seeps, the words a quiet, barrel mumble to his proposition. In the barely lit room, her inquisitive eyes glow; a familiar glow to the way they’d shone, glossy. When his cock had been rammed deep down her tight throat.

“A contract.” He repeats, professionally. “I want you. Again.” His tone finds a quiver building within her core, her thighs longing to be wrapped around his waist, the way they dripped control, power. “I’ll pay you, generously.” He nods, eyebrows raised, a gaze to her smaller body buried in his sheets. “But when I need you, you come. No questions, no excuses.” He adds, studying her form, the way her brows furrow, lost in the aftermath of his words.

“You’ll be mine to use. For the duration of the contract.”

His. She could be

his.

Racing a mile, a minute, her thoughts haze, the rush of adrenaline, the weight of his proposition thick in a fog on her brain. Her senses tense, her thoughts freeze. The sight of him catches her lost.

His. To belong to the man, with the muscled back and bold tinted ink. The man who’d fucked her pornographically. Her cluster of deliberations interrupts with his thick voice, velvety, rich. “I’ll let you sit on it.” He offers, standing, the crisp white dress shirt he’d peeled off his frame earlier back in his sturdy grip as he drapes it on. “I need to take care of some business with the manager. I’ll be back within the hour.” Buttoning the top, coffee hued locks curtain his face, his perfectly groomed beard in perfect contrast with the lighter fabric; the bulge of his toned arms protruding at the textile. “And when I’m back,

      I’ll be expecting another round.

Have yourself ready, please.”

And with those piercing words, he dresses himself, leaving her bare, exposed, in his bed.

A promise to come back for more left behind.

A demand, for more when he’d be back.

John wasn’t looking for love. John made it clear. This was physical. Something to quench his every longing need.

The ring of the door shut, the buzzing New York traffic below. She sits, decision tense on her mind.

        John Wick, was her first.

        And he, wanted her to be his last.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

part 2 

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[nad-zeta]

Mitsuhide- Mealtime Mayhem

Fandom: Ikesen

Pairings: Mitsuhide x Reader

Genre: Fluffffff

Words: 1700+

Comments: Eeeeep HAPPY BIRTHDAY MINEKO!!!! Whooop Whooop! //dances around ❤❤Hope you have the best day! ❤😳🥺! 🥺😳❤🌈 @mineko811

.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ

You reached for the doorknob of your shared apartment, key turning slowly as you went to step inside. Feet aching after the long day at work, you passed through the doorway, excited to greet your lover but instead being met with a puff of white smoke. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as a cough ripped through your chest. You dared to trudge deeper into the apartment, kicking your heels off and leaving the door ajar— in hopes that the smoke would disperse to hopefully at least restore some of your vision.

You felt around the room blindly, cautiously walking to avoid stubbing your unsuspecting toes against any chair legs or counter corners.

You spotted him there— amid the smoke— white hair blending in all so perfectly. That dense mist-like smoke creating an eerie feel of mystery and danger, perfect to disguise the mischievous fox within. You couldn’t help but think it suited him.

You sauntered up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing up onto the very top of your tippy toes to peek over his shoulder to see the absolute disaster he was creating. “Whatcha making there love?” you asked curiously, giving him a loving peck on the cheek.

Mitsuhide turned around, a snakelike smile plastered across his features as if there was nothing out of the ordinary— as if he wasn’t there setting your house on fire with his culinary train smash.

He expertly evaded the question— master of avoidance and deception— or so he liked to claim—standing in front of the smoking mess, to shield it from your prying eyes. “Welcome home, my dearest mouse,” he beamed, holding your cheeks hostage between his hands to keep your eyes focused solely on him.

To humour him or not to humour him, that is the question?

Making your choice, you ducked down around him, shaking your head at the scene in front of you. “What in the world? Are you trying to imitate your latest investigation?” you teased, shooting him a playful little grin over your shoulder.

“It’s nothing to be concerned with, my dearest; now pray tell how your day has been,” he hummed out, trying once more to distract you with hands falling onto your hips, nuzzling his nose against you lovingly.

“My day,” you started, sparing the dodgy pan a final glance before turning to shrug off your coat as you took up residence atop a nearby kitchen counter. “ Was busy as usual, nothing to write home about,” you reported nonchalantly.

It was a long and tedious day, filled with the usual work, politics and chaos, certainly not the most ideal way you wanted to spend your birthday. On the contrary, you wanted nothing more than to spend your birthday at home, with Mitsu. Guilt tugged at your heart when you thought back to the morning— being greeted with soft cuddles and golden eyes filled with a dazzling glint of excitement at the prospect of a day off. He rarely got time off, and your heart sank even further, knowing the amount of effort and strings that needed to be pulled to allow it. Yet alas, the universe had different plans for you, as shortly after hearing out all the thrilling plans he had made, you had gotten a call summoning you into work.

“Whiskey?” you sighed out, breaking the comfortable silence that fell between the two of you. Without waiting for an answer, you reach across the counter to take hold of the whiskey bottle and two glasses. You poured the golden liquid into the glasses, adding a few ice cubes before holding one out towards Mitsuhide.

“My, are you certain you would not like to write home about your day? The stiff drink certainly is telling, mouse”, he teased with amusement and hints of concern, swishing the knife in the air casually before cutting up some onions and throwing it with the unidentified contents of the still smoking pan.

“Would you write back if I do,” you met his tease with a tired smile, handing him his drink and clicking your glass with his.

Mitsuhide simply shook his head, chuckling while taking a sip of the golden rye. “If your heart desires it, little one, now wash up. Dinner shall be ready momentarily,” he nodded, turning back the pan and adding some water from the kettle with brows furrowed in concentration, causing even more smoke to rise up.

You hummed contently, hopping off the counter, changing from your work clothes into your PJs— not wanting to linger too long; after all, you did want a kitchen to come back to. You crossed the threshold of the dining room only to see Mitsuhide set out two bowls onto the dining table with a proud smirk plastered across his face.

You swallowed, preparing yourself for the horror that was the meal you were to eat. Making your way closer, you inspected the bowl of goo with wide eyes. “So what do we have on the menu tonight chef,“ you asked, slipping into your seat—hoping to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Mitsuhide shrugged and booped your nose in response, ���just a simple meal made with love.”

You hummed, picking up a fork —ooh, you could not bring it over your heart to take a bite— so instead, you just moved the food around in the bowl like a fussy child at dinner time.

“Gracious, you’re not even touching your food, my love. Here, shall I help you.”

He scooped up a healthy helping of the sludge-like substance onto a spoon and held it out for you to taste. Your lips pursed, eyes narrowing at its contents. What in the 7 hells was this supposed to be? He brought the spoon closer to your lips, leaning forward to rest his chin on his other hand.

“Come now, little one, how are you to grow into a mighty mouse if you don’t eat the special birthday meal your husband lovingly prepared for you, hmm."

“I don’t think I will grow at all if I eat that; if anything, I think death will be imminent,” you quipped back.

“My my, how you wound me so, if you keep rejecting me, I may very well just burst into tears,” Mitsuhide sighed out dramatically, bringing his hand over his heart in mock hurt— yet the way his golden eyes shone told you he was anything but hurt.

“Fine! Fine!” you finally huffed out, turning your face back, wrapping your hand around his to bring the spoon to your mouth. Only a little taste, you thought with a gulp. You stopped short of your lips, praying to any and every god that you would be spared from the horrors of food poisoning.

Oh, how he tried, it warmed your heart, really it did, but the culinary genius inside you was screaming. Finally, you closed your lips around the spoon, letting the flavours coat your tongue; whatever it was, it was beyond fixing, so much so that you could almost hear Gordon Ramsay’s comments of the meal echoing in your head. Of course, the texture would be fine, Mitsuhide could execute that part well enough, but the taste, GOD, the flavour was a dead giveaway of a certain someone’s taste or rather lack thereof.

You swallowed the contents, trying to school your features into a carefree smile, only the delicate muscles of your face had not gotten the memo, instead pulling into a sour, scrunched up expression. “Mmm, this is great,” you managed to get out, sounding far less sincere than you had meant it to.

Mitsuhide, on the other hand, burst into a fit of cackling laughter. You realized then, you had been played. The cackling continued even after you narrowed your eyes, sending him an icy glare,” oh dearest, this is precisely why I love teasing you so.”

You crossed your arms and turned your face away with a ‘Hmpf.’

He tried to get your attention, but each time you turned away with a huff. “Has a cat caught my darling wife’s tongue,” came the amused words from the man you loved so dearly as he curled a stray lock of your hair around his fingers.

You dared to cautiously sneak a glance at him, only to see a broad grin littered with mischief. You quickly turned your face away once more, fearing he might see straight past your pouting facade. With mischief marrying his eyes, his hands moved toward your sides to tickle you mercilessly, “perhaps I shall use my skills as a detective to get you talking.”

You held out as long as you could, but the ticklish sensation caused laughter to bubble from your chest, “M-Mitsu s-stop, -stop,” uncontrollable laughter wasn’t the only sound to file into the room as your stomach let go of a large growl in hunger.

Of course, you had not eaten all day and, that, whatever it was, was less than satisfying to the taste buds.

Mitsuhide continued to chuckle as he shook his head, pulling out his phone to give it a sparring glance, “truly you amuse me to no end, my love.”

He leaned forward to kiss the tip of your nose while gracefully swooping up the unfinished bowl of goop. Taking elegant strides back to the kitchen, he shot you a smile from over his shoulder, “the pizza should be here soon,” the confession finally came.

Jumping from your seat, you ran after him. “You massive troll!” you accused, rolling your eyes and reclaiming your spot on the countertop to wait for the ACTUAL food to arrive while watching him clean his mess.

“How you flatter me so,” he purred out, slithering closer to you. That earned him another roll of the eyes, yet, you still found yourself inching closer to rest your forehead against his as you exchanged loving smiles. He met your soft lips in a fleeting kiss, then, hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“Happy birthday, my dearest,” was all he said, planting one more kiss onto your lips. You felt him slip something into your hair, and before you could question, his phone rang, causing him to turn on his heel and attend to it.

With a dazzling smile, you gazed upon the bellflower pin he had placed into your hair. His features softened as he matched your smile with one full of love for you. One thing was for sure, Mitsuhide may be an incorrigible tease, but you knew when it came down to it, he loved you with all his heart.

[asian-hero]

Taking the Space Out of “Girl Friend”

A/N: Okay, since no one is requesting Momo, aka the woman who stole my heart, I’m taking this into my own hands (also, kinda wanna write a poly relationship with Momo, Shouto, and (Y/N) so let me know if that sounds interesting)

Summary: Momo Yaoyorozu is the perfect girl. She’s smart, pretty, kind, and she can even make any non living thing with her quirk. What else could you ask for? Although, she could stand to gain the ability to read the room better.

In other words, you attempt to tell Momo how you feel about her, only for her to assume you mean platonically. You know, as a “gal pal”

Words: 2,668

“Momo, I like you,”

She looked up from her homework, starring at you quizzically, “Oh, well I like you too!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, I mean I really like you. More than a friend,”

Pausing, she furrowed her eyebrows together, something that, while normally you found endearing, now you found outright annoying. How could someone look so cute and be so smart, yet be so dense when it came to confessions? Before you could even take it back, she smiled at you, and you could’ve sworn that you felt a beam of light shining from her.

“I think of you as my best friend as well! I’m so glad you told me!”

Feeling your eye twitch, it took almost every inch of self restraint to not just kiss her right then and there, to show her that you wanted her more than as just a “best friend.” Unfortunately for you, you both had no nerve to do so, and you also didn’t want to risk it. So, you feigned a smile, reaching out and patting her hand.

“Yeah, best friends.”

That was three weeks ago. Three weeks ago that you tried to tell Momo, your “best friend” and resident goddess of class 1-A that you liked her. No, not as a friend, though you didn’t mind being that. You wanted to tell her that you liked her romantically, but every time you try to, it either ends up with you losing your nerve, or her taking it the wrong way. No matter what you did, it seemed like she thought you were just being a good friend, all the compliments and cuddling and hand holding, all because you were a good friend. At first, you thought she was just trying to be nice and reject you kindly, not wanting to jeopardize your friendship, but after multiple attempts and questioning the rest of the girls, but now you’re wondering if she’s really just that oblivious to your advances. Either way, you were so close to pulling your hair out.

This is what led you to your current situation: laying out on your best friend Todoroki’s floor while you complained about the woman who seemed to live in your head rent free. 

After your daily attempt to get Momo to realize that you had a crush on her had tired you out, you sought out the one person who would let you rant to your hearts content without judgement. Since this was a regular occurrence for you to just waltz into Todoroki’s room, it was no surprise to  him when you slammed open his door, kicked it shut, and slumped down onto the floor.

After a few beats of silence, he cleared his throat. “So, Yaoyorozu?”

Your obnoxious groan was all the answer that he needed. Setting down his pen, he turned around in his chair to face you, or, your corpse-like state that you’d taken to. 

“Are we going to sit here in silence or are you going to complain?”

Lifting your head up, you sent the boy a particularly nasty glare. You could see the ghost of a smile appear on his face, amused that he’d gotten a reaction out of you. Lifting yourself up, you flopped back down, this time on your back. As you stared up at the ceiling, you let out a lengthy sigh.

“This has got to be the tenth time I’ve told her that I like her,” Rubbing your face, you let out a frustrated sound, “No dancing around the bush, no being coy about it. I straight up told her that I like her, and she always tells me that I’m being such a ‘good friend.’ ”

“Ah, that’s rough.”

You snorted. “Thanks, Zuko.”

His response was throwing a crumpled piece of paper at your face. Sputtering, you sat up, sticking out your tongue in a childish manner. Once the two of you settled down, you frowned.

“Seriously, though, how many times do I need to tell her ‘I like you’ for her to get it? I mean, it’s not like I know if she even likes girls, so maybe I’m just being pushy. Oh my god, Todoroki, what if she doesn’t like girls? I could be making her uncomfortable and—“

“(Y/L/N), stop,” Seeing your panicked state, he moved closer, making sure that he gained your attention, “You’re being ridiculous. If Yaoyorozu didn’t like you she’d tell you. She isn’t that cruel.”

Tilting your head back, you took in a deep breath. “I know that, but I can’t help but feel like that.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, neither of you sure of what to say next. In all honesty, you were just glad that he was there with you, because you’d probably end up spiraling if it wasn’t for him. As much as you loved Momo, you were starting to get a little tired of pursuing her. You didn’t know just how much more you could take of her obliviousness. As you sat there, getting sadder by the minute, Todoroki finally spoke:

“We don’t have school tomorrow, right? Why don’t you just invite her on a date, and you can tell her how you feel,” He flicked your forehead, “With a bit more emphasis on the romantic part of your feelings.”

Rubbing the back of your neck, you looked towards the floor, feeling yourself grow hot. “I don’t know, what if she doesn’t even want to go?”

You could tell that he was starting to grow annoyed, with the way his breathing changed and his posture stiffened. Before you could even comment on it, he grabbed your phone, typing a quick message to the girl of your dreams. Gasping, you tackled him, trying to wrench your phone away from him.

“What the hell are you doing? Give it back!”

Your attempts were for naught, as he wasn’t even breaking a sweat trying to keep you away. A few seconds later a message was sent, asking Momo if she wanted to meet you at a local cafe, just the two of you. Looking as your message went from delivered to read, you let out a cry of embarrassment. Slamming your phone down, you pointed a finger at the boy.

“I can’t believe you! What makes you think I’m ready for this?”

He looked at you as if you were the stupidest person on the planet, “You’ve been trying to tell her for weeks! How is this my fault?”

“Yeah, but now I have to tell her without the crutch of ignoring her at school! If it were with a bunch of people, then I’d have no problem, but since it’s just the two of us—“

You were interrupted by a quiet ping coming from your phone. Hesitantly, you reached to pick up the offending object, carefully reading Momo’s message. After a few more seconds of silence, you felt yourself sink back onto the floor, sounding similar to a balloon losing its air. Your hands went to cover your face, not wanting anyone, specifically Todoroki, to see your embarrassed state.

“So,” He cleared his throat, unsure of how to proceed, “I’m assuming she agreed?”

“I’m meeting her at ten,”

He raised an eyebrow at your behavior. “Isn’t that a good thing? Why are you acting like she just rejected you?”

“Hey, Todoroki, I’m gonna need you to do me a huge favor,” You completely ignored his previous comment, too busy in your own thoughts instead.

“What is it?”

Looking at him directly, you spoke: “Turn me into an ice cube and chuck me into the ocean,”

You didn’t get the response you were hoping for, and instead you were chased out of his room and left with your own self-deprecating thoughts. To be honest, you were excited to hang out with Momo, but that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified of what was to come. When you told her how you felt about her, how would she react? Would she feel the same way, or would she just completely drop you as a friend entirely? You found yourself spiraling as you kept thinking of all of the negatives that you didn’t realize when you had passed out. 

The only reason that you weren’t late for your “date” with Momo was because she had texted you, like the lovely person she is, saying that she was excited to see you. That was what shocked you awake at nine in the morning, and caused you to take five minutes out of your day to let out all of your panicked energy. You were able to manage, though, as you pulled through and got ready, albeit a little slower than usual, and by the time you were out the door it was a quarter till ten. 

By the time you reached the cafe, you noticed Momo anxiously fiddling with her skirt. Walking towards her, you put on your bravest face and steeled yourself.

“Hey! Did I make you wait long?”

She seemed a bit startled by your boisterous entrance, as she jumped ever so slightly from her seat. Once she realized it was you, she let out an adorable smile, one that could melt even the coldest of hearts. “You’re fine, I just got here a little early,”

Taking your seat, you looked at the coffee in front of you. Tilting your head, you looked towards Momo, who seemed to be watching your every move. Once your eyes had met, she ducked her head, her face turning a nice shade of pink.

“You like iced coffee, right? With two pumps of vanilla syrup?”

You were surprised that she remembered your order, after all, the two of you had only gone out for coffee a handful of times before this, and you were usually with the rest of the girls. When you took a sip of the beverage, you let out a content hum, smiling back at the girl. “This is perfect, thanks.”

She seemed to grow even pinker at your words. “Ah, I’m glad you like it! I was worried that I’d gotten the wrong drink, or that it wasn’t the same as you usually get it, or—“

“Momo,” You started, giggling a bit when her attention snapped back to you, “It’s good, really. Don’t worry about it,”

She nodded her head, taking a few deep breaths before drinking her own beverage. As the two of you sat in silence, you couldn’t help that your eyes began to wander. You couldn’t help that your eyes travelled from her own, her beautiful gray eyes that felt almost like staring into a galaxy, to her cute little nose, all the way to her lips, which you guiltily admit that you’ve thought about on more than one occasion. You refused to let your eyes wander any further down, because firstly, you didn’t want to seem like some pervert, you knew your boundaries, and secondly, you knew that you’d end up flustered, and then she’d ask why you were flustered, and then the whole date would be ruined. 

While you found yourself lost in thought, you didn’t notice that Momo was staring at you in a similar fashion, though she was a bit more subtle. Through quick glances she wondered just how unfair it was that you could look so beautiful while doing the most mundane things. She wondered how one person could make her feel a million butterflies all at once, and how one person could be at the center of her attention at all times. 

At first, she thought her feelings were ones of jealousy. After all, you seemed to excel at anything you put your mind to, and it didn’t hurt that you were pretty. But, after getting to know you better, and hanging around you, she realized that the feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t an ugly one, no, rather, it was one of the most amazing feelings a person can experience.

She never did allow herself to tell you about them, though. It was too scary for her, she thought that you’d reject her immediately, and then she’d be left alone. No, she’d rather just keep to herself, where her feelings would be safe, and she could keep you by her side. It was certainly hard for her though, with all of the compliments you’d drown her in, and all of the times you’d remind her that you liked her. It’d get her hopes up, but she’d immediately crush those thoughts. She wouldn’t let herself feel those emotions.

But, in this one instance, with the both of you not so subtly checking the other out, the two of you had reached the same conclusion: you were both tired of hiding.

“Momo, I—“

“(Y/N)—“

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before letting out awkward laughs. She gestured towards you, smiling comfortingly.

“You go first,”

Looking at her, you calmed your nerves and nodded.

“I like you, Momo,”

Her face grew puzzled, as if she wasn’t quite sure what you were getting at. “I like you too?”

You groaned, shaking your head. Grabbing her hands you tried again. “No Momo, I like you, romantically.”

It took a few minutes for her to process your words, before erupting into the brightest shade of red imaginable. 

“You mean—“

“Yes,”

“So, all this time you were—“

“Yes,”

Looking down at your entwined hands, she found herself even more puzzled than before. This entire time, you actually liked her? As in, the same way that she liked you? Was she dreaming? This had to be a dream, things like this wouldn’t happen to her.

As she was dealing with her own inner monologue, you felt yourself grow insecure. The devil on your shoulder was telling you that you made a huge mistake, that you made her uncomfortable. Puling your hands away, you rubbed the back of your neck.

“We can just, forget that this happened. Sorry,”

Momo’s head shot up, and for the first time, you noticed a look of desperation on her face.

“No!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you understood nonetheless. “Yeah, I figured as much. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—“

She shook her head, taking your hand back in her own to silence you. “That’s not what I meant. I like you too,” Even though she felt so vulnerable and exposed, she kept eye contact with you, “In  a romantic way.”

It was your turn for your face to heat up. You were either sleeping or dead and in heaven, there was no other way that this could be happening. Using your open hand, you went to pinch yourself. After feeling the sharp sting, you looked back to your intertwined hands, then back at her.

“This is,” You paused, trying to process everything, “Real?”

She giggled at your response. Once you saw her nodding her head, you couldn’t help but break into a huge grin. Squeezing her hand, you leaned closer, so that the two of you were inches apart. You could feel her breathing stop, and it took everything in you to not laugh. As you got even closer, you saw her eyes flutter shut, and although you very much wanted to kiss her, you didn’t want to rush into things. So, you opted to kissing her cheek, your lips pressing against her soft skin. 

As you pulled away, you noticed the pout she gave you, though the blush staining her skin lessened the “menacing” effect. Laughing, you pinched her cheek, taking a sip of your drink.

“Maybe on the next date,”

When she hurriedly proposed that the two of you go out again tomorrow, you couldn’t help the warm feeling blossom in your stomach. Smiling, you agreed, wanting to get as much alone time with her as possible. 

Though the two of you were inexperienced when it came to relationships, neither of you really cared. After all, you got the girl, and that’s what mattered the most.

[anystalker707]

Blood on my hands

🎃Halloween special Pairing: Frank x Reader Word counting: ~ 2 400 Genre: Terror, suspense, fluff TW: Terror, blood Summary: A cozy house in the woods. Being attacked by a beast you can’t see. And suddenly finding out your boyfriend is a vampire. a/n: I suck at horror, sorry bbs

"I'm calling it," Frank says in defeat, his bottom lip sticking out as he sends a few dry leaves flying with a kick. "We're lost in the woods." A sigh escapes his nose as he looks around, cold fingers poking out of his fingerless gloves and wrapping themselves around my hand. They're always cold.

"Well, no shit, Frank." I roll my eyes. "I literally said that five minutes ago, but you were worried, with..." I think for a moment, but I'm not sure about what he was doing, talking to himself while I looked around the endless trees, seeking for a clue to get us out of here. "...whatever."

"Aw, don't be like this, I found a nice thing!" He says in a soft whine, eyebrows furrowed; he stops to walk, reaching for something in his pocket then pulls out a heart-shaped rock. His lips stretch in a cute proud smile, "actually, it was something else that I had seen, but I found this and I was gonna give it to you, but you were walking away before I could notice," he says with certain frustration.

"Oh, look at you! You never let me stay mad at you," I mutter under my breath, my heart practically melting. Taking the rock in hand, I take a good look at it before shoving it in my pocket. "Idiot," I joke, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his smiling lips. The giggle that comes from him makes me look at him with a stupid smile, shaking my head to myself before pulling him along with me to continue walking.

Dry leaves crack under our feet, practically the only sound in the place apart from the occasional breeze going through the leaves that remain in the trees and also makes us shiver. The dense clouds above us make it difficult to determine what time is it - something thankfully solved by our phones - and contributes with the cold air, though it doesn't penetrate through the heavy layers of clothes. Of course, we were worried about the rain, but the way the clouds are there since yesterday and not a single drop fell from the sky gave us some confidence.

Besides all, it feels like we're alone, but it also doesn't. Not to mention that, if we weren't actually alone, the sounds of the steps would easily be heard through the thick silence, with the ground being practically orange, almost completely covered in dry leaves. It makes me calmer.

All the walking almost makes me forget how we ended up here, but I remember what was it about it. We went for a walk to a specific place - a clearing we'd found days ago -, but I guess we took the wrong turn and, caught up in a conversation, only noticed it when we didn't even have phone signal anymore. It's not as bad as it sounds, the woods are just in the outskirts or the city. We found a trail at some point and here we are now, hoping it takes us to out of here. Though we've probably been walking for a couple of hours, the good point is that we left our house in the morning.

"I'm so tired of walking," Frank groans with a sigh, rubbing his face with his free hand. "We're getting nowhere. And I'm sure I've seen that tree-"

"Wait, that's a house, isn't it?" I raise an eyebrow, pointing to the place, interrupting Frank before he gives me another goddamn existential crisis. "There's probably someone in there," I tell him with a thoughtful hum, "like, window's open and all..." I trail off, tired. It seems like a fancy place, I bet someone probably wouldn't build this too deep into the woods. Or at least I hope so.

"Well, I guess," Frank shrugs, grabbing his phone and flipping it open, but just for a few seconds and then he's turning to me with a frustrated sigh. "Still no signal. Okay, so, whoever's in there will either help or kill us, so we better be prepared. I love you so much, so, if there's ever a situation that only allows one of us to run away..." He pauses, looking at me from under his eyelashes; as much as it sounds like he's going to say something sweet, I guess I know Frank enough. "...I'll miss you a lot, okay? Maybe I'll call the cops to come check on the place, so don't worry." His lips part in a proud grin, a chuckle escaping his lips once I snort.

"Okay, yeah, sure," I nod, rolling my eyes, "You're so lovely, Frank, best boyfriend," I tease, but quickly fall serious again, having thought about what he said. "No, but, really, what if they actually kill us or something? Like, horror movie thing? I'm pretty sure that in Texas Chainsaw Mass-"

"No, no, c'mon," Frank interrupts me, his eyebrows furrowing in a pleading expression as he holds onto my hand with both of his. "We could get some water or something, you've got no idea how fucking tired I am. We can hit them with whatever if they try to attack us."

"Y'know," a breath escapes my lips as I try ignoring the fear tight in my chest and let Frank drag me along with him. I mean, I'm really tired, but I prefer to sleep for two days straight instead of being killed. "Gerard's usually the one with bad ideas, but you're always pulling us to problems."

"Aw, no, trust me," he says with a pout, squeezing my hand, the rough fabric of his gloves somehow warm around my hand. "Trust me," he shoots me a look, pleading eyes observing me from under his eyelashes.

Not replying, I only let out a defeated sigh in response. I really want to stop and my throat aches for a drop of water. In the worst of the cases, at least I won't die alone.

It looks like practically any house we'd find in a rich neighborhood - modern styled two-story house, a lot of details in wood while the front wall of the second floor seems to be entirely made of glass, though it's not possible to see through it. It has a comfortable vibe, seeming to be a good place for spending the vacations in. All the windows in the first floor are open while there's just a single one open in the second one, with white curtains poking out of it, pulled by the wind when it hits stronger. The open door shows the furniture in light wood and a decoration that matches the aesthetic.

"Hello?" Frank asks after knocking on the door, though it's open. He's tense, me too - our hands tight around each other, both of us holding our breaths and standing completely still as waiting for a response, but the word is lost in an empty silence.

Slowly, he starts walking in the house, ignoring the glare I send him.

"It's not nice walking into someone's place like this," I say quietly as looking around, seeking for a signal of life in the house.

"Eh, we can just explain why we're doing this if they catch us." Frank's voice is louder than mine, but still quiet. Our steps sound impossibly loud against the wooden tiles. I don't answer.

The kitchen isn't much different from the rest of the house. Everything seems organized; the way the place is clean and a glass full of water sitting on the counter with two ice cubes inside it tell me there's really someone in the house, making a shiver run down my spine at the thought they'll probably be back soon to get the water.

"Here," Frank says, suddenly holding out a glass of water to me. Apparently, I zoned out for too long.

"Thank you," I mutter, exhaling and taking the glass in hand, shakily bringing it to my lips. Meanwhile, Frank looks around the place, sighing as he leans back against the counter. He looks from me to one of the stools across from him and points at it. With a nod, I sit up on it, thankful for giving my legs a break. The quietness is immersive, causing a great difference after so long with the breeze going past our ears or through the tree's leaves.

Frank's eyes go past me, probably looking at the doorway. Something catches his attention, but there's nothing when I turn around and to take a glance.

"What's up?" I ask in confusion, setting my empty glass beside me.

"Nothing..." He trails off. "Y'know, I'll... I'll go check if there's someone around, okay? I'll be right back." His lips press together in a smile and he kisses my cheek before moving to walk out of the room in weirdly slow and quiet steps. Odd. Something in his words and manners don't convince me, but I don't question it either, just trusting him.

He's gone for a few minutes; I check the time on my phone at least three times and I just can't wait anymore when ten minutes go by. I try calling for him, but there's no response - not even when I walk into the living room again. The same deadly silence of before is the only response I get.

I'm quiet for a moment, trying to listen or catch on a small detail that tells me Frank didn't simply disappear. The stairs seem weirdly threatening for some reason. But what if he's up there?

I'm about to take a step forward to climb the stairs when there's suddenly something grabbing onto my arms. Frank.

"Hey, I was-" I interrupt myself when I start being dragged behind and I freeze noticing it's not him, a shudder running down my spine. Though it feels like there are sharp, long fingers gripping around my arms, just below my shoulders, I can't see anything there when I look at it. And there's absolutely no one behind me either. No matter how I look around or try to look at the objects' reflex, there's absolutely nothing, but the grip's so strong that I can barely move as I'm dragged.

Where is it taking me to? What's even it?

The only result of all the questions, of all the confusing feelings is only a loud scream going past my lips before I can notice. At this point, the terror is probably bigger than the fear - I don't even fucking know what's doing this to me, I don't know what to wait for or what someone or something with this grip is capable of.

I can hear my name being called from upstairs, Frank's voice muffled, followed by heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

And suddenly I'm alone again. Standing in the middle of the living room. My eyes are wide as I observe around the room. There's still this thick silence- And there's a muffled, loud thud.

Not even thinking, I start running upstairs, my heart stopping for a second at the sight of a red liquid coming from under one of the doors and, as bad as it can turn out, it's the exact door I go for, sweaty fingers wrapping themselves around the cold doorknob, afraid the worst happened.

Frank stands there. Calmly. An almost innocent look on his face as he looks around, intensifying when his gaze finds mine. Something completely normal. That if there wasn't blood everywhere less on him. Still, I weirdly calm down - or simply don't know how to react, my mind just giving up on keeping up with all the weird events and entering in a state of shock.

"Red syrup." Frank says with a smile, earning himself a look of disbelief from me.

"Is that really red syrup? Please tell me it's syrup." I say in a rushed tone, then pause. "I can't stand blood." A sick feeling bubbles in my stomach.

"Good thing it's everywhere," he chuckles, though he clearly holds more feelings than he dares to demonstrate, a visible tension or maybe nervousness noticeable by his tense shoulders. Why are his teeth stained red?

Averting my eyes from him, I look around the room. I don't know what's worse; the sight of blood everywhere, the lack of source, Frank having not a single hair strand out of place or maybe the I'm glad you are here written on the wall in black letters, a childish handwriting.

"So..." Frank trails off. "Let's get out of here," he looks away, cleaning his throat as approaching me in rushed steps, taking my hand and starting to pull me down the stairs with a firm grip.

I hadn't noticed it before, but there are a few mirrors hanging on the wall, by the stairs. Weirdly enough, I'm the only one I can see in it. It's not even scary, after everything.

"...So, when exactly were you going to tell me that you're a vampire?" I ask, my attention between going down the stairs and looking at the mirrors. Eventually, we stop, by the bottom of the stairs. there's a wider mirror hanging on the wall, right behind Frank. It looks like my hand's wrapped around nothing.

"Wh-what?!" Frank tenses up, eyes widening in the same moment. Some genuine surprise takes over his face. "What do you mean? Vampires aren't-"

"Frank, I'm looking straight in the mirror and you're not in it." My voice is calm. But what is there to freak out over anymore?

He's silent. Eyes flickering over me in seek for something, but he doesn't find it and he falls in disturbance.

"What attacked us?"

"Um, you better not know." Frank says nervously. There's a long pause, but I don't ask further about it. "I..." Frank exhales. "Let's get out of here, hm?" He presses his lips together, quickly starting to walk again. He sighs, glancing at me repeatedly as we walk, but I don't say anything.

"I know how to get us out of here now," he mutters, the silence of the house not so empty anymore.

We leave through the back door and, when we go past the kitchen, the glass with ice is there the same way. The cubes not any smaller.

[softyoongiionly]

No Diving 🏊‍♂️

A Thursday night in the sweltering heat was not your idea of a good time. Your boyfriend however, has a few plans up his sleeve to help you ‘cool off.’

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluffy!!! Jin, Boyfriend! Jin, little known fact: Jin was my very first bias in BTS and, he frequently taunts me with his overwhelming perfection,  SMUT (18+ only), Jealous! Y/N

Word Count: 3.2k ( I got a lil out of hand with this one, I blame Jin)

Warnings: smut (no minors plz)

A/N: whoa there, apparently I have a lot of feelings for Jin and, this was an attempt to get it all out. CAUSE EXPRESSING YOURSELF IS A GOOD THING BROTHER. anyway lmao

love you xx

The entirety of the back of your neck is coated in a vomit inducing amount of sticky sweat.  Your normally cozy apartment felt like a stale-scented sauna from which you could not escape. Due to scheduled maintenance, your building  had informed it’s tenants that:

“This Thursday, July 18th, we will be shutting off the Central Air system for a yearly tune up.  The tune up will begin at approximately 10pm and, conclude around 5am to avoid inconveniencing our tenants. We ask that you plan accordingly.

Sincerely,

Management”

Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue however, your region had been experiencing an intense heatwave that had kept temperatures well above their national average for about a week now. There was no mercy after sundown as the temperatures were only wavering a few degrees lower.  

Hell, it was absolute hell.

The heat is not something you handled well. You liked to think of yourself as a fairly calm and reasonable person. Well your calmness and your reason-ability were no match for the sweltering heat that seemed to ebb and flow against the perimeter of your body.  What’s almost nearly as irritating, is that your boyfriend, who had spent the entire day shirtless, seemed to have no issue with the lack of air conditioning.

“Jagi,” He chuckles from the counter-top, shaking the black fringe out of his eyes as he continues to cut up a few strawberries, “…it’s not that bad. The air’s only been off for an hour…”

Your irritation simmers at a dangerous rate underneath your skin, “Jin, it’s literally a thousand degrees in here…”

He snorts, shaking his head, rolling his broad shoulders before scooping the strawberries into the blender, his dark eyes scanning the counter to locate the bottle of silver tequila.

“You’re being dramatic…which is my job.” He smirks as your displeasure becomes even more evident on your face, pouring a few shots of tequila into the mix.  “…The margaritas will help cool you down and, if you want, we can always go down to the pool and, wait it out.”

Huffing, you lean hopelessly against the counter, wishing that you could crawl inside of the freezer Jin was currently pulling ice cubes out of.

“The pool closes in ten minutes…” You groan into your palm, trying to ignore the fact that your ANKLES were covered in sweat.

Jin shrugs, the ice cubes landing in the blender with a loud sloshing sound, “So? We pay rent here, the worst they’re going to do, is tell us to leave…”

He makes a compelling argument. Nobody from management would be in at this hour and, most of the security group would likely be with the maintenance crew. You look up at him, admiring the way the sweat glistened across his bare chest as he added a few squeezes of lime juice into the blender.  

Damn him for looking good in these conditions.

“That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had…”

Jin chuckles, brows rising at your comment, “No, the worst idea I’ve ever had was the time I tried to make a move on you in grade 12 by leaving a homemade custard pie in your locker…”

You giggle at the memory of a very nervous, lanky Jin explaining to you that  there was a now putrid pie in your locker because, he had no idea you would be away on vacation for the week. He had just assumed you ate it and, didn’t like him.  

Neither of which were true…

“Hey don’t say that, that pie was the reason you and I went to homecoming together. Which, if I remember correctly, lead to you getting head for the first time.” You point out, still smiling fondly as you slowly make your way off of the barstool.  

You were going to take advantage of your trip to the pool by using it as an excuse to wear the least amount of clothing legally possible.

“That’s very true—it wasn’t the first time I got head though…” Jin lets this tiny microscopic bit of information and as soon as he does, his eyes widen.

Why the hell did he just say that?

Pausing in your tracks, you feel your stomach churn in an uncomfortable way, “Wait…but-“

As you turn around, your boyfriend quickly amends, his eye still widened in surprise.

“It wasn’t my first time but, it was the best night of seventeen year old Jin’s life so, it didn’t matter…”

Your eyes look over him, assessing his answer. Jin chuckled nervously from the counter before his eyes roll in the wake of the awkward silence.

“Jagi, that was like 8 years ago, you’re not seriously upset are you?” His tone is teasing but, gentle, desperately hoping he hadn’t actually bothered you.

No, of course not. Why would you be upset?  

That would be ridiculous.  

You and Jin had been dating for 7 years and, lasted not only through 4 years of long distance when the two of you went away for school but, you made it through the countless hardships one often encounters at the beginning of adulthood.

7 years later and, you’re both still head over heels in love with one another and, despite your busy schedules, still manage to find time to indulge in eachother…often.

Like, very often…

He was right, it shouldn’t matter, it dOESn’t matter…

Everything is fine.  

“No, I’m not, I think you told me about them actually…I must have forgot…” You pull a convincing smile across your face, trying to ignore the burning curiosity that had lodged itself into your brain.

Jin doesn’t look convinced but, the ice was starting to melt under the blistering heat of your apartment and, he wanted to finish up the margaritas to take to the pool.

“Okay good, now get your cute ass into the room and, please for the love of god, don’t come back in that red bikini…” He looks at you pointedly, gesturing to the bedroom.

You cock your head, giggling at his request, “Wait why? I thought you liked the red bikini?”

“I do but-- “ He motions wildly to the space surrounding him, “The apartment is hot enough and, if you come out here in that thing, you’re going to set the building on fire…”

Laughter echoes throughout the kitchen as you wave him off, “Stopppp…”

However, his comment soothes your petty jealousy (temporarily) and, you do exactly as he instructed you not to do, and slipped on the strappy red bikini you had bought earlier that month.

Moments later, you exit the room to find your boyfriend carefully scooping pink slushy liquid into matching, tropical tiki glasses, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth in concentration.

Fuck, you really loved this man.

“Are you re-“ He begins his sentence before halting it abruptly, his eyes widening in horror as he spots you, “YAH! WHAT DID I JUST SAY? DO YOU WANT ME DEAD? IS THAT IT? YOU WANT YOUR BOYFRIEND DEAD?”

You burst out into another fit of giggles, parading over in his direction, “STOP, you’re gonna wake up the neighbors…”

Guffawing, he reaches for you, fingers wiggling in anticipation, “SO?? THERES A FIRE IN THE BUILDING Y/N! THEY SHOULD BE AWAKE…”

Your stomach is painfully sore from your increasing laughter as you grab his hands and, lean into his gesticulating frame. Your lips attach themselves to his momentarily to stop the noise, fearing that your neighbors will think there is an actual fire in the building.

Jin smiles into your lips, his strong hands coming out to grip your waist.

“You’re ridiculous…and it still feels like we’re on the fucking sun so, save your touching for the pool.”

Jin chuckles, stealing a kiss before, putting his hands up, and conceding with you.

“Fair enough…can you grab the towels? I’ll get the drinks…”

Roughly 10 minutes later, you and Jin make it to the gated pool that sat in the center of your complex. The summer breeze was a slight improvement from your apartment but, the air was still sticky and, far too dense to be considered pleasant.

“Do you have the key?” Jin inquires in a hushed tone, turning back to you at the gate.

“Fuck….” You groan, looking dreadfully back at your apartment.

He snickers, shaking his head at you before setting the drinks down, “It’s alright, I got it…”

“Be careful!”  A panicked whisper-yell tumbles out of your mouth as your boyfriend grips the top of the fence, hoisting himself over.

He snickers again as he lands on the other side effortlessly and, pulls the gate open.

“Don’t trip on the margaritas…I will leave you.” He warns as he brushes past you to pick them up.

You snort, tossing the towels onto a nearby chair, “I’m glad our nearly decade long relationship is so easily broken over spilled margaritas.”

“Frozen strawberry margaritas...that you watched me slave over, thankyouverymuch...” He corrects, smirking as he sets the cups down on the edge of the pool.

A giggle leaves your lips as you follow him over to the water.

The pool area was strangely eerie at night. During the day, especially this time of year, it was loud, crowded and, reeked of sunblock and, burnt barbecue. Tonight however, after hours, the area was impossibly quiet, the pool lights illuminating its entirety with a soft blue-green hue.  

A light splash brought you out of your head and, you turn towards the pool to see that Jin had already hopped in, the water in the shallow end only coming up to his waist.

“Is it cold?” You wavered slightly at the steps causing Jin to roll his eyes, his hand coming up to push his hair back.

“No, it’s ‘literally a thousand degrees’ remember? It feels like bath water...” Jin teases, opening his arms to beckon you forward, “...get in here, I’m already lonely.”

You flip him off at his mocking of your tone before giggling as he pretends to catch it like a kiss. Soon enough, you decide to trust his judgement and, slowly begin wading into the pool. The water proved to be the exact temperature Jin described and, it was so soothing that you found yourself immediately dunking under water. The uncomfortable sweaty feeling finally comes to an end and, you feel your mood improving significantly as you begin to cool down.

“You’re a genius Kim Seokjin...” You murmur as he starts making his way toward you, grabbing your drinks along the way.

He laughs at that, handing you the tiki cup before taking a sip from his own.

“I know I am but, I’m glad to finally hear it from you jagi,” He gestures to the cup, looking at you pointedly, “drink this before it melts. Let me know what you think, I added extra fresh strawberries this time...the syrupy shit is too sweet.”

You follow his directions, taking a drink from the tiki cup, humming happily as the refreshing strawberry slush envelops your tastebuds.

“It’s amazing, as usual, I like the fresher berries too, it’s less overbearing...”

“Okay good, I’ll make it that way next time,” Jin smiles, pleased with your reaction before jerking his head towards you, “So are you gonna come over here now or, are you going to keep torturing your poor, sweet, innocent, boyfriend?”

His face turns up into pout but, as usual, there’s mischief behind his eyes.

“You’re so dumb...” You laugh at his antics but, you don’t fight him, setting your drink down before wading over to him. Jin joins you in your laughter as he sinks down further into the water to encourage you to wrap your legs around him.

“Mm thank you... “ He murmurs happily, grinning as you settle into his grip.

You're grateful that the water provides such buoyancy that you’re both essentially weightless because, it allows you to wrap yourself around your boyfriend without fear of him dropping you.

Which he has definitely done before.

“Hi....” You hum as he wades around the shallow end of the pool, his face lit up with pure contentment.  

“Hi...” He responds, pecking at your lips over and over, playfully nibbling on your bottom lip. The giggles that initially leave your mouth eventually fade as your boyfriend’s sinfully plump lips start kissing into you deeper and deeper.  

Jin leans against the side of the pool wall, big hands motioning for you to wrap your legs around his waist, the slow kiss continuing all the while.

He was the only man you had ever been with but, you couldn’t imagine things getting any better than this. Even after years together, Jin knows exactly how to get your heart sputtering in your chest.  

As he explores the skin of your back, his gentle but assured touch sends shivers down your spine, causing you to kiss at him with more fervor. Your tongue slips in with his, sliding slowly against it, causing him to groan gently into your mouth. 

You considered yourself the luckiest person in the observable universe that you had somehow managed to score the man of the century but, there was something rather annoying nibbling at the back of your mind.

“...it wasn’t the first time I got head though...”

That singular, stupid, insignificant little comment that was uttered nearly a half an hour ago was stirring something inside of you.

It was unsettling and wholly unfamiliar because, you considered yourself to be a fairly relaxed person and, you had been in a committed relationship with a very loyal and amazing man.

A man, who was currently placing delicate kisses into the crook of your neck. A man, who could, in the same hour, make you laugh and cum so hard that you cried.

Your man.

He was yours.

“Jin...” You whispered, feeling slightly delusional as he began sucking on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Yeah?” His voice, low and slightly shaky sent jolts of arousal straight to your pussy, your hand beginning to tug him towards the steps.

“I want you in my mouth...”

Jin chokes on a cough as you slide your hand down the length of his torso, softly gripping his swollen length through his swim trunks.

“W...what?” He whispers, heart thrumming in his chest.

“I want you in my mouth...please? Can I?” You turn up the filth factor in your tone, nibbling on his ear, a weakness of his, as you coax him into your hand.

“Jesus...” He groans as you squeeze over him, just a little tighter, his length swelling as you do.  

“Please?” You whisper again, nuzzling against him, the swarm of desperation being brought on by uncharacteristic envy.

“You know you don’t have to beg...give my girl what she wants don’t I? If she wants dick in her mouth than, that’s exactly what’s she’s going to get.”

The timbre in his voice drives you crazy and, the next thing you know, he’s got you both on the steps. 

You bite your lip, admiring his toned body softly illuminated by the blue light of the pool, his black hair pushed back haphazardly...he notices your admiration and, he smirks, because he fucking loves it.

“You gonna get what you were begging for?” He challenges, brows rising as he moves to untie his board shorts, the tanned skin of his hardened length peeking out of the top of them.

You nod, eyes likely blown out completely with lust and determination.

Crawling over to him, you settle onto the second step, leaving some of your body submerged into the water. You brush your lips along his neck, before moving to place kisses over his collarbones, sucking lightly as you make your way down his body.  

Jin’s breathing grows slightly in intensity as you reach the hem of his trunks. You waste no time in easing them down his legs, letting his dick settle hastily against his stomach.

Looking up at him one last time, you return his smirk, licking over your lips as you take him into your hand, “I’m wanna make you cum...really hard.”

He chuckles darkly, thumb coming out to brush over your swollen lips,  

“You better get started then...”

That was all you needed.

You lean down, taking him into your mouth, your hand coming up to accompany the motions as you sucked on him. He groans deep in his chest, looking away momentarily because, the image of you between his legs is something he has never managed to get used to. You use your tongue to lick gently around the tip of him before your free hand comes up to cup his balls.

Sucking Jin’s dick was no easy feat as he boasts a jaw-aching 9 inches when he’s fully hard but, after 7 years together, you like to think you’ve perfected the art.

Jin seems to agree with you...

“Oh shit...you’re so good down there jagiya...you know that? Suck my dick so good...” He mutters the last bit through his teeth, his hips lifting with the motions of your mouth which were increasing with speed.

You squeeze him gently, your mouth and opposite hand squeezing and sucking him into a frenzy. He could feel it in his toes, his spine, he was overwhelmed. Jin couldn’t understand how you were so perfect at it, every damn time, willing him into shivering mess with just your mouth.

“Jagi....Y/N...” He moans deep in his chest going cross eyed momentarily as you begin to focus your lips on his swollen, sensitive tip. “How the fuck am I so close huh? You think after all this time...I’d be able to last in your mouth but, fuck....fuck me.”

His whine cuts off the rest of his sentence, his eyes squeezing shut as you take him down your throat, your hand still caressing and massaging his balls.

You were soaked, you could feel it.

Jin’s dick did that to you, in absolutely every context.

“I’m...fuck...you’re gonna make me cum jagi...I’m gonna cum so hard for you, just like you want huh? Gonna let me cum in your throat?” He growls desperately, hands tightening their grip in your hair as his toes begin to curl.  

You nod eagerly, sucking him faster, moaning in your throat so he can benefit from the vibrations.

“Swallow for me...swallow it please...”

His last request is honored, it always is. He cums so hard it fucks with his vision, his hips permanently pushed up for the time being as he empties himself into your mouth, panting your name as he does. You take everything he gives you but, you wait for a moment, tapping his thigh as he starts to come down.

Jin forces his eyes open, his vision still not a 100% but, he can see you between his legs, with your mouth open, tongue full of his cum.

You’re showing off for him and, make an emphasized sound as you swallow the entirety of him down.

That’s too much for him...

He grabs you then, bringing you up to his lips, kissing you sloppily, “God, I really love you.” He chuckles in disbelief, his brain too hazy to ask questions.

“I love you too...” You giggle into his mouth, still breathless as you push a hand through his hair.

It was silent for a moment as the two of you continue to kiss slowly at one another.

“Hey...” He mumbles against your mouth, a knowing smirk forming on his lips, “...that wasn’t brought on by what I told you earlier right?”

No, uh, not at all.

[jademoniquewrites]

Robbie Borrelli

I never adored any of my mother’s boyfriends the way I did Robbie. When the final school bell rang, I remember sprinting from the doors of the P.S. 158 Bayard Taylor School into the arms of a stout man waiting for me outside his black pick-up truck.

Robbie always wore a dull t-shirt splattered in a bit of egg yolk from breakfast, loose light wash jeans and wheat Timberland’s scuffed from the day’s work doing construction and roof-fixing. He was an Italian man with low cut, spiky hair and clear blue eyes you could see your reflection in. He also always looked sunburnt. For years, Robbie filled in the gaps of my adolescent mind that constantly craved the answer of what it would be like to have a father again.

Each time I entered the vehicle scattered with loose tools and buckets of paint, sitting in the cupholder was a Smart water and Reese’s Cups, as he knew were my favorite. He would greet me with a throaty but gleeful call of my name and ask me what I learned that day in school. From there, we swerved on the FDR Drive heading to the Animal Medical Center to pick my mother up from work. As we waited for my mother to be released from the sliding doors of the animal hospital, Robbie and I would make up songs about the adventures we’ve been on together; riding the Cyclone at Coney Island, seeing who could eat a Katz’s pastrami sandwich the fastest and the endless pranks we played on my mother, scaring her shitless with every given opportunity. It is hard to pick just one fond memory out of the years I spent with Robbie and the Borrelli’s, but if I could pick one, it would be our summer, weekend rituals.

The air feels different in Park Slope, a comfortable kind of warmth that made riding my pink and white Barbie bike up and down Douglass street an activity I could do for hours before the other kids came out of their brownstones to play. Besides the usual double-dutchin, hop-scotchin’ days us children of Douglass street had, cooled down with perfectly scraped cherry mango icees part of my routine involved Robbie’s mother, Marianne.

At her glass table, I always watched Marianne and my mother put out their cigarette ashes in the tray and signal me to explore the garden once more so perhaps I wouldn’t become a chain smoker myself. 

Marianne’s garden was the kind that makes you question if you’re really in Brooklyn. It was a serene setting, sprawling with curling vines and an assortment of blossoms, but my favorite part was the small pond that held the turtles and fish I fed bi-weekly. As my mother and Marianne chatted for hours and prepared dinner for Robbie’s arrival, I would dance through the backyard shoeless, the naked soles of my feet catching small pebbles and soil. I remember sprinkling the flakes of turtle food like fairy dust into the pond, my young eyes bulging with zeal as small turtle heads bobbled up and snapped their mouths at the pellets. When I heard the wind chimes, that was my indication that Robbie was home and it was time for dinner.

On a typical weekend it wouldn’t just be me and my mother eating dinner at the Borrelli’s. The rest of my family would join us, and so would the rest of the Borrelli’s, each journeying from different parts of the Brooklyn borough for some of Marianne’s tomato sauce. As we ate, Buster, Robbie’s small Maltese scurried around our legs and scratched on our calves, begging us to throw him a chicken leg covered in the pungent tomato sauce. Dinner usually was baked chicken legs, browned to perfection then smothered in sauce that also covered spaghetti noodles garnished with basil and homemade mozzarella. The adults had red wine and I had ice water with my favorite kind of ice cubes, the cylinder-shaped ice cubes I don’t have at home.

If conversation had color, ours at dinner would burst the brightest of yellows, oranges and greens. The air would be filled with endless chatter and the strong cackle of my mother while swatting at Robbie with her hand for teasing her. My grandma and Marianne clucked in their sector of the table about new teas and regimens for arthritis.

I on the other hand, always ate slow and would talk with Robbie’s niece Alaisha, born just a month after me. We planned the next time we would race up the block, how huge our bubbles would get in Marianne’s backyard and the possibility of us really being like sisters if my mother and Robbie ever got married.

After dinner, we all would sit out on the front steps, the dense food sinking slow like anchors in our bellies as we watched the bustle of the neighborhood.

In these moments I would think to myself how identical our families look to when it was my mother and fathers’ families that were woven. I would think about my white family, carrying the same blood I do. A distant memory of steamed cabbage, corn beef and rye bread because the only time I was allowed to be around was when I was Irish, not Black.

As the sun began to set, I would lace my sneakers up, knowing it was time for the Borrelli’s and Tate’s to go to their respective homes. This tradition would go on for over five years despite the bumps in my mother and Robbie’s relationship.

Sometimes I still see him. His pick-up truck pulled into our driveway, the sound of the doorbell echo through our house only for there to be a brown bag spilling with sesame seed bagels and tubs of chive cream cheese. From the window of my room, I peak my head out and see his scratched chubby legs dangling, and his arms banging away at our neighbor’s roof. As I look up at Robbie Borrelli and up at the sky towards another man I adore, my eyes water -- I smile for what I had.

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Another One

Title: Another One

Word Count: 1,700+

Rating: M

Categories: Hurt/comfort, angst, emotional angst

Notes: @bethhankel did this incredible art  that I gushed over for months and then asked me to write my fic interpretation of it and I FREAKING JUMPED FOR JOY. I love angst. I love bath tubs. I love kisses on the forehead. I am here for this. I am living for this art and now I am writing for this art and I really, really hope this is what you were looking for Beth. I love you! Keep throwing angst my way and I’ll keep throwing it back at you.

Read it on AO3 here

Support me on ko-fi here

Another One

The ice cubes jostle as he raises the whiskey to his forehead, settling against the side of the glass as he tilts the cool, golden liquid against his aching skull. It doesn’t do much, and as he lowers it back down, he decides it will have more of a soothing effect on the inside, taking a swig of the hard liquor.

Shouta sighs, bringing the glass up to his eye this time, trying to reduce a bit of the swelling he can feel starting around his angry, purple socket.

It had to be the right eye, didn’t it? The thin band of scar tissue along the top of his cheek bone didn’t normally bother him one bit, but with his skin irritated and puffy, it felt tight and uncomfortable.

It felt almost as tight as his chest, as his shoulders, as his other hand, which he has to force himself to relax, let go of the edge of the tub. Finger by finger, he lets his grip loosen, moving his arm to drape over the smooth porcelain instead. He shifts the drink away from his eye and sinks lower into the lukewarm water, having run the bath so long ago now that the once comforting heat has lifted.

The bubbles too have settled, giving him a nice view of his cut up knee and thigh. The water looks a little murky, tinged with blood and dirt, and he knows he should have rinsed off more before he’d let himself step in, but it had been a struggle to twist his body with the deep gash along his ribs and the weight of the night’s fight resting heavy on his mind.

The steam slowly rising off the bathwater had beckoned him and he’d answered the call.

Now, he was left with the consequences.

As he leans his head back against the tub, letting his other arm drop down, holding the whiskey just a few inches above the water as he rests his elbow on the edge, he doesn’t even try to drag his thoughts back from where he feels them wandering.

It had all happened so fast.

Even now, he feels like he can only see pieces of it.

One piece, though, is startlingly clear.

The boy’s eyes as tear after tear dribbled down his cheek, mixing with the blood trailing from his split lip and down onto his shirt.

Shouta brings the glass back to his lips, lets the burn at the back of his throat bring him back to reality.

Rather, he tries to, but it just reminds him of the way the smoke wrapped itself around his neck from the inside out, filled his chest with a stinging pain he just couldn’t shake, not after the fist to his eye, or the knife to his side, anyway.

His hand shakes as he lowers the drink.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t drag his injured leg out from underneath him, and couldn’t make his arms push him off the concrete. All he could do was stare at the boy as the smoke swirled around them, watch as the villain’s arms grappled at the child, tore him, kicking and screaming, from the ground. Shouta had activated his quirk, vision tinged red, barely able to see out of his quickly swelling eye, but it hadn’t mattered.

They weren’t using their quirk at that point anyway.

He was just too weak.

As the boy managed to free an arm, reach out toward Shouta’s uncooperating body, still lying on the ground, he could barely slide his hand across the pavement, struggled to keep his head up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought of USJ, about how he’d impossibly resisted Nomu’s immense strength, had so much blood pouring out his nose he’d practically choked a few times, and still shoved the pain of a shattered elbow aside to fight back, to save his students. Yet, here he was, a few stab wounds and a chest full of smoke, spitting up soot, and he couldn’t rescue one child.

Am I old?

Am I useless?

What kind of hero can’t do this?

Shouta brings his hand out of the bath water to pinch at the bridge of his nose, forgetting the bruise along his eyes has stretched here too, wincing at the sting the pressure brings with it.

He remembers the flood of relief that had come with flashing red and blue lights along the alley’s walls, the sound of the other pro hero arriving, shouting over the sirens for the villain to cease, to not try escaping.

More than that, he remembers the shame that came with seeing the boy’s eyes flicker up as Mist stepped into Shouta’s field of view, her quirk already active, clearing the dense smog as she commanded it to lift away.

The boy had looked hopeful.

When he’d held out his hand toward Shouta, he’d looked hopeless.

Shouta grits his teeth, balling his hand into a fist. He has to resist doing the same with the one that holds the glass, or else suffer further injury.

He breathes heavily in and out of his nose, trying to let the anger dissipate, begging it to leave his body.

Then the door opens.

Shouta lifts his head, turning, blinking away the film in front of his eyes, to watch as Hizashi steps into the bathroom. Shouta’s gaze quickly runs across his husband’s body, doing the same mental check he did each time the other man returned home from his own hero work. Hizashi is wearing a plain t-shirt, which looked to have a slight stain around the collar where he’d been sweating beneath his speaker, and had pulled on some sweatpants from their room. He’d slipped on his regular glasses as well. His face looked fairly clean, as did his arms, no visible cuts or bruises, just the typical pink tinge around his neck. That would fade soon enough, just like it always did when he took the heavy support gear off for the night.

Shouta is relieved to see Hizashi is unharmed. He always is, but tonight especially, he’s not sure he could deal with more stress weighing down his shoulders right now. He sinks lower into the tub as Hizashi approaches.

The blond looks from Shouta’s bruised eye socket to the knee sticking out of the water, also purple and irritated, and then to the glass balanced on the tub.

“That bad?” Hizashi asks, and his voice is quiet.

Shouta glares at his drink, now mostly watered down with the little bit of whiskey left and the nearly melted ice cubes. He slips further under the water, letting his chin and mouth dip in, and covering up all but his eyes.

He groans in acknowledgment of Hizashi’s words.

Hizashi steps closer again. He tentatively reaches down to dip a finger into the tub and then pulls it back out, wiping it on his shirt.

“Water is cold, Sho.”

Shouta sighs out into the water, letting little bubbles burst along the surface. It felt childish, but he didn’t really want to talk about what had happened tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

Hizashi seems to understand, of course he did, it was one of the many reasons Shouta had married him.

Hizashi knew exactly how this felt, and he knew Shouta, knew when the other man needed time to process his thoughts, time to come to terms with them, that prying wasn’t always the answer, wouldn’t always help.

“Need a refill?” Hizashi asks, and he bends over the tub, his lips pressing softly to Shouta’s damp hair.

“Yeah,” Shouta sighs out, lifting his mouth out of the water, and letting the grip on his glass loosen as Hizashi’s hand comes over top of his, gently taking it away.

As his husband stands up, twisting his body to turn around, about to pick his foot up and begin walking toward the kitchen, toward the bottle of whiskey Shouta hadn’t capped, knowing he’d be back, Shouta abruptly reaches his hand out. He grabs hold of the back of Hizashi’s shirt.

The blond pauses and looks over his shoulder.

“Shouta?”

“It can wait,” he says, looking down at the water.

He hears Hizashi set the empty glass down on the sink counter, and then a soft whooshing noise as the other man’s shirt falls to the ground. Shouta looks up just as Hizashi is shucking his pants, lifting a leg up to slip it into the water. Shouta holds out his hand to steady his husband as he steps inside with the other foot, sitting down on the edge of the tub in nothing but his underwear. He probably hadn’t needed to take off the shirt, but Shouta wasn’t about to complain, moving closer to rest his cheek against Hizashi’s thigh.

Hizashi’s hand comes down on his head so softly Shouta can barely feel it at first, until he begins pulling his fingers through the knots Shouta had not gotten to working out of his hair just yet.

Admittedly, he thinks he should be telling Hizashi that the water is filthy, that he’s going to need a bath after sitting in Shouta’s half-assed one, but the heat and comfort coming from Hizashi’s body is far too good to pass up. Besides, the blond’s hair was still gelled up from his own patrol. He’d need to shower before the night was over anyway.

So it’s fine.

They can sit like this for a while, in the quiet of the bathroom, in the dim light cast by the wall lamps framing the mirror.

They can sit like this for however long it took, for however long he needed.

Shouta sighs, kissing Hizashi’s knee.

It felt like it might be awhile tonight.

[killjoy-loveit]

Witness Part 8

A/N: I’m hoping this will be a ten part series like Intruder, if it won’t be I will make it very clear. It’s also in 1st POV. I would also like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction. 

Summary: Noah returns as a different person, but she’s ultimately reminded of who she can trust.

Word Count: 1,457

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10

Profanity/Slight Mature Content Warning!

     I’ve been standing outside the door to Jongup’s apartment for ten minutes now. My heart felt like it was in my throat, to the point I might even choke on it. Now I could face strangers and pull their deepest secrets from them, and take them down without a second glance, all without them ever knowing my true emotions. But how am I supposed to face someone who knows me? I mean, I know I have to go in eventually, I can’t just stand outside his apartment forever.

     “How long are you planning on standing there?” Jongup’s voice whispered in my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine.

     I spun around, my loud gasp echoing throughout the hallway. “I thought you were inside!” I exclaimed.

    “You didn’t answer my question, Noah.” He murmured darkly, moving around me to open the door, guiding me inside.

    “Ten minutes or so.” I breathed out on a sigh.

     Jongup moved in front of me, his hand coming up to lightly grasp the base of my neck. His fingers teased my skin in slight swirls, while his dark eyes bored into mine. 

    “What was keeping you from coming into the apartment? I know you were given the passcode.” He questioned, his hand moving to the back of my throat and pulling me closer so that the fronts of our bodies pressed together.

    “I didn’t know what to expect.”

     At my words, his lips came down on my throat before he replied with a crude question that sent fire flooding through my veins. “You mean since we fucked?”

     I nodded as he continued to lay kisses on my neck. “I told you that you didn’t know what you got yourself into, Noah. I’m not the type to back off so easily, especially when you make everything so... Entertaining.” He growled into my ear, the heat of his breath sending delicious shivers through me.

     Over the next few hours Jongup made me extremely aware of how he felt about me, in such pleasurable ways. So, now, here I was laying completely naked, covered only by a sheet on his bed, as he clambered off the bed. Somehow, we’d seemingly slipped right back into how it would have been if I hadn’t been sent off to Wersik for training. Except, this time it’s harder for me to allow my emotions to come out.

     I wanted to tell him how happy I was to be back, to let him know how much I’d missed annoying him, and just him in general. But I found myself holding these sentiments back, emotions are dangerous. When people understand your emotions, they know how to manipulate you, they can control you however they want. With a gentle sigh, I got up to pull on one of his shirts and my panties, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

    “What’s this?” Jongup’s voice held an edge to it as his fingers traced the single scar marring my back.

    “That’s a gift from Wersik.” I muttered, yanking myself away from him, which was going against every fiber of my being that just wanted to turn around and find comfort in his arms. I pulled on his shirt deftly, managing to avoid getting my hair caught in the neck of it.

    “Why?”

    “Because I snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to look at the stars.”

    “Noah...” Jongup sighed in disapproval.

     I turned to face him, controlling myself perfectly, and I felt my pride swell as I managed to keep my voice even and free of emotion despite the raging anger inside me. “Do not ‘Noah’ me. You weren’t there, you did not train under that monster. I only went outside like that to bring myself some perspective. The night sky calms me, it always has, and I got punished for it.”

     With that said, I turned on my heel and stalked out of his room. Of course, of course he was upset that I’d disobeyed Wersik. That was what he cared about, well that, and apparently my body, but not me, how foolish I was to think he cared about me as a person. Why would he need to care about me when I’d practically thrown myself at him, annoyed him half to death, and got him into trouble with his boss. Although, maybe I’m just spiraling without someone to constantly keep me in check even though it’s only been twelve hours since I’ve left Wersik’s.

    “Noah.” Jongup’s voice was soft, a sharp contrast to the way his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

     I didn’t respond, opting to instead pull at his hands in a feeble attempt to free myself from him. 

     He just tightened his grip before responding. “You’re right, I wasn’t there. I don’t agree with Wersik’s methods and that’s why I told you to listen to her, because her punishments are quite severe for rather minor infractions. I was pissed that you got hurt.” 

     Bitterness seeped into my words. “Why do you even care?”

    “Fucking hell, Noah, are you dense? I care about you, the crazy, annoying person you are, because you weaseled your way into my head and I can’t stop thinking about what stunt you might pull next. It doesn’t make sense, it really doesn’t, and I don’t know how to explain it better, especially with how you’re behaving right now.”

     The next few days were a kind of push and pull between the two of us. He kept trying to get me to express how I felt, or be annoying in some way, and I wouldn’t, I flat out refused. Jongup started to do the things I did to annoy him, leaving random objects strewn about, except I didn’t get annoyed, at least not outwardly. As he found that my old tricks could not be used against me, he didn’t run out of steam, attempting new pranks I hadn’t even pulled on him.

     Jongup’s first original prank was painting the bar of soap in my bathroom with clear nail polish so it wouldn’t lather, that didn’t bother me as I just went to his bathroom and used his soap. When that didn’t work he tried to up the ante by switching the salt and sugar containers, this was a basic prank and I knew something was up by the small smile he held on his face as he watched me prepare my coffee. Then came a series of pranks that would’ve annoyed most people since they all came in quick succession of each other. The order was mentos ice cubes in a glass of soda, a fake bug in the fridge, an air horn that went off when I opened my bedroom door, and bubble wrap under my bath mat.

     I could tell that after these pranks, he’d run out of ideas on how to get me to, well, at this point I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me. Currently, I’m sitting on the couch, reading a book on mind games, waiting for him to make his next move. Jongup appears next to me, gently pulling the book from my grasp and setting it down on the coffee table. I raise an eyebrow at him.

     Jongup smiled at me. “Just go with me on this.”

     I purse my lips, but nod in response regardless. Unexpectedly, he sits down on the couch and then twists himself upside-down, like how he found me all those months ago. He motions for me to join him, a giddy expression on his face. I swiftly get into an upside-down position beside him, my feet hanging off the back of the couch as my head hovers above the floor. The familiar rush of blood to my head brings with it the need to laugh, I bite my cheek in an attempt to hold it back, but I ultimately fail, a loud burst of laughter breaking the silence in the apartment. With that one laugh it was like the dam in me broke, and I was laughing and crying at the same time.

     I was laughing because, oddly, hanging upside down from a couch is fun, and crying because now I could realize the reason Jongup had been pulling pranks on me. He was trying to get me to do something, to say something, to just return to how I was before I got sent to Wersik. That doesn’t mean he wants me to forget the training altogether, just that when I’m with him, I don’t have to keep that barrier that was drilled into me up. Basically, he was trying to get me to understand I was safe with him.

     I turned to look at him, my eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

[stimtoybox]

Squishy stims have become really popular lately, could you explain how they work and why people think they're stimmy?

They make more sense if you think of them as a softer, gentler, slow-rising stress ball. I suspect for non-stimmer folks on YouTube the interest is less in the stim aspect and more in the wide selection of cute designs and colours, making them very collectable–plus the fact that the branded ones are fairly exclusive, expensive and difficult to find.

[image description: a wooden basket, lined with white and grey stripped cloth, overflowing with foam squishies. A green ice-cream cone, a yellow pancake stack and a white and red strawberry cake sit on a green-and-white-spot-covered shelf beside and in front of the basket. The basket includes a blue peach squishy, a green apple, a pink strawberry, a red apple, an orange carrot, a rainbow strawberry, a pink macaron, a red watermelon slice, a glittery piece of toast and a chocolate-and-cream-covered cake slice.]

Most commercial squishies are made from a fine, dense sponge foam covered in a skin of plastic that is easy to press down and squish on, but some are made from a squishy, rubbery silicone that can be pressed and stretched. Foam squishies are often bigger and available in a very wide range of designs with painted features, while silicone squishies are often smaller and less detailed.

For some the stim lies in pressing down on or squeezing the soft foam, and for others it lies in watching the foam slowly rise. Some stimmers like both. I like pressing textured objects like hedge balls into the squishy to first feel the texture pressed into the foam and slowly watch the texture fade. Squishies are also often scented, and if you don’t mind artificial scents, there’s an additional scent-stim potential. Most make no noise, so there’s no concern about disturbing others on that point, and it’s easy to tuck a squishy under a desk or in your lap.

(If your squishy is strongly scented, though, check to make sure the folks around you are comfortable with artificial fragrances. I’ve had a few that can stink out a room and then some!)

Squishies are good because smaller ones are easy to attach to zipper pulls, buckles and belt-loops, making them portable. They’re also a low-resistance and low repetitive movement stim, meaning that they don’t require a lot of force to use and don’t require the same degree of repetitive movement as a Tangle or Fidget Cube. For stimmers who struggle with fine movement, repetitive movement or holding/grasping, squishies are great because you can just prop the larger ones in your lap and poke at them.

(Also, the fact that they’re so popular makes them fairly stealth in the sense that having a squishy hanging from your backpack won’t be seen as unusual.)

Even if you prefer stimming in other ways, I do recommend having a squishy or two in your kit just to give you something gentler to alternate between high-movement and higher-resistance stims. Squishies are good for giving your hands a bit of a break while still offering some movement and sensory input for those of us who need to be stimming at all times.

If you prefer firmer textures to squish on, I’d stay with stress balls, but as someone who finds stress balls too firm, squishies are a more comfortable option.

The other advantage is that they’re now really readily available–department stores, dollar stores, toy stores, craft stores. There’s a range of price points and a large variety of brand names as well as unbranded squishies. For Aussies, the best offline place is The Reject Shop, selling jumbo squishies at $4 AUD, but they don’t get them in consistently and sell out really fast when they do. My local dollar shops have some amazing squishies right now, but they’re all between $10-$15 AUD, which is just too expensive.

Generally, though, I find the most affordable place is eBay, where there’s a lot of free-shipping listings. You can generally get a good off-brand jumbo squishy, delivered to your door, for $5 AUD or less–you just have to wait a few weeks shipping from China or Hong Kong. Places like Banggood and Wish stock squishies as well, but–at least for me here in Australia–I find eBay to be that little bit cheaper.

[doshmanziari]

Crown of the Ivory King is the Dark Souls Series’ Low-point

Ever since the release of Dark Souls 2′s final installment, the Crown of the Ivory King, it’s been attended by a very vocally supportive playerbase. I’ve found it baffling and, despite lurking forums and attempting to coax out explications about why the heck people think it’s so great, I’ve hardly come any closer to understanding the reception. It’s fine, I think, to shrug and say you just have a thing for snowy levels. When that’s made into more than a hyper-subjective admittance, and becomes statements which denigrate Dark Souls 2′s main material (see: comments everywhere that the DLC is supposedly a significant step up from the “B-team”’s work (note that this supposed “B-team” is an imaginary group gamers have conveniently heaped their scorn upon when they’ve found Souls-stuff to be lacking)) . . . then I get kind of annoyed.

With the Boletarian Palace, Demon’s Souls set the standard for me where fortressed layouts in the series are concerned. At the risk of seeming to treat the Boletarian Palace as a case of insuperable level design, I’m going to quote a few bits here from prior essays concerning it, and hope that it instead demonstrates that its better qualities come from reproducible design decisions:

An uncommon attention was paid to the worlds’ furnishings. One noticed, making their way through [the Boletarian Palace], that rickety palisades were erected on the grand introductory staircase, here and there a discarded carriage with maybe a horse corpse; in small, pocket-like refectories were rows of beds, and tables bearing cups, candelabras, and bowled edibles; outside of these cells were carts harboring casks of wine and buckets; or that on a long wall-walk was a somber parade of trebuchets, and adjacent to this was an attic for carts loaded with to-be-launched boulders. There was a sense that everything was in its right place, and to weave through these environments was to experience a world that innately lent itself to textured terms of engagement. Running up a series of staircases peppered by barrels full of explosive powder, and haunted by torch-wielding madmen, meant grappling with an incendiary challenge, yet the challenge was holistically ingrained in the objecthood of that world. In that way, spatial dealings, navigational or combative, acquired a flavor of believability.

Additionally, Demon’s Souls ran counter to an extant strain of design in action-adventure games that draws a distinguishing line between “combative spaces” and “non-combative spaces.” The least gratifying cases of this strain induce a monotonous awareness of compartmentalization, of there being a manner of space for fights — most often resembling an arena accommodating the spectacle of performance (God of War and its progeny come to mind) — and a manner of space for sites between fights. What made Demon’s Souls a categorical outlier was that conflict could happen anywhere; and that, when conflict did happen, the architecture supplemented it.

. . . the Boletarian Palace’s magic was that its architecture discretely realized and blended the inherent themes of defense, housing, and storage. It both came across as a convincing place (again, “convincing” or “realistic” does not mean that the subject has a 1:1 ratio with reality) and engaged the player with design permutations that took hold of the surroundings, like groups of crossbow-firing soldiers blocking the way on a bridge, or darkly spear-throwing creatures in a dim room meant for storing carriages.

Rather than a stony maze with apposite ornaments thrown in, the Boletarian Palace felt like a castle first and foremost, with encounter design that naturally tapped into its abundance of nooks, sharp angles, and verticalities.

If we’re looking at Eleum Loyce -- which can be more or less separated into a fortified area, a residential zone, and a subterranean network -- I think the pervasive problem is that practically none of it has any suggestive power. Suggestive power is a consequence of the level design per se and the clothing it wears. So when nearly all there is to see is the most spartan of stonework (and not even skillfully texture-mapped stonework) and white mounds, engaging level design is vital. Most of the interiors have been reduced to bare, non-functional cubes, and exteriors largely are bluntly laid out paths where you pick off a line of enemies one by one, sometimes including peripheral retainers. It all has the flavor of a beta zone for developmental testing, and it feels terribly wrong that perhaps the sole memorable detail is a frozen fountain early on.

Since this doesn’t really lend itself to interesting encounter design -- there is no ambiguity or mystery to the space, no way to treat it as anything other than a sequence of immediately explicable containers -- and the majority of enemies are super-sturdy soldiers coming in a few flavors, many combative interactions play out as the melee-oriented player leading an alerted bunch of foes to a chokepoint and picking them off with strong attacks. For as much as I could criticize the aesthetic fumbles of the prior two DLC installments, their layouts had definite dynamics: Shulva’s staggered array of towers (some manipulatable), and Brume Tower’s tiered floors skirting circular shafts.

They also featured neat miniature gimmicks that could be engaged to lessen the danger of a given area: destroying sarcophagi in the Dragon Sanctum to make the ghostly sanctum knights assume a corporeal, and practically pregnable, form, and collapsing Ashen Idols speckling the Tower to halt the healing and reappearance of adjacent enemies. It’s hard to really say what Loyce’s comparable gimmicks are. There are, for a while, snowy winds blasting around the fort’s exteriors, but these winds only have a remarkable effect on your range of sight in the optional (and much-hated) Frozen Outskirts (this is, in fact, one of the Outskirts’ few virtues). There are also coats of ice making certain chests inaccessible, but once they’re shattered upon talking to a Lore-Dispensing Character it simply is a matter of backtracking and opening them up in a classically obsessive-compulsive manner (more interesting would’ve been the option to melt the ice by using pyromanic spells).

What little conspicuous level design exists in Eleum Loyce does stand out on its own terms. When you come upon the abandoned residential zone, you must navigate several columned arcades, being careful about the obscured, spine-backed ice rats and, a level above, a spell-casting witchtree spirit or two. Between this triangulation of elements you’ll find yourself using the arcades for cover while also trying to not let their dense arrangement hinder your movements or attacks. It’s basic stuff, and brief, and it’s good (it gets even better when you’re invaded by a black phantom NPC) -- it works on a level beyond shoveling baddies into crates and along straight paths. You’re conscious of an architecture. Disappointing, then, to find that the knotty little complex of residences is really a paltry couple of empty boxes with a useable staircase in one. So much for expanding on that aspect of the city.

Another similarly brief moment happens later on inside a dim, high-ceilinged hall separated by three floors built of wooden planks. The first of these floors is the most interesting. On it, you’ll juggle seeking shelter from two spell-casters by emerging onto nearby balconies, and taking care of a soldier on each balcony itself before you’re ganged up on by pursuers from the hall; and once you’re back in the hall to take of whoever remains, you’ll have to mind the several holes which break up the wooden flooring and lead to deadly drops. As with many cases of fine level design in the series, it demonstrates how an engaging sense of pressure can be exerted on players by aligning simple, but not overly simple, architecture with complementary enemy positions.

Eleum Loyce has been commended for having several loop-around shortcuts that lead you back to prior locations. These commendations haven’t taken into account why this series-trope has excelled when it has excelled, though. To be sure, Eleum Loyce’s shortcuts function as any shortcut should: they expedite the process of repeat attempts at navigation and impart a sense of incremental progress. But beyond this there’s not really any epiphanic or retrospective spark to the loop-arounds. Eleum Loyce’s overall layout is so diffuse and architecturally generalized -- if you compare the two screenshots below you’ll see how visually similar the city’s explorable portions are to its unexplorable portions -- that you’re never learning about its organizational character or seeing charismatic structures reappear. You’re just opening a door or taking an elevator. And, you know, that’s fine. But it doesn’t warrant special praise.

And then there’s the unpleasant friction of the Frozen Outskirt’s conceptual strength versus its actual strength. As each DLC installment has had mechanical gimmicks (some, uh, ostensible), each has also had an optional gauntlet catering to multiplayer efforts. These have been pretty uniformly terrible -- I called Shulva’s an “utterly reduced ‘path with enemies’” -- and are solely concerned with throwing as much densely packed shit at the player(s) in the tightest possible, and least imaginatively suggestive, spaces. As I wrote in the same essay, “There is no design goal here except, ‘Swamp the player who should have assistance to divide the streams of projectiles and the soldiers' advances.’” A slight exception, the Frozen Outskirts offer the novel idea of dislocating players by having the snowdrifts oscillate between visibility and near-invisibility by way of periodic snowstorms. If this were left on its own, if the challenge were one of pure navigation -- having to find one’s bearings and using several ruinous sites as guideposts, and fighting or running away from a few hostile adventurers -- I really think the Frozen Outskirts would be great. All of this potential is squandered by tossing what essentially amount to mini-bosses at players, with no options for even the tiniest bit of cover among the stretches separating the ruins (recalling Elana’s chief design failure), and so the overall experience is demoted to that of a frustrating slog.

I think what makes Eleum Loyce the series’ low-point for me is its formal vapidness + its very positive reception. I feel bored and alienated. It’s hard to not think that people have been poisoned to believe that what is most remarkable about these games is the element of challenge. Eleum Loyce is, to me, a snubbing of everything I’ve enjoyed about exploring these games’ places. All curious details have been scrubbed out and what remains is a base obstacle course of cartoonishly themed enemies -- ice-coated soldiers, some with crystals bursting from their backs -- with the ultimate signifier of Prepare to Die challenge at the end: a bunch of knights in a huge arena protecting an even bigger knight, who epically emerges from Barad-dûr’s peak to a tritone and can make his sword be the biggest sword.

Anyway. That’s what I think. What do you think?

[jasperwoke]

Lemonade

“It’s lemonade”

“What?”

“Lemonade” Jake repeated once more.

In the middle of the table, just covered with a sky blue cloth moments ago, sat a cold pitcher of lemonade. Condensation could still be seen gathering on the sides, while the ice cubes inside slowly melted. Two lemon wedges sat on top and too much undissolved sugar sat on the bottom, each adding milky swirls into the juice.

“Why would- WHY the hell is there lemonade? It could’ve been knife. perhaps a blood covered gun. Hell, even a dead rat with a highly contagious viru- why the shit is it lemonade and how am I supposed to commit MURDER with a pitcher of lemonade?”

Aaron was just about to smash the pitcher. In all his years of being a “house painter”, he never got a client like this. And he never had to resort to means like this. Jake was his assistant. Similar to the way snipers need a spotter to call out distance and wind estimates on targets, Aaron needed an assistant to help “clean” on cases that got dirty.

Aaron accepted the case whilst meeting the patron in a coffee shop. Media often portrayed hitmen as top secretive, scrambling under the cover of night in black trenches and silenced pistols. Once he watched the movie Leon the Professional - he quite liked it. Hitmen, at least the majority, do in fact have a favorite cereal.

“Tell me Jake” Aaron composed, struggling to keep his voice a few decibels below pure rage “what light do you make of this situation?”

“Well… Clearly the lemonade pitcher has something to do with the client. Maybe its like kryptonite to peter parker”

Aaron snorted. “You mean Barry Allen, but anyway. Yes. That is what I was thinking. You are lucky to be under the apprenticeship of a professional like me. Let me tell you Jake, so many people in the field these days are amateurs” Aaron bellows a hearty laugh. “People in the FIELD” he chuckles again to himself

The target in question was not a highly sought target. Her radar was low, and at first, Aaron had to reconfirm with his client that the victim was indeed the right person. Sarah Briggen, mother of three, grandmother of two, and widowed at 65. Short gray locks hung slightly below her shoulders. Her soft brown eyes peeked form under folds of skin on her cheeks and drooping lids. She was grown and weathered. Weathered, but by no means, old.

Sarah’s house was an archetype of homely. She had a small abode out in Pennsylvania, where she and her husband used to farm chickens and store their yearly berry harvests in a tin silo out back. Her house itself was a flat one story wood building, painted in a lime green that had worn into a piss yellow over the years. However, the vibe of grandmotherly still filled the air around her farm. The scent of pies and tarts lingered as strongly as the taste of her always freshly prepared beverages. She made a killer root soda, but her lemonade was also a classic.

“This is the place, huh.”

“Sarah Briggen, age 86, says her husband died 21 years ago. And she’s been living alone all these years. Her children visit once a year around December for Christmas. Let’s see, oh, she lets passerby’s stay the night for a day’s worth of work. Who knew” Jake summarized Sarah’s file, slowly mapping out the execution in his head while doing so.

“Haha very funny Jake enough of the small talk, when does she go to sleep? We slip in slip out easy peasy you amateurs think too much read into it too much” Aaron snorted “If I took this solo case it would’ve been done already I mean, for christ’s sake, she’s 86. 86! I don’t need a pitcher of lemonade hell I don’t even need hands she probably suffers a different heart attack every day I’ll-” Aaron catches his breath “I’ll bet you this case that all we have to do is sit in this car and she’ll somehow break her pelvis and this job is closed.”

Jake glanced up. He took a while, measuring and picking his words carefully for dealing with Aaron. “I dunno boss, I think a more direct approach is better. Maybe we’d stop in around dinner, and feel her place out. Make it quick so the locals don’t suspect nuthin but I still think we should be on the lookout. After all, if she’s worth as much as the file says, I don’t think she’d be that easy.” Jake pauses, peering at the house, and quickly adds a “sir.”

They watched from the car for a few more hours. Mid July heat was no joke, but in the countryside, the overgrowth and vegetation helps circulate air. In fact, it’s been measured that it’s usually cooler outside of cities and urban areas. Sarah sometimes came out onto her patio and sat on her rocking chair. The duo didn’t find out anything else of value, expect that she really enjoyed John Denver. She moved slow, taking her time, but didn’t seem to be in stress or strain, only taking more time to catch her breath every so often. She had a small pink pocket square she hung around her waist that she would occasionally wipe her brow with. July is humid and hot.

When the fireflies started flying and the crickets started chirping but the birds stopped and the frogs began their low croaking, Aaron and Jake stepped out of their car. They parked behind a line of trees, and were sure Sarah hadn’t seen them during the day. They trekked up her gravel roadway, noting the two big tractors she had out front.

“Strange, I didn’t think a woman like her needed two tractors” whispered Jake.

“Oh my dears! Come on in, come in! Please. I’ve just been simmering some stock with McGrady’s be-” She stops to catch her breath. It’s clear she doesn’t get a lot of visitors and has a lot of love. Sarah beckons them in with her short flabby arms, making grandiose gestures in her not so grand shape, “Please, sit my loves, y’all ain't intruding at all oh hush up, you.”

Sarah gingerly takes out half a leftover peach cobbler from her fridge. The crust had grown a bit soggy from the moisture, but it was clear it was puff pastry. Small grating of orange zest adorned the top of the pie along with flecks of powdered sugar, whilst under, the peach jam stayed firm from the cold refrigeration. Sarah also pours them two tall glasses of lemonade. The sweet glazed nectar trickled down the sides of a highball liquor glass. She brushed the rim with specks of salt, and split a lemon wedge, softly pushing it into place on the glass. The lemonade was dense. It wasn’t just milky like the pitcher that Aaron had seen earlier. The way the light caught on the edge, the way the streams ran down the glass, the way the sugar didn’t collect at the bottom; the lemonade was conspicuous.

Aaron readily chugged it. He waited all day in a more than hot sedan in the July heat. He then plunged into the pastry, readily digging with his fingers. Had his partner not known better, Jake would’ve assumed Aaron was Sarah’s own family with how he was adjusting himself. Jake was positive at this point Aaron didn’t even know who Sarah was or where he was, only that the cobbler and lemonade were delicious. Aaron didn’t notice how his cup wasn’t filled with what Sarah pulled out from the fridge. He didn’t realize Jake pulled out their pitcher, and filled his cup with the placebo. He didn’t quite notice the underlying metallic taste in his drink, as Aaron readily gulped down two straight glasses. Aaron didn’t notice Sarah preparing and simmering her vegetable stock with a butcher knife, back turned to him, obscuring her face.

Aaron awoke in the kitchen again. It was dark out. He wasn’t tied or restrained, but his body wouldn’t respond. His arms hung limp at his sides, he could feel his fingers slightly numb from all the blood gathering at the tips. His head tilted back onto his seat, but the seat was tall enough to make him look forward. His eyes opened. It took a moment to adjust to the dark kitchen, with only two light sources.

“Wait, two?” thought Aaron

Moonlight streamed through the window curtains above the oven. Under the window was a slow cooker lit on the gas stove. The two light sources. On opposite sides of the light were two figures. One with a short 86 year old grandmotherly stature, and another resembling Jake. Aaron was confused. Perhaps it was him waking from the nice nap he took in the summer evening, perhaps it was from the copious amount of juice he drank, either way, his head was not too clear.

“Who- why? We’re on the same team you little- you PIECE OF-” at which Jake shoved Aaron’s sweat stained sock into his mouth.

“Well you see boss, I got called aside by a client too” Jake paused and inspected his nails. In the dark, as Jake raised his hand to his face, it looked more sinister and ominous, as if he was reaching for something. “Lovely Ms. Briggens here caught wind of what was going down. You see, her son is a very wealthy ambassador currently hosting a meeting in the United Arab Emirates as we” Jake waited for the right word “as we have this conversation. But anyway, it said somewhere in Ms. Briggens file that I so uncaringly forgot in the car, that her insurance covers about five million worth in equities.” Aaron choked a little. 5 million? His contractor was only offering fifty thousand, barely a scratch in her or this case’s worth.

“Well, why am I here? HUH? You’re the new fish you should be- why I oughta,” at least, that’s what Aaron tried to say. The sock in his mouth made him sound more, passive. Like he was whimpering. Perhaps, Aaron was scared.

“Well darling, let’s get to work shall we?” Sarah piped up. “The base has been cooking for a while now, I think it’s time to add the,” she cleared her throat. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and for a split second, gleamed pure white. Two pale dots on a soot black face. Aaron gulped. He started trembling. He hadn’t notice his pants were soiled, or did he just soil them? His eyes too grew wide like Sarah’s, but not out of eagerness for the killer gumbo she was preparing. Sarah finished her sentence in a soft gingerly voice. The way a mother sings a lullaby to her child, before putting them to sleep. “I think it’s time to add the meat.”

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #318

"Stevies Icy Glitch, Cold Fossils, A Present from Notch”

-There's a bit of a crackle as some of the rock around Stevie shifts to really dark and dense ice-

[Steve] Hey... I've seen that before. But never since we came here.

[TLOT] Really? Does it drop anything good or is it just ice?

[Steve] I kinda got killed before I could mine it and then I didn't see it again. It only happens really deep underground.

[Stevie] - Sorry, I don't mean to freeze everything

[Steve] Hey, it's okay! Let's see what we get! - He starts chipping away at the ice.

[TLOT] Boundless enthusiasm....

[Stevie] Moves away so he doesn't freeze Steve-

-The ice shatters a few items fall to the floor-

[Steve] Oh neat!, I got a blank book... and a big-ass skull, and this! - He holds up a very large chunk of frozen meat like a big turkey leg-

[Stevie] - That's a lot of meat...

[Steve] It's really hard too! - He whacks it against a rock and it makes a loud clack against the stone-

[TLOT] See you were focused on apologizing and you actually made him happy.

[Stevie] - Yeah but this still isn't normal

[TLOT] Well no... but you're glitched. These things happen.

[Steve] Puts the meat away and checks over the book- It's got a black cover too. Neat!

[Stevie] - At least I'm not automatically making it snow anymore?

[TLOT] Yeah, I can see how that would be annoying.

[Steve] I used to be sensitive about my glitch too, but it's okay. People are much nicer then I thought they'd be.

[Stevie] - Wait, you're glitched?

[Steve] Yeah... Just a little. - He sits down and pulls off one of his new diamond boots, his left shoe is unnaturally red.

[Stevie] Is interested but rubs his right arm nervously, a bit of ice forming near his hand-

[Steve] It lets me do this- He walks towards the lava pool determinedly-

[TLOT] Warms a hand and hovers it near the patch-

[Stevie] - Ah!  Steve!

[Steve] Nah it's okay. - He plunges a hand in and scoops out a bit of lava- Oooch, eek... eeep - He holds it up so Stevie can see and tosses it back in with a plop and shakes the remaining drops off- It's right on the edge of what I can handle.

[Stevie] - But...  It should've...

[Steve] Yeah, - he gestures at his mate - I absorbed a little bit of his bad code accidently. I can replace my stupid shoe as many times as I want and it always changes to that color too. And it's just the left one.

[Stevie] - Well, you're better off then I am...

[TLOT] You say that like you probably won't be able to freeze things intentionally later.

[Stevie] - It's the unintentional that I'm worried about

[Steve] Pulls his boot back on. - Eh. That's what respawn is for. You should try and freeze some more dirt. See what else we can get.

[Stevie] - I'm still working on not freezing everything!

[TLOT] But if you can do it intentionally, then you can also stop yourself from doing it. Practice is good.

[Stevie] Is becoming more nervous which causes more ice-

[Steve] Chops at it with a pick-

[TLOT] Easy now. Just sit closer to the lava if you need too.

[Stevie] - Sorry

[TLOT] Helps him sit next to the pool- It's okay! You're among friends. We understand what it's like.

[Steve] Gets a rather large curly shell and some flints- Look at this! It's so neat! - He puts the shell in Stevie's lap- I bet Alexis would think it was really pretty.

[Stevie] - Maybe, she does enjoy nature stuff...

[Steve] Taps the last block and laughs- It's a frozen fish!

[TLOT] What the...? That is an ugly fish.

[Stevie] - I have to agree with that

[Steve] Hey! I know! - He takes a stick and forces the end through the fish before holding it out over the lava.

[TLOT] Is just chuckling

[Stevie] Sneezes and the lava turns to cold obsidian-

[Steve] Aww.... damn...

[TLOT] Oh shush. It's probably just the top layer. - He punches out a pair of blocks and the space lights up with the glow from the hole below-

[Stevie] - Sorry!

[TLOT] You're learning. - He's walking along the surface tapping the obsidian away easily with the point of his scythe-

[Stevie] - I wonder what's taking brother so long...

[Steve] Is merrily toasting the fish over the lava-

[TLOT] You probably needed a break anyway.

[Stevie] - Maybe...

[Steve] Pulls the cooked fish back and rips off a small chunk. - Musky, but decent.

[TLOT] Probably freeze burnt!

[Steve] Plucks off a chunk of meat and offers it to Stevie-

[Stevie] - I wonder where exactly it came from...

[TLOT] Suddenly looks a tad concerned. - You know... Steve? You said you've seen this before?

[Steve] Yes, on our seed.

[TLOT] It could be bleed through? I mean, things exist in potentia right? Once an item has been made, it's then an option for someone else to craft the same... Our seed is inside the server. Maybe you're tapping into something that's a rare item there?

[Stevie] - You guys are gonna go explore, aren't you?

[TLOT] I already have a lot my mind after our battle... this is just one more thing.

[Stevie] - Yeah, thank you for being there though

[TLOT] Of course! I promised. It was the least I could do. And Cp provided an interesting piece of the puzzle as well. Have you met the pigpeople he healed from our seed?

[Stevie] Finally notices the offered meat and takes it, a slight coating of frost covering it- Not yet, I was recovering at home and then went to your seed, and then I've been on the seed brother's training me on

[Steve] They're huge! As big as Buff. And smart too!

[TLOT] And two of the males are very much in love. It annoys Cp quite a bit.

[Stevie] - It would, that might explain why he's so adamant about not leaving me alone yet

[TLOT] Nah. He doesn't want to leave you alone because it apparently took him a lot of time and effort to learn to control his own powers.

[Stevie] - I barely remember that time...

[TLOT] I think you weren't around much. It would have been when he basically couldn't approach you without you tryng to kill him on sight.

[Stevie] - That's been pretty much the whole time up until relatively recently

[Steve] Puts the fishbones away- Aw. Things have been getting better for a while.

[TLOT] He's right, it seems like forever since we first met. And I'm proud of you for becoming more openminded about us glitchy folks.

[Stevie] - Well considering how the only glitch person I knew until I came here was my brother can you blame me for being a bit prejudiced?

[TLOT] Live and learn.

[Steve] I'm just glad Harvestman is gone. What a nightmare!

[TLOT] Were you happy you got to throw my beloved cheese at him?

[Steve] Yep!

[Stevie] - No offense TLOT but that stuff reeks

[TLOT] That's because it's for Herobrines. It smells nasty to everyone else. It tastes amazing though. Catnip might make your brother purr, but I doubt it would do anything for you.

[Stevie] - If it did then my brother would probably use it in an annoying way

[Steve] It makes a nice sleepy tea.

[TLOT] Being annoying is what big brothers are for.

[Stevie] - I thought little brother's were supposed to be the annoying one

[TLOT] Shrugs- I don't have any siblings, it's just what I've heard...

[Steve] FAMILY is supposed to be annoying.

[Stevie] - Yeah, I guess the fact that the two of us are related does make us unique...

[Steve] Oh man... I just had a thought! You're glitched, I wonder what would happen if you had a kid with Alexis? They might have weird powers too!

[Stevie] - Do not put that idea in my head!

[TLOT] I shudder to think what kind of mayhem a child of Lie and Cp could get up to either...

[Stevie] - That's an even worse idea!- His distress quickly covers the entire cavern in ice

[Steve] Goes to work picking again-

[TLOT] Sighs and flips some blocks to make more lava and melt the ice-

[Stevie] - Sorry...

[Steve] OH NEAT! - He brings over a massive tooth- It looks like one of Basil's!

[TLOT] I don't think you need to be sorry...

[Stevie] Shivers a little-

[Steve] Gets another of the big cube skulls and puts it on Stevie's head like a pumpkin- Hehehe! Scary!

[CP] Teleports back- Oi, I'm here...  What the nether are you doing?

[TLOT] Just having some fun. Apparently Stevie freezing dirt and gravel makes it drop different things.

[Steve] I found another frozen fish! Oh... hey Cp!

[CP] - Great, ready to go back Stevie?

[Stevie] - Yeah...

[TLOT] Play nice you too.

[Stevie] Takes the skull off as he stands-

[CP] Grabs his brother and teleports him back to the other server-

[Stevie] After several more hours of training is exhausted- Brother, can we please take a break?

[CP] - Have you unfrozen the lake yet?

[Stevie] - No

[CP] - Then keep going

[Notch] Is coming back down the road that passes by the town, heading for his small house. He's dusty and looks exhausted.

[Flux] Had went ahead of him to have some warm food and bed waiting for him when he was ready-

{Lie] - Is watching Sally play in the front yard-

[Notch] Accidently drops a shovel on the stone patio-

[Lie] Looks over- Oh!  Notch, you're back

[Notch] Little wave- Oh.. Sally is visiting?

[Lie] - Yeah, I'm watching her since CP is helping Stevie right now

[Notch] Helping him do what?

[Lie] - Oh that's right, you don't know...  Well the arm Doc gave Stevie?  It wouldn't stay attached.  The had to use some rather strong glitching to attach it and it led to Stevie gaining some powers...

[Notch] Oh hell... is Stevie a brine too now!?

[Lie] - No!  He's just glitched!

[Notch] Okay... I'm sure he's not happy about it though. Where are they?

[Lie] - A separate server so Stevie wouldn't freeze everything over.  You can get to it down in the cage

[Notch] Oh. Darn it. Can I borrow something warm from you?

[Lie] - Sure, let me go grab my cape.  Will you need help getting into the server?

[Notch] I don't know, I've never tried.

[Lie] - Would you like me to come with you?

[Notch] Yes please.

[Lie] Disappears briefly and returns with her cloak which she hands to Notch- Sally can you behave while I'm gone?

[Sally] - Yes!

[Notch] Are you sure that's a good idea? Is Flux around to watch her for a few minutes?

[Lie] - I think she's in your place

[Notch] I should let her know I'm okay and change my clothes so I don't get your cloak dirty anyway. Excuse me for a sec- He trots over to his house and taps the door before going in- Flux?

[Flux] - Yes?  What is it?

[Notch] I'm home? But I have to go back out again for a little bit to talk to Cp and Stevie. Can you watch Sally for a few minutes, so Lie can open a portal for me?

[Flux] - Absolutely, I'll have warm food waiting for you when you get home

[Notch] Thank you. - He changes his clothes quickly and comes back out, stopping to drop a few items in a chest- Ready Lie!

[Lie] - Let's go then- She starts heading for the cage

[Notch] Follows, slinging the cape around himself-

[Lie] Approaches the new server and makes an opening, yelping as she's hit with a blast of cold air-

[Notch] Hurries into the opening. - Cp can let me out, just leave the cage door open please.

[Lie] - Will do- She closes the opening behind her father in law

[Notch] Wraps the cloak a bit tighter and ventures out into the snow looking for the brothers-

[CP] Is fairly easy to spot due to the plume of steam coming off of him-

[Notch] Waves and calls out- Stevie! Cp!

[CP] Glances over-

[Stevie] - Father?

[Notch] Stevie? Did you do all this?

[Stevie] - Yes...

[CP] - Thus why we made a new seed until he figures out how to control it

[Notch] It's impressive. Honestly-

[CP] - Yeah well he's currently working on figuring out how to get rid of it

[Notch] I could try to help?

[Stevie] - How?

[Notch] I can enhance powers, remember?

[CP] - Oh this should be entertaining

[Notch] I could always touch you instead Cp, we could certainly heat things up.

[CP] - You might want to rethink how you said that

[Notch] You know what I mean! It's cold as cubes out here.

[CP] - No shit

[Stevie] Yelps as he creates a new snow drift-

[Notch] Walks near him- Just try to focus on reigning it all in. You created it, make it go away. - He reaches out a hand to touch Stevie's arm-

[Stevie] Focus' and slowly the ice begins to recede from the lake, but a cold is spreading up Notch's arm as well-

[Notch] Shivers hard-

[Stevie] - Sorry father...

[Notch] Grabs Cp's shirt and drags him closer-

[CP] - Now what!?

[Notch] What do you think?! You're warm!

[CP] Growls-

[Stevie] Soon the water of the lake is visible again and Stevie pulls away from Notch, exhausted-

[Notch] Wraps his arm in the cloak fur and rubs it to get the feeling back-

[CP] Narrows eyes- Isn't that?

[Notch] Lie lent it to me so I wouldn't freeze. I'll give it back.

[CP] Scowls-

[Stevie] - Can we stop now?

[CP] - Fine

[Notch] I'm sorry I left so abruptly Stevie. I didn't realize anything was wrong that Doc couldn't easily fix.

[Stevie] - None of us did, it fell off in the middle of the night

[Notch] I'm sorry all the same. I want to be there when you need me.

[Stevie] - It's okay, you've been here way more than our original ever was

[CP] - So why did you run off in a hurry?

[Notch] Blushes- Thank you Stevie- at Cp-  Because I wanted to do something for you actually.

[CP] - You what?

[Notch] Nods- But I saved the endgame so I could do it in front of you- rustles in his inventory-

[CP] - Do I even want to know what crazy your talking about now is?

[Notch] Drops a crafting table on the ground- Just something that needed to be done

[Stevie] Watches curiously-

[Notch] Takes out three sticks and sets them aside - One from a dark oak forest, and two from jungle wood, - he pulls out some cookies- If anyone wants a snack. There was lots of cocoa beans around-

[Stevie] - Lie made us some stew so we're good for now

[Notch] That was nice of her. She's so thoughtful. - He takes out several shimmering diamonds and turns them in the sunlight. - Two from the edge of a giant lake of lava near the bedrock layer. One from a chest in a spider dungeon I barely escaped...

[CP] - What is so important about this?

[Notch] Just smiles-  This one I found by chance, just glimmering in the mouth of a cave, and this one was high on a ravine wall, it took me forever to get down to it. You really don't know Cp?

[CP] - You're showing off what you found?

[Notch] No, silly... they're for you.

[CP] - Uh, I can get my own diamonds

[Stevie] - You mean steal them from me?

[CP] - Yup

[Notch] Patiently- Don't steal from your brother. - He arranges the materials on the table and transforms them into a diamond pick and a diamond sword- These are for you.

[CP] Perks a little- What?

[Notch] I saw you lose your tools in the fight, and I know they were special to you.

[Stevie] - That's right...  You did

[Notch] It didn't seem right to spawn them from creative.

[CP] - But...  Why?

[Notch] Because I care about you?

[CP] Looks at the tools- I...- He hesitates- Th...  Thank you

[Notch] You're welcome. I'd hug you too but I know you don't like it.

[CP] - You should be getting back before you get to cold- He creates an opening

[Notch] I understand. I hope you guys get the hang of this soon and come back. I'm sure Alexis and Lie are both missing you.

[Stevie] - Yeah, can you let Alexis know I'm okay when you get the chance?

[Notch] I'll do it right after I give Lie her cloak back. Shall I tell her anything for you?

[CP] - I just saw her, so I'm good.  Now go

[Notch] Okay okay I'm going. - He scoots out of the portal.

[Stevie] - Bye father

[CP] Closes the opening-

[findingflavorland]

Sourdough Bread: Sun-dried Tomatoes & Parmesan // Roasted Garlic & Rosemary

Test Recipe 01

Sun-dried tomato, parmesan boule (front)  // Roasted garlic & Rosemary boule (back)

Overall Outcomes

Bread Score: 7/10

Would have preferred larger, open crumbs. Bread was denser than I would like, but I was happy to see an even distribution in crumbs overall, a good sign of better shaping. Nice oven-spring and rise on the loafs. Beautiful coloring on crust. Much better compared to my first foray into breadmaking. See section on bread to see what I tried this time round that made it better.

Flavor Score: 2/10 The low score wasn’t because it tasted bad. Rather, it was simply the lack of flavor that was disappointing. It just tasted like plain sourdough. I ended up eating it with some whipped cream cheese. Whenever there were bites that contained the flavor bombs, it was great. 

On the Roasted Garlic, Rosemary loaf:

Best enjoyed toasted. Cream cheese complemented the herbaceous flavors really well, kinda reminiscent of Boursin’s garlic chives cream cheese. 

The Good

The sticky, mushy garlic helped the herbs clump together, which ensured those flavors always lived together, rather than separate.

The Bad

Mushy clumps of roasted garlic ruined the texture of bread. It was also unevenly and scarcely distributed throughout the loaf. 

The Techniques

Roasted a head of garlic in the oven for 45 minutes till caramelized and mushy. Cut cloves into chunks, not tiny because I thought I wanted bites of flavor. This was a terrible experience. It was mushy, sticky and hard to handle. it caused all the rosemary to clump together and I could not get the incorporated into much of the dough because of the low volume.

Flavor bombs were introduced in final shaping stage as well, incorporated with every fold in the Tartine book’s packaging fold technique.

There must be a better way to infuse garlic flavors into the loaf. 

Things to potentially try next time:

Definitely MORE VOLUME of garlic & rosemary. I used 1 head of garlic. There wasn’t much garlic from it after roasting. Might need 3-4 heads of garlic next time for a half-sized boule.

Incorporate smaller bits of roasted garlic instead of chunks

Mash into a butter with olive oil and chopped herbs and incorporate into a loaf through a lamination method, like a cinnamon roll/babka or croissant instead.

Try diced, raw garlic. Maybe it’ll roast and caramelized during the baking period to get the same effect and you won’t have to deal with messy, mushy garlic that stuck everywhere.

Would garlic oil work? How would fat incorporated into a dough affect proofing and rise? Would it still become bread?

Tips from the FB sourdough community:

I roast the garlic in foil in the oven just to the point where it is roasted and the cloves are still holding together so I can dice it. I don't roast it until I can just squeeze it into a paste. Once it is minced I will put it in a little bowl with just 10-15grams of EVO just to keep the garlic from clumping and to help it distribute through the dough a bit. 

I add it at my 2nd turn. I will autolyze and then start my turns and at the 2nd one I will add the garlic and EVO mix to the dough and squeeze through until the extra liquid is absorbed and the garlic is distributed through. At most reduce your water amount by a few grams if you are worried about the hydration level. 

~ Stephen Blanchard from https://stephensbreads.com/

On the Sun-dried Tomato, Parmesan loaf:

“oh what a beautiful crumb”

The Good

The loaf smelled AMAZING while in the oven. You could smell the gorgeous scent of Parmesan and sun-dried tomatoes. I was expecting it to be very rich in flavor.

The Bad

I was nervous any cheese on the surface was going to burn real badly during the bake, but I was wrong. Not only did it not burn, it gave the crust a glorious golden brown.

I wished there was more cheese on the surface, and in the interior of course.

Since I had used shredded cheese, the flavors were really mild, if not, undetectable. 

The sun-dried tomatoes on the other hand, burned to a bitter, charcoal crisp on the exterior of the bread. Next time, make sure any sun-dried tomatoes are on the interior of the bread. Thankfully, those on the surface were easy to pick off without any visible damage to the boule. 

The Technique

I used 1.5 oz shredded cheese and opted for 2 oz dry-packed sun-dried tomatoes instead of the oil-packed variation for fear of what the excess oil would do to my dough. 

Flavor bombs were introduced in final shaping stage as well, incorporated with every fold in the Tartine book’s packaging fold technique. Even after chopping the sun-dried tomatoes, they were still bulky and made folding and shaping difficult. Building surface tension on the dough was a little trickier with this. 

Things to potentially try next time:

Soak sun-dried tomatoes in water, then use that water for the doughChop sun-dried tomatoes smallerUse more cheese, both on interior and exterior of loaf.

On the bread making:

Base Recipe: I used the recipe for the Basic Country Loaf from the Tartine Bread book. 

(img credit: Tartine Bakery)

I halved the recipe, so my boules are only half-sized boules, perfect for portion control for me.

For my Levain: I made 120g of levain even though recipe only needed 100g, so that I would have 20g remaining to keep as the mother starter.

20g starter 

50g flour (25g All Purpose flour, 25g Whole Wheat)

50g water

For the 2 half-sized boules (about 6in in diameter):

350g water

100g levain

450g AP flour (would prefer to use bread flour next time)

50g Whole Wheat flour

10g salt, dissolved with 25g water

Thoughts on Technique

Dissolving levain in water first then mixing in flour for autolyse, incorporating salt dissolved in water after dough has rested for 1 hr. I really liked this technique. Joshua Weissman uses this as well. I felt that the levain and salt water were better, and more evenly, incorporated into the dough this way, versus the finger poking, stretch and fold method from Mike Greenfield from Pro Home Cooks.

Using a clear, transparent tupperware for bulk proofing/stretch & folds. This allowed me to measure and track how much the dough was growing as a better indication of proofing stages, versus when it was in a stainless steel bowl. I did not see very much bubbles, like in a starter, but I could see the change in volume. Dough also felt lighter and aerated over time, become more fluid in the container, but not in a gloopy, sticky dough sense. It detached cleanly from the container. It still wasn’t clear to me whether or not dough was perfectly proofed though. Is this over? under? No idea. Note: I proofed for 4 hrs with 6 sets of stretch & folds ever 30 minutes in a ~78F environment.

Dip your hand in (unchlorinated/boiled and cooled) water before handling dough. This creates a magical glove that prevents the dough from sticking to your hand. Did not realize dough was hydrophobic(?), but that was cool. Not entirely sure if using normal tap water was fine, but since chlorine could kill the bacteria and yeast in your starters, I didn’t want to risk killing it when I needed them to proof the dough.

Use a bench scraper. It is your friend. This made shaping the dough so much easier, especially the turns & tucks. Make sure to wet your bench scraper prior to using to prevent the sticky undersides of your dough from sticking to it though.

Do the circumference pull and pinch dumpling method for first shaping to develop more dough surface tension first, before the turn and tuck. I only did the turn and tuck, as instructed by the book, but it didn’t feel like enough surface tension was built. Use this technique that Jack the Baker recommends instead to prevent your dough from spreading. I used this to tighten up the dough later when it was in its proofing bowls.

It’s fine to shape, shape and shape again. After a beautiful first shaping, the dough deflated and became a sticky mess in my second attempts of shaping after incorporating the flavor bombs. So defeated was I, that I had expected to get 2 flat, frisbee-like dense loafs the next morning. I had already placed the doughs in its final proofing bowls, dusted with rice flour, so I didn’t want to risk reshaping and incorporating rice flour into the doughs. After taking a break and leaving the doughs in the fridge for its overnight proof, I mustered up enough energy to try another Hail Mary pass to save it. I pulled the dough out of the fridge, pulling the edges of the dough and folding it into the center to create surface tension, then pinching the dough folds together until the seams were invisible. Not sure if it helped, but it created the (dis)illusion that I’ve incorporated more air into the boule for hopefully, a decent rise during the bake.

The next morning, I did the turn and tuck for one final time until it looked like a beautiful, round, and tall ball of dough before baking. This worked extremely well and the final boule came out looking very well shaped versus if I had just placed it into the oven as is, without shaping.

Proofing covered with a dish cloth instead of cling wrap/plastic Now my bowl is deep enough for my tiny boules, so I don’t have to worry about dough spilling out during proofing. I didn’t use plastic wrap this time when resting my doughs overnight in the fridge. I covered it in my dish cloth loosely. I did not dust my doughs of excess dough prior to baking either. Having it uncovered by plastic allowed the dough to try out abit more, resulting in a nicer, crackled crust this time round and I liked it better.

Baking withOUT a dutch oven Yes, it’s possible. The last time I did made bread, I baked it uncovered in my cast iron skillet with a tray of ice cubes in a tray underneath for steam, as suggested by Mike Greenfield from Pro Home Cooks. I didn’t think it was enough, and my bread came out with the ugliest crust (see pic below). Dissatisfied, I needed to find a better method. 

My first sourdough breads. SEE THAT UGLY OLD ASS CRUSTY TOP??? Looks like your grandma’s ashy butt. No. can. do. 

Research with various videos and the FB group of sourdough experts revealed it was an issue with insufficient steam during the bake. So this time, I provided a heavier source of steam, and trapping any steam generated from the dough during the bake by covering the top with another skillet. 

I had bought an official Easy Tiger sourdough loaf, placed it in my cast iron skillet to measure height. Turns out, having two cast iron skillets stacked on top of each other was tall enough, especially for a half boule. Here’s my setup:

2 cast iron skillets, a baking sheet, and a small cake pan.

The tray under cast iron was set to prevent the base of my boules from burning. Is it necessary? I’m unsure at this point. Would have to test it out next time round, but no harm no foul to be extra safe on these early, vulnerable babies.

The spouts on the cast irons meant that steam could escape, unlike an enclosed dutch oven or combo cooker. So, I went overboard by providing an additional source of steam underneath in the form of boiling water poured into the cake pan...just in case. 

Removing the top skillet during the bake revealed that it did provide some level of steaming with it’s paler, shiny crust, but there was still enough crust to indicate that it didn’t do a great job trapping steam inside the skillets, so having additional steam was beneficial after all. I can’t say this with confidence. Only changing things up and experimenting during my next bakes will confirm my hypothesis.

Next Iteration

I would definitely stick to this Tartine recipe for bread making. It was easy, seemed fool-proof, and the number of people using it as a guide meant you had lots of tips available on the youtube channels. 

Would definitely use bread flour instead of normal white flour next time round for a stronger gluten structure though. That might give me a more open crumb this time. 

Would also stick to majority of the techniques, with changes in:

incorporating flavor bombs during stretch & fold instead of final shaping stage

changing the shaping techniques to generate more surface tension and reduce spread of dough.

volume and treatment of flavor bombs as mentioned in the earlier sections.

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Thursday, 7th March 2019 – Frog by Adam Handling, London

Back in London again for another theatrical event, and having kept costs down on our previous visit, post seeing Sir Ian McKellen, talking entertainingly and at surprising length about his career now he’s turned 80, at the Duke of York’s Theatre, we opted to go to Frog by Adam Handling. This place has been on my radar since it opened, given how impressive Handling was when propelled into the spotlight by Masterchef: The Professionals back in 2013. It it was clear then that he was something quite special in culinary terms. Now, at just 30 year’s old, he has a growing mini-empire of seven establishments across London and has clearly impressed the Belmond group enough for them to want his restaurant in their second UK hotel (their other UK hotel is Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons with the ever-wonderful Raymond Blanc so they have high standards).

It was a fairly unpleasant night outside and we kicked out of the theatre slightly too early, so we scooted past (to see the staff setting up for the evening) and went to The Port House for an aperitif of one of Niepoort’s white ports before turning round and heading back just before 6pm.

From the outside, the restaurant is very low key, and inside it’s perhaps not as flashy as you might expect. There are no tablecloths, just incredibly shiny black-topped tables, and the kitchen is open to the world. There’s a counter where you can also sit and from which you can watch the chefs in action in incredibly calm action. There are plenty of front of house staff, as well as a large number of kitchen staff and it all felt very Scandi in atmosphere, reminding me very strongly of the places I really like in Copenhagen. That was an impression that lasted all the way through the evening, particularly given the food that followed, and the way in which it was presented.

We were welcomed in, served a glass of excellent Champagne, a biscuity Lallier Grand Reserve, Grand Cru Brut from Aÿ (not Reims as the waiter who first served us claimed) and handed the menus to have a think.

We thought very carefully (for about a nano-second!) and decided the full tasting menu was doable and looked fabulous, and that we’d also take the “extra” course of lobster with Wagyu fat, along with the matching wine selection. A second glass of Champagne arrived after we figured we’d treat the first one as a second aperitif, along with the truly dramatic looking “Snacks”. These were delivered in a cloud of dry ice (I know it’s quite an old-fashioned thing to do but it’s also entertaining and I love the odd theatrical flourish), in a bowl and a box. Once the clouds cleared, further inspection revealed a pair of razor clams, beautifully garnished with hazelnut crumbs, apple, herbs and edible flowers, and that tasted as fresh as you could wish. I was briefly distracted by the way the liquid between the stones in the dish kept bubbling up every so often in the aftermath of the grand entrance, but I am sometimes very easily amused!

Next was a fabulous little tube filled with smoked cod’s roe (so a pretty posh taramasalata you might say). It was rich and creamy and densely textured, and I loved it. It had tiny blobs of caviar and of creme fraiche sitting on the top of the cylinder which added considerably to the richness.

The third and final snack was a duck meat bon bon, and it was a deliriously delicious little mouthful (though I stretched it to three bites because I didn’t want it to stop), with a crispy coating on the outside and full of dark leg meat cooked down perfectly. This is what most confit duck has ambitions to be when it grows up!

After we’d finished the snacks, a serving of bread arrived, an IPA-infused sourdough, served warm, and accompanied with the most delightful butter, whipped through with chicken jus, and sprinkled with crispy chicken skin. We tried to restrain ourselves, but it really was too good to resist for any length of time. Summoning all our reserves of willpower, we turned down a second serving, but it would have been soooo easy to cave in and eat a second portion. This is dangerous food, in the best possible way!

It’s tough to say whether the bread or the butter was the greater, but together they made the perfect match. I love good bread, and that was definitely good bread.

We now came to the second dish of the menu, named Mother, apparently because Handling’s mother suddenly announced she’d become a vegetarian the day he opened his first restaurant, and he had to very quickly figure out what he could possibly give her to eat. In an interview with Foodism he had this to say about it: “When I opened my first restaurant, we had 50 journalists, food critics and influential people coming in to taste my menu for the very first time. And my mother told me she was going to be vegetarian. So I created this dish, and I called it ‘Mother’ to try to embarrass her.” The result concoction of salt-baked celeriac, with a confit yolk, and apples, and liberally dusted in black truffle shavings, is a truly amazing dish. If all vegetarian food could be like this, I really could happily give up meat and not miss it. It was accompanied very successfully by a glass of Sepp Moser, Grüner Veltliner von den Terrassen from Austria’s Kremstal, which went down very nicely.

Things moved from vegetarian to marine-based now, with a glorious scallop, oyster and caviar dish. The scallops were not cooked, rather ceviche, with some incredible gel bobs and an oyster mayonnaise, dotted with micro-herbs and nasturtium leaves, and topped with the caviar. It was subtle, slippery, smooth and lovely and was a great pairing with a 2015 Chardonnay, Trinity Hill, Hawkes Bay, the Kiwis supplying an example of just what Chardonnay can do (as opposed to what it so often sadly is).

What came next was even better. Having recently discovered the joys of black garlic, it was used to tremendous effect in a pasta dish of agnolotti, stuffed with mushrooms and served with tiny little blobs of crumb covered deep fried bone marrow. The black garlic was incorporated into the pasta dough, which made it a tremendous shade of black, with a deep garlic flavour matched by the mushrooms which were enhanced by the wonderful crunch and stickiness of the bone marrow. It might not please the Italians, but it was definitely one of the best pasta dishes I have ever had the pleasure of eating. With it we drank a delicious 2014 Monopole Blues Kékfrankos from Hungary.

The wine stretched to the next course too, which was described as “crab, kimchi, tart” and was in fact a crab tart with kimchi at its base. The pastry was so short it almost exploded in the mouth when you bit into it. It was the lightest, shortest pastry imaginable, and while I don’t know who the pastry chef is, they are clearly blessed in their ability to create pastry. The crab was creamy, the kimchi delivered a bit of punch and the whole thing was a mouthful of pleasure, the surface glazed with cheese and dusted with paprika.

Next was the extra dish, where a portion of lobster is in effect marinaded in Wagyu fat for a day or so before being cooked. The initial bite, when your mouth fills with the seafood but also seems to flood with the oleaginous fat feels very odd, and as if it will be too much for the tastebuds. In fact it’s almost unpleasant, until the moment you start to chew and then it all miraculously comes together. I don’t think you could eat much of it; it’s far too luxurious to do that, but the smallish lobster tail was just right. We had a fresh white wine, slightly effervescent, with it, but it wasn’t listed on the menu, so I can’t say what it was, just that it was well-chosen.

We had one more fish dish still to come, a portion of cod, with tiny cubes of smoked eel, brown shrimp, kohlrabi and a selection of sea vegetables including samphire. The creamy sauce brought it all together in a very cohesive way. It was terrific. So was the bone dry 2016 Riesling Steinhugel Tatomer from California that went with it.

And then there was meat. In fact there was duck, sausage and foie gras. I mean, what’s not to like? It came with a jus so glossy you could see your own face in it, and was sumptuous, deep, a hug of a plate with all sorts of dark, autumnal notes to it. The meat was perfectly cooked, and it was simply allowed to stand very much on its own considerable merits. The wine with it was a plummy, deep red fruited 2017 Primitivo Rumirat Terre de Chieti from Abruzzo in Italy and it fully deserved its place in the pairing.

And thus, inevitably, we came to the sweet stuff. First up was pear, anise (in the shape of more tiny, perfectly deep-fried “croquettes” which gave off not the slightest hint of whatever they were fried in but just tasted of aniseed which is a damn clever trick) and sweet cheese. It was a refreshing plate after all the richness that had gone before and showed off the pears very well too. Pears are tricky, even trickier than apples; some varieties can be horribly grainy and gritty (as stones start to form, I’ve now learned), but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that these were perfect. For dessert wine, we were back in Riesling territory again, this time with an Australian example, Mount Horrocks, Cordon Cut Riesling from the Clare Valley.

We’d now hit the home straight with one more dessert before the end, a light confection of bergamot, stout, miso and smoked Earl Grey. Handling was known for having something of a fascination with Asian elements, though he has by all accounts toned it right down in the last few years. It came through here though with a fascinating mix of savoury and sweet, done with a light hand. It was a good way to complete what had been quite an adventure. The final wine saw us back in New Zealand and again at Hawkes Bay, this time for a 2016 Chenin Blanc Late Harvest specimen, a medium bodied dessert wine full of honeyed tones. On a side note, if our visit was on a typical night, around a third of the tables were taken up by young Asian women, dining in pairs, and furiously Instagramming everything, which may or may not be an effect of the Asian flavours. Who can tell?

By now it was gone 10pm and although coffee and tea was on offer, we declined (I no longer drink coffee after around 2 in the afternoon, at least not if I want to sleep) but we were still presented with the petit fours, which were playful and fun. These little jellies had to be peeled off the plate they came on.

And these included coffee-flavoured chocolates made to look like coffee machine capsules to my probably unreasonable delight.

Nearly five hours after we’d sat down, we paid our bill, then wandered out into the night to catch our train promising ourselves we’d be back when we could afford it. We’d had a brilliant meal, served by attentive, friendly, knowledgeable (in the main) staff and while it really couldn’t be called cheap in any way, it was worth every penny.

Food 2019 – Frog by Adam Handling, London Thursday, 7th March 2019 - Frog by Adam Handling, London Back in London again for another theatrical event, and having kept costs down on our previous visit, post seeing… 1,957 more words

[ticklygiggles]

Maybe

A/N: Oh boy, I am so sorry for the waaait. I’m literally dying from homework and school shit! My teachers thought it would be fun to give me all the work of the semester for my spring break (which it’s just one week), and i’m having a mental break down

But whatever! This is some OtaYuri just in time to celebrate the NEW CLIP BECAUSE IT’S GOLD HELP. (It’s not related to the clip, tho. Sorry!)

I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you for being patient ♥ I love you all!

Words: 2,052 (fufu under the cut u,u)

Summary: Jealousy leads to something else. Otabek wasn’t expecting anything like this.

Yuri still felt his cheeks burning up, even if he was already halfway towards his home from practice. He growled and tried to hide his face with his scarf.

Victor and Yuuri had been all lovely dovey again during practice. Kissing and hugging and nuzzling and messing around. Sharing soft whispers and cute words and loving glances that made Yuri almost want to throw up. Almost.

He was angry because they messed up a lot of times and kept distracting him from his rutine, but… he also kept feeling this strange tug at the pit of his stomach. It was a pretty weird sensation and quite uncomfortable that made his insides twist this way and that, making feel nauseous.

He knew the name of this sensation, but he also was reluctant to admit it out loud, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.

Yuri Plisetsky was absolutely not jealous.

Why would he? He doesn’t specially enjoy public demonstrations of affection. He rather have all of those moments back in the comfort of his house, but, yet again, he doesn’t get that kind of affection at home, either.

“I’m not jealous”, Yuri repeated to himself, his feet stomping into the slight wet pavement with his combat boots. He dipped his ice cube hands into his pockets and scrunched up his shoulders to nuzzle dipper into his scarf.

Maybe he was a little jealous. Maybe he was a little jealous because, different from Yuuri or Victor, Otabek and him barely seemed like a couple. They do hold hands out while walking together, of course… well, once in a while. And they also kiss out in public… mostly when there’s nobody around to see. And they hug, too… for like three seconds before Yuri pulls apart with a blush on his face.

Yuri whined. This whole jealously situation was stupid, but, regardless, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was it his fault? Was it Otabek’s fault? Was it their fault?

Maybe they weren’t comfortable enough around each other, just yet. Even though they’ve been dating for almost five months now. Maybe Otabek was too shy. Maybe Yuri was too shy. Maybe they both are too shy. Maybe…

“Ah, Yura!”, Yuri flinched and turned his head to see Otabek climbing up the stairs towards him and suddenly, he found himself standing in front of the apartment. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was back. 

“You came back earlier than I thought”, Otabek said running to Yuri’s side with a paper bag close to his chest. “I went to buy some things for dinner”.

“Oh, I see”, was Yuri’s answer and he looked up at Otabek straight in the eye, waiting.

He waited and waited and waited and waited…

“… It’s-uh, something the matter?”, …and it never came. Yuri turned his head and took the key out of his pocket.

“Nothing”. He answered and opened the door, stepping out of his shoes as soon as he got inside, Otabek right behind him.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?”, Otabek asks, leaving the bag in the counter. “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry”, Yuri said with a dry tone as he shrugged out off his leather jacket and put his slightly longer hair up in a messy ponytail.

“You seem angry”

“Well I’m not”.

“Yuri what’s wrong?” 

“Why didn’t you kiss me?!”, he yells, -moderately-, but he cheeks turn the brightest red ever as he turned around to look at Otabek who is wearing the most surprised expressiong Yuri has seen on him. 

“Kiss you?”, Otabek asks, so honest to God confused. 

“Yes, kiss me! Just a moment ago, outside the apartment!”, please someone stop him. Yuri’s so embarrassd, but he can’t keep his mouth shut. “Why didn’t you kiss me?!” 

“I- I don’t know, Yuri. I- 

“Why don’t you ever kiss me when I come back home or when you leave? Why don’t we kiss and nuzzle and shit like a normal couple does?!”, Otabek is worried about the color Yuri’s face is taking. “Why don’t we hug and hold hands all the time and why don’t we- 

“I’m sorry, Yuri” 

“Ha?!” 

“I’m sorry”, Otabek repeats, walking towards Yuri until he’s right in front of him, holding one of his hands and placing it on his cheek. It feels warm and soft on Yuri’s palm and the latter is dying inside. “I didn’t know you’d like being like that, Yuri”, he says quietly, smiling just a little. “I promise I’ll kiss you and hug you and hold your hand more often”, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Yuri’s forehead. “If that’s enough to make you happy, then I’ll gladly do it”, Otabek declares, his lips brushing against the skin on Yuri’s forehead.

Yuri is sure he’s going to combust right there. Otabek. Otabek was something else. The jealously feeling was long gone as a very warm sensation fluttered on his chest and tummy. He also knew the name of this feeling. And this name he would gladly speak it out loud… but not now, because he’s too embarrassed.

Yuri hums. “Thank you, Altin”, Otabek chuckles and places a kiss on Yuri’s right cheekbone. “However,” he starts, softly pinching Otabek’s cheek. “I’m still angry at you”

“Are you? I’m sorry, Yura. I’ll do anything to make you forgive me!”, he says sincerely and Yuri almost feel bad for being like this with Otabek when, in fact, he wasn’t angry anymore.

But hearing those words from Otabek made a silly idea pop out on Yuri’s head and biting down a smirk, he softly pulls his hand out of Otabek’s grasp and placed both of them on Otabek’s waist.

“Let me tickle you”, he whispers.

“No”, Otabek answers right away, flinching away just a little, suddenly aware of Yuri’s hands.

“It’s the only way I can forgive you, Otabek. Then I won’t”, Yuri says, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But… why that?”, Otabek asks and Yuri quickly notices the soft blush covering Otabek’s cheeks. He really tries not to shower his face with kisses, because that’s definately too cheesy.

“I’ll sleep in the couch if you say no”

“Yura don’t be like this!”

“Take it or leave, Otabek”.

Otabek bites down his lower lip and Yuri swears ha saw smoke coming out of his ears. “Ugh fine, Yuri! Fine. Lord”, he whispered out and Yuri giggled, grabbing his hand and guiding him towards the couch.

Otabek lied down, putting his hands over his stomach and trying to get comfortable, but one hundred of butterflies started to flutter all over his stomach as soon as Yuri took a seat on Otabek’s hips, wiggling his fingers just an inche above his tummy.

“Hands up, Otabek”.

“J-Just don’t get too crazy”, Otabek said, as he slowly lifted his arms above his head.

“No promises”, Yuri winked and Otabek rolled his eyes

“Why am I not surpris- ahaha!”

Yuri giggled, “Actually, I think your very surprised”, Otabek tried to stop his smile from growing bigger, but it was rather impossible with Yuri’s fingers ready to attack his hips again.

“You have to tell me when you’re going to sta-ahaha! Stop it!”, Otabek screeched, arching his back and throwing his head back as soon as Yuri connected his long nimble fingers into his hipbones, wiggling and vibrating and driving Otabek up the wall within three seconds into the tickling.

“Y-Yuri!”, Otabek gasped, his hands flying to grab Yuri’s wrists. “Yuri, fuckin- nohohot the hips!”, Otabek howled with laughter when Yuri used his thumbs to rub against the join where Otabek’s hips meet his thighs, making sure to dig into that nerve just above the bone.

“Sorry, Otabek. I didn’t say I was going to go easy on you, besides, this is punishment for being so dense”, Yuri teased, enjoying himself more than he thought he would be. “And you lowered your hands, so you’ll get punished for that too. Hands up”.

“I c-cahahan’t!”, Otabek laughed, squirming like a fish out of water. 

This was a tiny step on their long way to become more touchy around each other. They haven’t had a lot of tickle fights, even though this one wasn’t exactly a fight, and Yuri found himself liking this game very much. Otabek’s laughter was delicious. Soft and deep and desparate, enough to make Yuri feel giddy inside and he was unable to stop now.

“Yuhuhuri! Mehercy!”, Otabek gasped out, trying to block Yuri’s fingers away as they dipped in the spaces between his ribs.

“Mercy you say?”, Yuri hums, his thumbs drilling into Otabek’s highest ribs, pretty near the underarms, Otabek shrieked, his back arching once again. “But you’re having fun too, no? I mean, your laughing? So why should I stop?”

“I’m laughing against my wihihihill!”, Otabek explained as if he genuinely thought Yuri didn’t know he was laughing agaisnt his will. 

Yuri giggled. “Oh, is that so?”, Otabek nodded, his laughter not stopping, while Yuri fought the urge to kiss the soul out of his lover. 

However… he needed to do something with his lips now.

“Ack! Plehehease no! Nonono!”, Otabek snorted, scrunching his shoulders up to try and block Yuri’s lips away from his neck as he nibbled up and down the side of his neck, around the Adam’s Apple and close to the crook where his shoulder meets his neck.

But Otabek just about lost it when Yuri found this very bad spot right behind his ear. One nibble there was enough to make Otabek cry with laughter as his underarms became the target of Yuri’s fingers. Yuri noticed the change on Otabek’s laughter, more gaspy and wheezy, so stopping his attack on Otabek’s neck, he lifted himself up to take look at his face and, as a blush spreads all over his cheeks, he withdraws his hands away from Otabek’s body to take out his phone and take a picture.

Otabek laughed, even though Yuri wasn’t tickling him anymore, and gasped for air, wrapping his arms around his torso to stop Yuri from attacking again. Yuri giggled and leaned down to kiss Otabek in the cheek.

“You look adorable, Altin”

“Are- are you happy?”, Otabek asked between his panting.

“Huh?”

“Are you happy?”, Otabek repeats, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair behind Yuri’s ear. “You’re not angry anymore?”

Yuri screamed, making Otabek flinch as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Otabek hug him back, even though he was still surprised. Yuri just wasn’t able to hold this much of happiness inside of him. This stupid dork.

“No, Beka. I’m not angry anymore. You make me very happy”

Otabek smiled and kissed the tip of Yuri’s nose. “You make me very happy too”

And they kissed, because that’s how you should end tickle fights, (even the one-sided tickle fights), and for some reason they knew it. So they kissed and kisses and kissed until Otabek’s giggles were filling Yuri’s mouth.

“I still feel the need to tickle you, though”, Yuri said, giggling along with Otabek as he creeped his hands under Otabek’s shirt, his fingers brushing the curve of his waist, sending him into another fit of laughter.

Yuri wondered when they’ll kiss again. Maybe in five minutes. Or maybe in three or two? In one second? Now?

Oh…

Now it seems.

Extra ending

“Yura!”, Otabek yelled from the kitchen as Yuri brushed his hair after his shower. He heard Otabek’s quick footsteps running towards the room.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this?!”, he brought his phone infronf of Yuri’s face, almost touching his nose and Yuri laughed out loud.

There was a picture of Otabek laughing his head off, his face red and wet with laughter tears, his nose scrunched up and mouth open into a wide smile. Said picture was posted on instagram, under Yuri’s username with the caption ‘tickling the snot out of bae’. Yuri saw a few comments from their friends and from his angels.

“Why did you do that? Delete it!”, Otabek was blushing as he brough the phone back to look at it again.

“Are you crazy?”, Yuri yelled, catching a tiny tear falling from his cheek. “You look amazing. I’m not gonna delete it!”

“Yuri…”, Otabek whined.

“I said no and that’s it. What’s for dinner?”

RIP Otabek Altin.