#if you want to dine with the devil you need a long spoon

[theactioneer]

Cyborg 2 (Michael Schroeder, 1993)

[supermarine-silvally]

portada for the oc ship ask!!!

Coming right up!! :D

From this ask game!

who made the first move: That's actually a harder question to answer than it appears. You could make the case for Ace, since he had such an obvious crush on Yara from the beginning, but in terms of there being any serious chance of them getting together, Yara had to reciprocate. So Ace had the initial interest, but Yara had to be the one to initiate in the sense of admitting that the feelings were mutual, which allowed the idea of them having a relationship to be possible in the first place.

who kissed who first: That depends on what timeline we're going with lol I've written a lot of first kisses for them but in the fic, it's actually Yara who kisses Ace.

who started the relationship: It was mutually agreed upon that they should give it a shot.

who remembers things: Yara. She has an encyclopedic memory.

nicknames for each other: Ace to Yara: Babe, baby, sweetheart, angel, dearest, beautiful, darling, sugar, gorgeous, pretty girl, princess, honey, love and light of my life, sometimes uses her pirate epithet "Hellcat" as a term of endearment; Yara to Ace: Love, darling, sweetheart, sweet boy, fireboy, also uses "Fire Fist" as a term of endearment too.

who is more likely to pay for dinner: They have never paid for a single dinner in their entire time together LOL they're the absolute champions of dining and dashing.

who normally cooks: Neither cooks much (That's Fourth Division's job) but when they do, they do it together. Though it's mostly Yara directing Ace around and getting him to use his Devil Fruit where need be.

who remembers anniversaries: They both are pretty good about this. You would think Ace would be more forgetful, but he compensates for this by leaving himself plenty of time and reminders.

what would they get each other for gifts: Small things that remind them of the other person, whether it be little trinkets, food, clothes/accessories, or anything else they think would make the other smile.

most trivial thing they fight over: Ace eating Yara's food without asking. He steals things off her plate all the time and she hates it.

how often do they fight: Rarely ever. If anything, it's mostly Yara getting annoyed at Ace over minor things, like him accidentally burning something she told him not to touch or eating the rest of her leftover chips.

who uses all the hot water: Yara. She takes long showers and baths. Not that Ace minds, since he can just use his Devil Fruit to heat it up again lol

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: Usually Yara. She gets very businesslike when she wants something done and Ace just likes to hear her go off on people lol 

who leaves their stuff around: Ace. It drives Yara a bit nuts since she's a total neat freak.

who remembers to buy the milk: Yara.

who controls the netflix queue: It's mutual. They would only add things to the queue they both were interested in watching (which is most things, since they probably would have similar tastes in a modern AU).

who steals the covers at night: Yara, since she's more prone to getting cold than Ace is lol

who cusses more: Yara. Ace probably started minding his language a bit more after Sabo died and he had to set a good example for Luffy.

who does most of the cleaning: Yara. Obsessively.

what’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Whenever they reach a new island, they love going exploring together, especially if there's a forest nearby. If they're at sea, Ace loves resting his head in Yara's lap, letting her gently play with his hair while she reads a book. It makes him feel so loved.

who’s the cuddler: They both are. Yara just doesn't admit to it lol but she loves cuddles.

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: They switch it up! Mostly Ace will be the big spoon, but sometimes, when he's feeling particularly self-loathing, Yara will curl herself around him and provide that physical comfort he needs.

who’s more dominant: Ace in the bedroom (my friend and I agree he is a soft dom), Yara in literally everything else LMAO

who is the dirty talker: Ace.

what do they do when they’re away from each other: They write letters and talk on the den den mushi whenever possible. Being away from Yara for months during the Blackbeard hunt was extremely difficult for Ace. He missed her so much and would constantly send little gifts back with his letters.

what would they do if the other one was hurt: They both go a bit feral if the other gets hurt, especially in battle. Anyone who dares hurt Yara better prepare to be burned to a crisp, and anyone who targets Ace will quickly meet Yara's blade. After the danger has passed, the first order of business is to tend to each other's wounds. If Yara is hurt, Ace will scoop her up and rush her over to the nearest doctor (usually Marco or Deuce) and demand they patch her up, even if her injuries are minor. Yara tends to be a bit more calm in assessing the situation. She won't rush to find a doctor unless it's a major injury, and if it's something within her skill level to address, will be the one to take care of it. Complete with kissing it better.

a headcanon: During Alabasta, Nami caught Ace writing a letter during their down time and asked who he was writing to. He grinned, took Yara's bounty poster out of his bag, and proceeded to spend the next few hours telling the group all about his beautiful fiancée.

[war--lords]

sorry i’ve been gone for so long i have a full-time job and other hobbies that i am deeply obsessed with... here have some fluff

Female pronouns for Reader

Fact one: In the past three days, Nobunaga can’t find you in the places you frequent around the castle, and at the end of the day, finds the tenshu empty. By dusk you are usually in his room, but these nights he finds you coming back after him. “Oh, just taking care of some stuff,” you would say.

Fact two: He misses you.

Perhaps it isn’t in his character to admit that so openly to you, what with his moniker being the “Devil King” and all, but he knows you know better—honesty has always been a key in your relationship, and it was the fact that he knew you were from 500 years in the future that drew him closer to you. Yes, he’ll tell you he misses you, but not before dealing out the proper punishment for failing to pay attention to him.

(Maybe he’s not being entirely honest after all, because he calls it punishment even when the both of you enjoy it. And as much as you’d squirm and reprimand him for teasing you so...)

Enough, he chides himself mentally. The lack of quality time with you has driven his mind to rely on fantasy, but that needs to change today. Today, he declares independence from the stack of paperwork on his desk and dedicates his working hours to looking for you—within the castle grounds or in town, if he must. He can already hear Hideyoshi scolding him at the back of his mind and scoffs.

As if that could stop him.

Nobunaga’s first stop is the hall where the seamstresses usually work.

“She left but moments ago, my lord,” says one of the elderly, working to get her thread in the eye of the needle. “To the kitchen, said she needed help to procure some food items.” 

“Speaking of, she did the same yesterday. And the day before, if I remember correctly,” another seamstress chimes in. “And it’s around this time too.”

“I wonder if she’s also helping out there. Our lady has always been so eager to assist!”

Thanking the ladies for the information, Nobunaga exits the hall to make his way to the kitchen, leaving the staff giggling and cooing at how sweet the two of them are together.

At an hour so close to lunch, the castle kitchen is teeming with life. Nobunaga’s face is hit with the aromatic smells of various dishes—it seems they’re about to be served mushroom and meat stew, a season-appropriate dish—as well as smoke and the sounds of commanding voices and hurried footsteps carrying the orders out. A cooking battlefield.

Blue enters his peripheral and he turns to look at a corner. Masamune is taste-testing something out of an iron pot simmering atop a fire, offering some of his comments to the chef standing next to him before sprinkling in some other ingredients into the pot.

“Lord Nobunaga,” Masamune says, grinning at the Oda patriarch’s approach. The chef standing next to him looks surprised at the very least, echoing the greeting with a deep bow. Masamune swiftly swipes a sample of the brewing broth of a wooden spoon and offers it to him with a “careful, it’s hot”. 

Nobunaga holds the spoon in his hand and sips, nodding his approval. “I was told I could find ___________ here.”

“The lass? Right, she was here.”

Nobunaga clicks his tongue at the use of past tense.

“Was she helping out with lunch preparations?”

Masamune shakes his head, adding what seems to be a pinch more salt into the pot. “Asked for some leftovers, actually—last night’s steamed fish. Put it in a neat little box and was gone as quickly as she arrived.”

“She asked for her food to be packed, as well.” The chef next to Masamune supplies.

Was she going somewhere? Nobunaga muses, deep in thought. His lover might be perplexing, but sharp as he is, he has some sort of clue as to what is happening. 

“I see. Did anyone see which way she was heading?”

Another young man chopping up some scallions in his work station put his knife down and pointed to the right of the kitchen entrance. “To the garden thereabouts, perhaps, my lord,” he answers, before he dutifully goes back to his job. 

“Thank you. In that case I shall have my food to go as well.”

“Right away, my lord!”

Masamune chuckles. “Didn’t know you guys like playing cat and mouse.”

Something clicks in Nobunaga’s mind. That had to be it.

“Yes, well, I didn’t know either,” comes his offhanded response, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. 

When he finally finds you, you are sitting under a maple tree in the freshly trimmed garden, the red of autumn forming a beautiful canopy above you. He sees a lacquered lunchbox in your hand, and in front of you, just at arm’s length, is another box...

...being devoured wholeheartedly by three kittens of varying coats.

“There you are,” he says as he approaches. You look startled for a split second, perhaps associating the gardens with a place that nobody ever frequents, before the expression melts into the very smile he’s smitten with.

“Nobunaga!” You look pleased with a tinge of confusion. “How rare of you to dine outside.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he confesses as he sits down next to you, not minding the grass on his kimono and haori, “and upon finding out that you’ve decided to eat out, I decided to join you.”

“I’m sorry, did you come look for me in the kitchen?”

“And the seamstresses’ hall before that.”

You look extremely apologetic he almost feels bad. He leans forward. You get the message and peck him on the lips. 

“Sorry.”

“One more, and then you’re forgiven.”

“Mm, okay,” you murmur, smiling into the kiss, your lunchbox forgotten despite holding it in your hands. This one lasts longer, what with your lover’s hand at the back of your head, ordering you to stay, and when he swipes his tongue on your bottom lip you feel the beginnings of a moan bubbling at the top of your throat—oh, you’re in public—

He’s the first to pull away, a devious smirk on his face. “Your food will grow cold.”

Pouting, you begrudgingly start eating again.

“So this is where you’ve been the past few days?” He asks, unraveling the cloth that wraps his food container while staring at three fuzzy rumps an arm’s length away. The kittens, all of which are variants of white, orange, and black, look ravenous, not even caring that another person has entered the vicinity. He spots the remnants of steamed fish in the box.

“Yes,” you answer, all smiles as you look at the kittens, and then once more that expression morphs into a realization that you’ve been spending less time with him, which perfectly explains him seeking you out. “Oh, Nobu, I didn’t mean to.”

He begins eating his meal. “You could have told me.”

“Well, yes, but I felt like that would’ve finalized my attachment to them,” you say, finishing your meal (you started earlier, after all). “I’ve been watching them and waiting for their mother to perhaps come back, but it’s been three days...”

One of the kittens, the one with orange and black on the tips of its ears, comes hobbling at you with little legs, meowing in thanks. Your smile turns to a chuckle when it climbs into your lap, insistently pawing and leaning its head into your palm when you reach to pet it.

He watches as you pet it gently, the kitten seemingly wanting more scratches and strokes each time that you have to concede. A wry smile takes over his face as he continues with his meal. “Perhaps its mother left them here knowing they will be well cared for.”

You blink in surprise. “Nobunaga, are you saying we can—”

“No.”

“Why?” you whine.

“I’m smart enough not to invite any competition for your attention within my quarters.”

Understanding dawns upon you and you find your arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck repeatedly so as to not disturb his meal. The poor man... getting jealous over some kittens because you’ve been looking after them for the last few days. When you’ve administered the last kiss on his throat, hoping to appease him, you look up to see his eyes boring into yours, a planning smile on his face. You catch on, and smile back, hoping to look at least half as alluring as he.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Good,” he replies curtly. “When that happens... I’ll make sure it’ll be impossible for you to think about anything else.”

The incessant meowing, cute as they are, dissolves the sexual tension between the two of you, as another kitten makes its way bravely on top of Nobunaga’s calf, its beady eyes making it look like it’s pleading. Good sir? Have you come to feed us, too?

You see a softness in Nobunaga’s eyes that indicates he’s finally understood what you felt. The man uses his chopsticks to fish out a piece of meat and hovers it right in front of the kitten’s face, allowing the tiny feline to snatch it out of the utensil’s grasp and straight into its mouth.

“The staff will be informed of these little ones and help take care of them,” he declares, “of course you are free to do so as well.” Just don’t neglect me again, you can hear that last unspoken bit through the way he gazes at you. You smile at him gratefully and sigh, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. When else do you get to see Nobunaga acting all soft and playing with kittens?

Leaning forward again, you kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

He brushes your lip with his thumb and you suppress a shiver down your spine—now is hardly the time to think of that. You lean your head on his shoulder.

“Shall we name them?”

(Haguro flies in the scene five minutes later, scaring the kittens initially, but it’s clear that much like his owner, he’s just jealous and wants some pets.)

[adventism-atheism-orthodoxy-me]

There is a reason I have not yet committed to Eastern Orthodoxy.

When I first attended an Orthodox Church, it was Antiochian, and it meshed well with my upbringing. I didn't really have to worry about pork at the potlucks - though shrimp was common - and the faith seemed accessible. Because the priest was a American convert, the Syrian was minimal.

But then things changed.

Politics is politics. And the first and second generation of communicants wanted a priest that was more familiar with their needs, and with the unrest in Syria at the time, it was easy to find a priest that was more familiar with the traditions of Syria. The priest who I had been a catechumen under, left - So now everything is in Syrian.

I looked around. I tried the local Greek Cathedral, the music was close, but different. Something felt off.

Axios.

I finally found another church that I think I liked - it was an OCA church. But then Covid hit.

Now with the nonsense going on in Europe between Patriarch Kirill, and the Orthodox church of Ukraine. For now, my decision remains to stay where I am in the Protestant faith I grew up in.

I truly believe the the Orthodox Church, in communion, is the Church of Christ. However, the Pope of Rome sought to exalt himself above his equals, and now I see Metropolitan Kirill doing the same thing, and plunging his country, and all those who would oppose him, into pain and suffering to accomplish some goal of uniting all the Slavs under the "Third Rome".

He isn't humble.

Again, the West split because of a lack of humility.

Spiritual abuse is real, and just as you would, at some point, recommend that an individual leave an abusive spiritual advisor, so too, the Orthodox Church of Ukraine felt that Metropolitan Kirill did not have their best interests at heart. They appealed to the Ecumenical Patriarch.

Both Metropolitan Kirill and the Ecumenical Patriarch should be respected as men of God. I have read enough to know that even flawed priests reflect Christ. Nevertheless, both men are human, and retain the fallen nature of man - including pride.

The current war, while not framed in the mainstream media as a Holy War, has significant elements of a Holy War. We are watching Putin engage in a Crusade, all for the vanity of men who can't let go of a lost legacy.

I love Orthodoxy. But until the participants can reflect more Christlike behavior, I don't know that it offers much more than what I already have.

[peakascum]

The Room Where It Happens

Request for: @slither-in-a-half I know this is a bit different than what you asked for and it’s way different than what I originally intended to write, but I really do hope you enjoy it!

Two politicians stand on opposites sides of each other for a Charity event, something to do with children or painting the Parliment’s ceiling. Thomas Shelby sips a chilled Merlot as he eyes the posh MP’s that mingle alongside him, noses turned up and head in their ass. In front of him lurks another MP, a much snobbier one at that, whom galavants his wife like a bloody medal. You don’t mind, at least not publicly. Always playing the trophy wife, always sporting a smile, always curtsying a ‘What a lovely evening’. Thomas knows he’s playing a dangerous game as he eyes your cherry red lips gulp down yet another glass. It’s the urgency in which you consume the devil’s drink that always catches his attention. He knows how soft your hands are and how delicately you maneuver them from the countless times you've touched his.

The condition of being stuck in a loveless marriage would drive anyone mad. Add a little bit of brute force and a make-believe smile, and that would be enough to send cries for help. Which you had done so on several occasions, but no one took them seriously; instead, they deemed you as a bored housewife. You had heard the tales, everyone had, of the countless wives of esteemed families that suddenly had public outbursts which were deemed as hysterical. You were familiar with the stories, about Mrs. Dormer’s dull complexion and Mrs. Hastings’ scarred wrists, all whispers of misfortune were now your reality. 

Tommy and your husband had never seen eye to eye on any particular topic. Both were stubborn men who belonged to different political parties and lived completely different realities. Your husband was born with a silver spoon in hand while Tommy built his kingdom out of wooden sticks and cut stones. But those eyes, those adoring blue eyes wrapped you in from the first time they met. It started with stolen glances and escalated to a passionate night shared in his office as you delivered some papers on behalf of your husband. He decided you had the loveliest broken smile he had ever seen. The most delicate laugh and the wittiest humor, one he would not mind hearing time and time again. 

‘Did you listen to a word I said Mr. Shelby?’

‘I- I don’t believe I did, no.’ He remarked, clearing his throat.

She smirked. ‘I-I-I’ She mocked. ‘Stuttering is for children and tight-lipped fools. Are you a fool Mr. Shelby?’

You exhaled words of pleasure in each others ears. Bodies molding together like clay and fingertips eager to explore. Exhaustion came after and a simple kiss was placed upon his lover’s lips as if it were already a routine. Both clinging to the affection you so desperately craved.

Months of passion were spent in secrecy up until the moment your husband caught on, almost crushing your wind pipe and blinding you out of rage. Not because he loved you, oh no, but because he craved power and dominance. A poor little rich boy does not share. So when the venue and seating were arranged for the gala he made sure to have Thomas Shelby in front of him, to taunt you, to dangle his prized possession in his  opponent's face. To give you a glimpse into the life you wanted, yet gripping your thigh beneath the table as if saying ‘Don’t you dare’. 

The torrid affair you shared with the Shelby man had ended a few weeks prior with a handwritten letter, but your absence from such events told him what he couldn't decipher from your words. 

‘Dear sir, 

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I hope you understand my reason for ending this relationship. I love my husband, you see, and the idea of breaking this marriage is enough to make my heart weep. My whorish ways have brought misery to my house, but be not alarmed by this, for my husband is very generous and will gladly offer you a sum of money for your silence. You must excuse my behavior these past few months and, therefore, understand the severity of the situation. 

Best wishes, Y/N.’

The letter sat in his pocket weighing heavily against the floor. He rejected the money, of course, but it didn't save his heart from breaking any further, and his mind from wandering to the atrocious acts your husband performed out of hatred. Thomas was a dangerous man, but your husband was worse, and his wrath would treble his political career, crease his business, and ruin his family. Polly had warned him many times about the dangers of thinking with his cock, but it was more than that. Arthur had payed for other whores to keep him company, but he could bed no other. It was the way you said his name in wonder whenever you saw each other after weeks apart. You were a wondrous creature shrouded in a mysterious, yet inviting, aura. One who sported a smile, such a sweet smile on those cherry red lips that made his own twitch and heart clench. 

It was the way you grimaced as your husband squeezed your arm that made his feet have a life of their own. He marched confidently up to you both, eyeing him with brutality, but switching to you with softness. Your eyes widened pleadingly at him to stop, to stop at once, to turn around and save himself from trouble. 

“Ah Mr. Shelby, what a pleasant surprise.” Your husband said, sporting a tight smile and a poised stance. Tommy nodded, “Mr. Crooke, Mr.s- Crooke”. Your eyes bore daggers into his. Your husband shook his hand firmly in a weak attempt to exhume further dominance, when, in truth, all of them knew who really owned the room. 

“Excuse my wife’s appearance, say. She’s not been her best these past few weeks, isn't that right darling?” Your husband said as he ran the back of his index finger gently over your cheek. Your once shimmering eyes appeared lifeless under the yellowish glare of the chandelier- a shell of the woman you had been, the woman you should be. “Wonder why that is sir,” Tommy bit back. Your husband chuckled, “You’re a bold man Mr. Shelby.” The men stared down at each other down as men tend to do.

“So they say.” Tommy replied.

“You've caught my attention, Mr. Shelby,” your husband started, “and in a most ill-manner may I add.” Tommy quirked a brow and urged him to go on. “Mr. Shelby I do not think it is in anyone’s best interest for me to comment on my wife’s extra curricular, is it not?” Your posture remained stoic, eyes trained to the expensive champagne in your hand praying that somehow you could shrink ten sizes and bathe in it. Stretch your arms and do laps on the clear glasses that British aristocracy drank in sighs and content giggles. You had silly daydreams like these. Some not so silly. Ones drenched in crimson liquid as if you were a butcher at the end of your shift, only to look around and see your husband’s body displayed in all his fat glory. 

You sucked in a breath and uttered, “Gentlemen you must excuse me, I need to use the powder room.” Your husbands hand stopped gripped your forearm as you made your exit, “Don’t be long dear.” He uttered menacingly. 

You leaned up against the green wall that lead to a long corridor, away from prying eyes and the clink of heels against expensive tiles. Lungs heavy, hands trembling, and mouth parting like a fish out of water. You felt foolish. You had lived years below your husband’s scrutinizing thumb, surrounded by words of empty headed strangers on how lucky you were to have married such a bright and clever man. A man who rejoiced at the sight of her trembling figure and got off on her agonizing screams that left her feeling like a vegetable for days. A man who curiously spit false facts with such emotion that caught the ears of the rich and the weak. And then she met him. And then life ripped that away. 

As if on cue, Tommy hurried towards her with that ever prominent scowl on his face, “Y/N, love-“

“No! No Tommy we cannot speak!” She pushed his hands away, further encouraging the scowl to become two tattooed lines in between his eyes. “Listen to me Y/N, stop fighting and fuckin’ listen ey?” He grabbed her trembling hands in his careful not to hurt her further. “What? What could possibly be so important to tell me right now that would make tonight’s punishment worth it?” You growled in contempt. 

“In about three minutes I will go into a room with your husband to bargain your freedom.” He grabbed your plum face in his hands, urging for your eyes to meet, for a reassurance, a peace of mind, a promise.

“He won’t give me up Tommy, he won’t.” You noticed his eyes waiver in a way that only a heartbreak could cause. They were filled with urgency, a sense of dread, because how could you not trust him? How could you not see that everything he is and everything he does is for you? 

“The greatest grief in my life will come if I leave you in the hands of that monster. All of this,” he said gesturing around him, “all of this is collateral, Y/N. I’ve accepted that risk of dying, I do it every day for stupid shit Y/N, for really stupid shit.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” You moaned, crying in despair. You shook your head as tears coated your frosted cheeks, unable to comprehend the thought of freedom and actual love. 

The orchestra started playing in the dining hall soliciting the guest’s attention to a melodic grace. The violins struck their cords in an unruly manner, insisting on being heard. Your husband whistled as he came toward you both making you separate. “Mr. Shelby, I believe we have pressing matters to attend?” He said. In his shifty brown eyes lied an expression you could not read. And so both men entered the room with the big fireplace and oak chairs. The mahogany door closed with a thud that coincidentally resonated beautifully with the melodic sound of the band. 

The doors opened just as quickly as they had closed. Or had the hours flown by? You couldn't tell. In the torturous time you had been left outside, a small crowd had gathered around you. Whispers of ‘mistress’ and ‘foes’ and ‘ruins’ had been said, but most just repeated the few phrases that could be heard from inside the room. The two politicians stepped out having reached a mutual decision. One having lost a sum of money that would leave him in financial ruin for the rest of his life. The other with promised assets that would change his family’s fortune and the value of his name. 

Your eyes met the Shelby’s blue ones, a smirk adorning his features as he stared at you. His woman. “Now, what’s this I hear about you doubting me love?” He murmured. You shook your head in disbelief, a small smile itching to be seen as your eyes darted over to your husband. “I don’t- I don’t get it Tommy, what did you do?” You asked grasping the lapels of his evening suit. Your hands tugging and caressing them ceremoniously as anxious tears pooled in your eyes. 

“Don’t concern yourself with business Y/N-“

“No! No, I will most certainly concern myself with business. Business that involves me. Business that has a means to freedom and life- a life Tommy, a-a life without fear.” She insisted, but he only smiled and kissed her lips gently, ignoring the ever growing fight that surrounded them. Your husband had drawn a gun in contempt, only to be tackled by Tommy’s men. He never was quick on his feet. 

*

It happened months later in the middle of an uncertain spring, when his face popped in your mind again. You had seen him in the shadows and in every drunk that passed you in the street. You saw him beneath the knife of the butcher, when rain fell from parted skies, and in the ominous sound violins made when played. But worst of all, you had seen his face in Arthur Shelby’s as he screamed at you yet again for getting in his way. Most of the family had accepted your relationship, as they pitied your cold sweats and silent demeanor, but mostly because the deal didn't ruin the Shelby empire. 

Once home, you stared aimlessly at the crackling fire, allowing the warmth to envelope you like a protective hug. Tommy made his way towards your figure and sat cross legged, whisky in hand. “Where’s your mind today, bird?” He whispered, tenderly stroking your pinned hair. 

“Thinking about the night my husband sold me like cattle.” Tommy side eyed you, clearly tense about the topic. “Did he?” you pressed again, “no one’s ever told me anything about it. I know we technically won, b- but Arthur’s been up my arse again and I can’t, not for the life of me, continue to be a prisoner of utterly worthless and untrue remarks!” She grew agitated withe very word, but all were true, and he knew this. His hand continued rubbing circles in the back of her neck and chuckle, a small one, escaped his lips. 

“Do you take me for a fool Tommy? Because I assure-“

“I don’t.” He cut her off. “You're no fool. I think you've proven that a few times now, right? You weren't a fool when you were with him and you're not one now.” 

“Then what, Tommy? What could have possibly been said that guaranteed my freedom and his ruin?”

He sighed sensing her desperation, but he couldn't possibly tell her. In fact, he hadn't even told his family. Arthur’s distaste for Y/N was shrouded in mystery itself, more so a rendition of the protective older brother, a one man play. Any other man would have disclosed the information to a close confidant, but not Tommy- never Tommy. It is why under the fire’s glow and the tenderness of your flesh beneath his fingers, he promised himself yet again to never speak a word of it to anyone, not even you. It would remain an active memory buried in the inner, darkest corners of his mind. Each time he visited Mr. Crooke, in a most disclosed location, he would remember to discard the clothing used and have an alibi prepared. A pesky little thing he was, a washed up creature that would receive every punishment he gave;  but no one should know, least of all her, because just like that night, no one else was in the room where it happened. No one knew the words that were spoken or how the deal was made. 

Only assumptions were made. And with one last stroke of the cheek and a light kiss to the lips, Thomas Shelby and Y/N stood up in silent agreement and retired to their newly marital bed. 

[infernwetrust]

The Devil In Me [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Part 2

PART 1 HERE

MASTER LIST

Plot: What if we took the Antichrist, Michael Langdon and turned him into founder and leader of one of the largest cartel’s in California? And what’s even better, is that you’re by his side through it all.

Summary: You awake to family man, Michael and preparations for a trip to Miami take place. Duncan comes to a rude awakening. 

Warnings: domestic violence, drug use, swearing, threats, fluff, angst, mentions of loss of life, child loss, emotional, this is like kind of dark y’all.

WC: 4.0k

A/N: This was not suppose to take this long to write. It was a little emotionally taxing for me, so I had to space out when I was writing it because I would literally get stuck in a dark place. Thank you for reading! -Juno

The smell of pancakes and warm syrup hit your nose first upon fluttering your eyes open. Usually you were greeted by the warmth of your husband who either lay near by or cuddled you. But it appears that he isn't in bed this morning. He did, however, leave the curtains open just a little bit to let some sunlight in. Just enough for you to be able to see around the room. Grabbing your phone off the side table you checked the time which read, 8:30AM. You groaned, knowing that today was packed to the brim with various activities. Travel being one of them.

When Michael offered to take you and the kids with him, Duncan, and Jim to Miami, how could you say no? It was a business trip, of course, but nonetheless you were still grateful to be going. Duncan had just sealed the deal on a brand new warehouse, perfect for operations and expanding their network. Located in the heat of downtown Miami, they blended in well. And what was their front for it all? A nightclub.

You slowly pulled the covers off of you, yawning as you got up, stretching your arms over your head. You smiled as you stared down at the floor, remembering the events that took place after you and Michael's shower the previous night. It wasn't long before he had you out of your night gown for round 2. You picked it and your pair of panties off the floor, throwing them back on and making your way to the bathroom. Hickeys and bite marks covered your chest as you turned the sink on, splashing water on your face before washing it all together. You quickly brushed over your teeth, knocking your morning breath out. You knew you would return shortly after you ate to brush them again anyways.

Throwing on your favorite pair of house shoes you made your way down the stairs and immediately into the kitchen. The sight in front of you made your heart swell. On the table were 3 plates, stacked with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. In a nearby bowl, fruit. Two glasses, for you and him of course, filled to the brim with orange juice. But that's not what made your heart swell. Michael, for the most part, always waited for you before he started eating.

Michael sat at the dining table, hair messy, shirtless, and in gray sweat pants. Sat up in his lap was Junior, the back of his head firmly planted into Michael's chest. In Junior's hand was a piece of pancake that he simply just shoved into his mouth, his eyes glued to whatever Michael had put on his phone for the boy to watch. With him distracted, Michael had his attention on little Malcolm who sat in his high chair, which he had moved closer to him. You watched as Michael fed him his favorite flavored yogurt to which the boy smiled in returned after his father took the spoon from his mouth.

You cursed yourself for forgetting your phone in the bedroom and you wish you could capture this exact moment forever. But there would always be opportunity for more. Michael is nothing shy of a family man and you know he always enjoys his boys being near by, even on the days where he's just fed up with it all. Feeling a pair of eyes lingering on him, Michael turned his head to look, a smile on his face when he made eye contact with you.

"Hi mama." Malcolm said, also noticing your presence, briefly taking his attention away from Michael's phone to look at you, his face a mess.

"Hi mommy's messy baby." you replied, walking over to give him a kiss on his forehead, followed by 3 quick kisses against Michael's lips. "And hello to you too."

"Why, hello." Michael responded. "So nice of you to join us."

"And miss out on your pancakes? No way, sir."

Michael didn't cook often, but when he did, he made it count. You wondered where he picked up his cooking skill. And then you saw him one day, in the kitchen, following the personal chef around. That day he had even wore his own little apron.

"Hey." Michael said to his personal chef, who stuck by his side since the beginning, Dawn. He stood at the kitchen counter with her, tall and proud. His blonde hair covered by a chef hat.

"Yes, Michael dear." she responded, pausing what she was doing to look at him.

"Don't tell Y/N, okay?" he asked her. "I want it to come as surprise when I do actually cook."

"Of course. I'll even teach you how to make some of her favorites."

He smiled at her again before the two resumed what they doing. You could snap a picture right now, you thought to yourself. How his brothers would LOVE to see Michael's EXTRA soft side, but you stood put, the widest smile and deepest blush on your face as you watched your then, fiancé, learn how to cook for you.

You walked over to Malcolm's high chair, grabbing his also messy face and lightly squeezing his cheeks together before sticking your tongue out at him. He giggled, attempting to wrap his tiny hand around your wrist.

"Don't worry, mommy didn't forget about you." you said. "Finally letting your dad feed you, huh?"

"I know, huh?" Michael huffed out. "No fighting before hand either."

"He's sweet when wants to be." You joined Michael at the table, sliding your hand across his back as you did so.

"Daddy, I'm done." Junior said, looking up at his father.

"That's my boy." Michael praised, kissing the top of his head. Junior almost never finished his food, so when he did, it was worthy of praise. "Go play the living room for a bit,'I'll grab you to come brush your teeth in a minute, okay?"

"Kay." the boy replied as he hopped off Michael's lap and ran into the living room, excited to get his hands on one of his toys.

"No mess either please, baby!" you yelled, hoping he would hear you. Michael smirked because as you said that, the both of you heard the toy box dump out. "Shit..."

"Bold of you to assume that he wasn't going to do that." Michael mocked.

"You hush and tell me what the plans are for today." You earned a small chuckle from him as he laid his hand over your knee, quickly glancing at Malcolm who had now took the matters of eating yogurt into his own hands, literally. All over his hair, face, and hands, yogurt. Michael pouted at the sight even though it was cute.

"Daddy was so hoping that he wouldn't have to give you a bath before we left." Michael sighed. "But silly daddy for looking away for 2 minutes, huh?" Michael reached his hand out to tickle the yogurt covered child.

"You still have so much to learn." you said. "Rule 1. Never take your eyes off the baby in the high chair."

"That is so not rule 1, Y/N."

You and Michael talked for what seemed like hours while the two of you ate breakfast. He started by letting you know why everyone was going to Miami. It was so fascinating to you how he was always so well informed. He told you everything, down to the exact number in income this would generate both from the nightclub sales and the narcotics sale. Jim wanted to set up a marijuana plant down there, but Duncan had convinced him that the best place to grow for right now was right here in California. He even showed you the floor layout of the both the nightclub and the underground warehouse on his phone.

Along the minor details were where everyone was going to be staying, how everyone was going to be transported around Miami, fun things to do when there was free time, and some really popular places to dine.

"Ready to give Malcolm a bath?" Michael questioned as he took the last drink of his orange juice.

"Um." You began. "That was your job."

"Just seeing if you were paying attention." he grinned, getting up to clear the table. You watched as he throughly rinsed the dishes off before putting them in the dishwasher. Most of the time you or one of the housekeepers kept up with the home duties, but Michael knew when he needed to step in and he did, every so often, just like today. Despite his extremely busy schedule, he gave you your break because you always took care of him through and through.

"Thinking about cutting my hair when we get to Miami, yeah?"

"Michael, who do you know in Miami that can cut your hair?"

"I don't know, but Duncan does."

"How short are you thinking about cutting it?"

"Something along the lines of Duncan, but just a little longer."

"Ooo you know that's-,"

"One of your favorites. Yes my love, I do know." He turned around to face you, leaning against the counter, giving you a wink.

"And the blonde just tops it off. God, I love you."

"I love you too." Michael laughed. "Fortunate to be the only blonde out of triplets, huh?"

///

The both of them laid there, her head against his chest, sweat making their bodies glisten as the moon light shined through the window of her bedroom. This isn't the first time Duncan has hooked up with Michael's head bartender, Elizabeth. In fact, it quickly became a regular thing, the two of them finding peace within one another through a common pain. Loss. If he was stupid enough, he would actually think he was falling in love with her. Was he? He knew he really liked her and that he enjoyed her company, whether it be platonic or sexual. But it wasn't love was it? Her fingers ran circles around his chest as it rose and fell gently.

Elizabeth was just a few inches shorter than Duncan, light brown eyes, a smile that could kill, and a body that Duncan absolutely adored. Usually for Duncan, his one night stands, stayed one night stands. But with her it was different. He liked the chase. And when he finally did fuck her, he ruined her. But his trips to the bar when she worked became regular and soon enough they began talking. And of course their relationship remained private.

"I could lay here with you forever." Duncan said, breaking the silence.

"Then why don't you?" she questioned.

"You know why, Liz." Duncan sighed.

"Duncan, anyone with eyes can see how unhappy you are." She lifted up a little bit, propping her head up in her hand before resting her other one back on Duncan's chest. "She's done nothing but drain you."

"I know."

"Then if you know why don't you just leave her?"

"It's not that simple."

Truth is, she reminded him so much of, Thomas, Tommy for short. When Duncan had lost his 3 year old son, Tommy, a year after Michael stumbled across Bryce, his entire world fell apart. She was the only living memorabilia that he had left of his precious Tommy. How could he leave that behind? No matter how toxic she was, he couldn't pull himself away and that was the only reason.

He had long fallen out of love with Tommy's mother way before they lost him. But for his son, he stayed with her and put up with all the shit she put him and their son through. And then all it took was one careless mistake and he was gone. And it's been 3 years. No he's not over it. No he hasn't forgiven her for leaving their son unattended. No he doesn't know how to move on, not yet.

When Duncan stumbled into his luxurious penthouse that he shared with, Samantha, he felt uneasy. He took his shoes off at the door, gently setting them down. He walked, slowly, to the master bedroom where the door was just cracked open slightly. And now he had his reason.

The exact same guy she told him not to worry about, was the exact same guy who laid in his bed, curled up against his, well, could he even say girlfriend? He took a deep breath, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. What could he even say? What could he even do? And then he just snapped. He walked in, grabbing the guy by his throat and taking his pistol out of his waist band, pressing it between his eyes.

"Woah man! What the fuck?!" he yelped, startling Samantha awake.

"You have 10 seconds to get your shit up off this floor and get the fuck out of my house before I blow your brains out." Duncan said through a clenched jaw.

"Duncan wa-," Samantha began to say but he cut her off.

"Shut up, bitch."

The guy wasted no time picking his clothes up off the floor and scurrying out of the room, Duncan pointing his gun at him the entire time. Duncan slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, scratching his head with his gun before throwing his hand back down to his side.

"Please don't kill me." Samantha begged on the brink of tears. Duncan chuckled, walking over to her quickly causing her to scream.

"Shut up." he grabbed her by her throat, slamming her down on the bed.

"Dunc, please... I'm sorry."

"I'm gonna talk now. And you're gonna listen. And when I'm done, you're gonna pack all of your shit and you're gonna leave. And if you don't, I'll kill you."

///

Michael took it upon himself to go get Duncan. He was suppose to come over early to meet with him and Jim to go over some analytics before leaving for Miami in evening, but as Michael continued to talk to Jim and continued looking at the time, Duncan still wasn't here. He had tried calling and texting, but he had no success. He had you and Jim try as well, but no success. He was worried now, so he made the 10 minute drive to his brother's apartment.

It was a mutual agreement to have spare keys for everyone's residency, but only for emergencies. Michael unlocked the door to his brother's place, quickly noticing where he left his shoes. So he was home and that was reassuring, but, Duncan never left his shoes by the door. Michael did the same, however, leaving his shoes by the door so he could tread lightly. He could hear a faint noise coming from Duncan's bedroom that only intensified the closer he got. That faint noise was now replaced clearly by arguing, but it sounded one sided. It was just Duncan that was yelling, but underneath all that yelling he heard a softer voice, crying.

Michael inhaled deeply, gently putting his hand on the doorknob. Every second that he stood there, slowly turning the knob as to not make a single sound, felt like a minute. He pushed the door open as far as he could, but Duncan in his new heightened rage, noticed. Still holding Sam down by her throat, he pointed his gun at the door.

"Woah woah woah." Michael said calmly, putting his hands up for Duncan to see. "It's just me."

"Do we not knock now anymore?" Duncan questioned, his eyes red and stained with tears as he looked his brother in his face.

"You weren't answering any of our phone calls and we got worried. I just came to check on you. Can you stop pointing that thing at me? I'm your brother, man. Just put down all together. I'm sure this is something that can be talked over."

"You first." Duncan replied, squinting his eyes.

"Dunc, you have go to be-,"

"I said you first!"

"Okay. Okay." Michael said, reaching behind him to pull his gun out, which he clearly showed to Duncan, finger off the trigger. He squatted down slowly, putting it on the floor, before kicking it to the side.

"Talked over?" Duncan mocked. "Her being the reason behind Tommy's death is something that can just be talked over?! Me coming home to another man in my bed is something that can just be talked over?!"

Michael knew the history behind Duncan and Samantha. Everyone did and while they tried their hardest to convince him to call it quits, Duncan never listened. He was too afraid to let go. Michael knew one day that his brother would snap underneath all his bottled up stress, but he didn't think it would of been this long and unexpectedly. Today out of all days.

"Okay." Duncan continued, tightening his grip on her neck as she just laid there, speechless, the tears pouring out of her eyes as she held onto to Duncan's arm. "So we talk out and then what? She gets to move on right? And be happy because it doesn't look like any of the shit we've gone through has affected her any. In and out of my life for 7 years, Michael. I'm 28 now."

"D-,"

"In and out of Tommy's life for 3 years he was alive. I basically was a single dad, but I kept letting this bitch come back because I loved her and when has ole Duncan ever loved a woman, huh? I should just kill her." Duncan turned his attention back to her, putting the gun back against her forehead.

"Duncan, I know you're still hurting over Tommy. Fuck, man. We all are, but what is killing her going to fix? It's not going to bring Tommy back. It's not going to take away the pain you're feeling. Duncan, you lost a child."

"It'll be justice for, Tommy."

"How do you know that this is what Tommy wanted? You don't. Listen to me, please."

"She doesn't get to walk away again." He cocked his gun, pressing it to her forehead again. Duncan, caught up in his own rage didn't even realize that Michael had stepped closer to him and he was still coming. "Why do you deserve to live? You took away someone else's life, so it's only fair right?"

"Duncan I didn't mean for Tommy to be killed!" she yelled through her tears.

"Bullshit!" he yelled back, when Michael grabbed him, wrapping his arm around his neck, before roughly pulling him away, causing him to drop the gun, which Michael swiftly kicked towards himself, picking it up and pointing it at Samantha, arm still locked around Duncan.

"You need to leave, now." Michael said, Duncan fighting to get out of his tight hold. "Get your clothes on, take your personals and just, leave. We'll send everything to your brother when we get back from our trip. If you ever show your face near or around Duncan or anyone he's close to again, I'll make sure they can't find your body, deal?" She nodded, quickly trying to get herself together, stumbling around as she tried to catch her breath. Michael waited until she was completely gone before releasing Duncan, who immediately turned around, shoving Michael back.

"Fuck you." he spat through his tears he finally let fully fall. "Why do you always get to save the day, huh?" Duncan shoved Michael again and he kept shoving him. When Michael got tired, he pushed Duncan's hands away, pulling his brother in for a tight hug instead.

"I can't say I fully understand how you're feeling, Dunc. But I can say that I get it." Michael said in the hug. "And I'm here for you. We all are." Duncan softened just a little bit, allowing for him to return the hug to Michael.

"I-," Duncan began to say, but he choked on his own words.

"You don't have to say anything. Just go get cleaned up and ready to go, okay? I'll probably be in your kitchen. Jim says you have really good snacks." Duncan pulled back to look Michael in his eyes again and he couldn't help but chuckle just a little bit.

"Yeah, okay." was all he said as he turned around to walk into his bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he took one look at himself in the mirror. His face scratched from where Sam had grabbed him when he first choked her. His eyes red stained from his tears. He sighed, opening the medicine cabinet, retrieving a small vial with a white powdery substance in it. He put a some on the back of his hand before snorting it up his nose. He exhaled loudly, letting the tears fall again as he put it back up, coming face to face with himself again.

Great. His nose was bleeding. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He was going to reach for a towel, when he came face to face with the tattoo that took up his entire left side. He paid 4,000 dollars for the whole thing. It was a very detailed sketch of his favorite moment with Tommy. He shocked him every time how realistic it looks, but Jim always hooked his brothers up with the best because he knew they would do the same for him. It's Duncan and Tommy, both squatted down. Duncan has his arms wrapped around the boy as he's holding a model toy fire truck. In the background was a very detailed Christmas tree as it was Tommy's birthday on the 25th of December. In beautiful scripted font below it says:

Thomas 2016-2019

And a little hand print that matches, Tommy's to complete it. He gripped both sides of the sink, staring into his own eyes once again as he cried, but he couldn't help but laugh too because of how stupid he was.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy." he said. "I'm so so so sorry. And I'll keep saying it because I know I will never be sorry enough. I miss you so much."

///

The car ride was silent between Duncan and Michael as they drove back to Michael's home. Michael let him get his usual morning coffee. And when Michael stopped at the store because Jim wanted another pack of cigarettes, he got Duncan his favorite pack too. It was rare that Duncan ever smoked, though, but Michael knew he needed it. He even let him smoke one in the car, sunroof and windows cracked. He didn't even bother to try to hide his dilated pupils from his coke intoxication, the only thing that was keeping him grounded. His head rested against the window and he stared blankly, but his mind was far from blank.

When they got back, Michael helped Duncan move his bags over to the car they would be using to go to the airport. Duncan trailed behind Michael as they walked around to the back, where Jim sat in one of outdoor sofas, typing away on his business computer. All it took was one glance over and Jim could see that Duncan had been crying.

Duncan sat down next to Jim, taking out another cigarette from his box and lighting it. Michael tossed Jim his own box to which Jim smiled and nodded before turning his attention back to his other, clearly distraught, sibling. Jim threw his arm around Duncan's shoulder, pulling him closer to him, resting his temple against Duncan's. He wasn't going to question him. He knew that he would be told when Duncan was ready. But considering Duncan's state at home, he already kind of had an idea.

"We're gonna have a kick ass 3 weeks, okay?" Jim said. "The 3 of us. Like it's always been. Palm trees and beach babes. And I know whatever has got you so upset, sucks, but we're right behind you. I'm sure you know that."

And then Duncan began letting the tears fall once again as Jim tried to console him. He use to be the head strong one of the pack before he let Sam into his life. And now he was stuck and confused, searching for answers and searching for reasons why. He exhaled his cigarette slowly before tossing it into the ashtray.

"Let's just go over these analytics, yeah?" Duncan croaked out. "Business is business boys."

"That's my boy." Jim said, patting and squeezing his shoulder.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake  @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @theneverendinghunger

[bonniebird]

Constantine x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Warnings: smut and angst

Reluctantly you followed the officer through to the jail. You’d been called an hour earlier but needed to finish up at work. You could hear John ranting to himself as he paced. As soon as he set his eyes on you he leant against the bars of the jail.

“You are a sight for sore eyes sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. Do it again and I’ll leave you here.” You said firmly.

“Whatever you say Love. Now you couldn’t do me a favour and get me out could you? I’d call Chas but you know, the duty of a parent calls and I promised I could get by without him.” He frowned as he finished speaking. An odd look crossed your face, panic followed by pain and maybe guilt. 

“I’ll help you but you’re going straight to wherever you came from.” You snapped and frowned at him until the officer cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry Ma’am but if you bail him. He’ll need to stay with you until the charges are dropped or they’re looked into further.”  The officer beside you explained.

“Fine. I’ll call Chas for you. There, a loophole.” While you fumbled for your phone he cocked his head, watching you through the bars. As you pulled your phone from your bag he cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.

“I promised Chas I’d stay out of trouble. I would hate to break my word.” He pressed.

“Funny. I thought that was your only schtick.” You sighed before turning to the officer. “Fine. I’ll take him.”

It took a while before all the papers were signed and money was handed over. By the time you were done Constantine was strolling out with his trenchcoat on and a cigarette tucked in his mouth.

“Could do with a drink after that.”

“Absolutely not! No drinking or smoking in my house!”

He frowned but didn’t answer as you got into your car. When he looked in the back there was a booster seat. The way he raised his eyebrows told you he had questions but got the sense he’d pressed you enough and he was very close to being tossed out. When you pulled up in front of a nursery school you started to get out of the car but paused.

“Stay here. Do not talk to anyone. Lord knows it was hard enough getting him in here I don’t need you Johnning it up.” You said so sharply that Constantine raised his eyebrows and gave you a nod in silent agreement.

He waited in the car, noticing couples and people rushing around the carpark. He observed them without much thought until he spotted you. A woman spoke quickly with you, two boys toddling along behind you as you paused to finish chatting and turned to the car. The boy took your hand and looked quite gleeful as he talked. You didn’t look so happy. As the child got closer Constantine realised why. The child couldn't be more than four or five but there was no mistaking whose it was. He had soft touches of you in his face, in his dimpled smile. But his looks came in broad strokes of curiously accession eyes, cheek and devilment. 

“Ok. You clip in?” You said as you helped the boy into the booster seat and clipped him in.

“Yup! All safe!”

“Ok, we’ll go home and have a snack.” You started to say as you got into the car yourself. “Then I have to help my friend who's visiting, ok?”

“Well young master.” John started cheerfully, hoping to smother out the conflict he’d been feeling since he set eyes on the child with sarcasm and carefully worded denial but stopped when you glared at him.

“You remember when he had to move and uncle Chas came to help. Well he is a friend of uncle Chas and we’re helping him because Chas can’t.” You explained quickly. The child was quiet for a moment. When Constantine glanced in the rearview mirror he could see the suspicious glare he gave him. Not quite as withering as your but it got the point across.

**************

You’d made up a bed for Constantine in the small side room downstairs. Your son had eaten his snack while carefully observing the changes. Constantine was sure the boy had stared at him at the same time, being sure to glare at him, even when magic tricks were offered up to make peace. His eyes had widened and a delighted fascination flooded the boys face until you slapped Constantuine’s arm and hissed at him to stop. Your son watched the interaction and decided even magic couldn’t buy his affection, as long as it didn’t by his mothers.

You’d settled the boy in the living room with a cartoon playing on the tv. John had watched it for a while before going to find you. He watched you for a moment, humming to yourself as you started to cook. He’d had so many feelings before he hadn’t quite dealt with them. Now he was more than annoyed. “So. Am I supposed to ignore the obvious or do we pretend you have a type and the last time we saw each other wasn’t four and half years ago?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You answered. He watched you paused for a moment before returning to chopping vegetables.

“You’re right. I’m just off my rocker. There isn’t a chance the young lad looks like me now is there. No just me seeing things.”

“John… I. He’s my son, I have to keep him safe.”

“From me?”

The pain in his voice was clear and you felt the pang of guilt again. Chas had told you to give John a chance to prove himself. But you hadn’t been willing to bet your child’s life on John. You could have given in and you begged Chas to keep your son a secret because if you’d seen him. You knew you would have taken Chas’ advice.

“I need to finish dinner.” You answered and turned away from him. He sighed and shrugged off his coat.

“The least I can do is lend a hand while I’m here.” Constantine offered as he rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.

Neither of you spoke as you cooked together, bar the few short instructions. As the two of you almost danced around each other it was hard to the feelings that had never quite gone away. “Can you help him set the table? I usually help him but this is almost ready.” You asked as you finished up, keeping an eye on the counter that was tickling down on the stove clock.

“I can do it.” He said until you sighed.

“He likes to help.” You insisted firmly and he nodded, heading to the living room.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me set the table would you lad? Not quite sure how your mum likes it.”

“I know how!” Came the cheerful voice. He emerged with a determined look and took Constantine’s hand, leading him to the cutlery draw. He carefully counted out each piece that was needed and handed them to Constantine who had a wistfully fond smile on his face. He crouched down and listened to the explanation as to why he didn’t need to get the spoons out. Then he followed obediently as your son climbed up on each dining chair and set the knife or fork in place. Once done they high fived. Hiding the slight smile you returned your attention to the food, starting to plate it up as your son picked his seat.

He warmed up to John as he ate, asking him where he was from because he sounded different. Before John could finish his long winded answer the conversation had moved on to the best toys and colours. After dinner Constantine was dragged off to see said toys and you were left alone. Taking a deep shaky breath you started to tidy up and thought about calling Chas. Watching from the doorway as John played with you son you felt another wave of guilt. They looked happy. You couldn’t recall John ever looking that happy.

You left them together until a good hour after your son’s bedtime. When you returned to inform him there was a chorus of disappointment and pleading for more time. Ultimately he relented to Constantine reading him a story, a few extra hugs goodnight and Constantine’s mean eggs. As long as they weren’t so mean he couldn’t eat them.

As the story was finished you smiled, watching John pull the blankets tighter around your son who had fallen asleep before John had gotten halfway through the book. Eventually he joined you in the doorway, looking back at the sleeping boy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” you said quietly.

“Don’t worry about it. All the creeps and ghouls after me, you just tried to keep him safe.” Constantine answered quickly. His face gave him away as he spoke, gently shutting the door as he turned back to you.

“I almost told you. A few times.” You admitted, walking back to the living room to clear up there. John watched you thoughtfully, hands in his pockets as you went quiet before adding. “I wanted to but I just couldn’t… risk.”

“You were protecting him. Did a better job than I could have done on my own.” He answered, leaning against the wall as you stood up and smiled. Something in your stomach fluttered and you felt nervous, the way you had the night you’d slept together and he vanished before morning.

Trying to ignore it you moved past him and started to head to your room. He followed you out into the corridor and paused at the room you’d set up for him. “It’s good to see you again sweetheart.” He said softly.

After a brief pause you turned and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him towards your bedroom as  you kissed him. There was a fumbling of clothes and desperate moans as the two of you moved. In a blur his head was buried in the crook of your neck, you straddled him as the two of you moved together. His hoarse moans were muffled by the kisses he scattered over your soft skin. He rolled the two of you and kissed you roughly. Five years of pent up emotion flooded through the both of you and soon enough he was panting beside you with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Will you stay this time?” You asked quietly. He didn’t answer, moving so your head lay on the crook of his shoulder, fingertips gently stroking your back so lightly that he pulled you to sleep. The last time, he’d turned up at your place battered and bruised, begged you to help him. He knew how you’d always been enraptured by his presence. He could always see it in your eyes, the way they lit up as he flirted with you. It had been one of the few normal nights he'd had in awhile. An emotional oasis. Had dinner, watched tv and you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. You’d woken while he was tuking you into your bed and heading back to sleep on the sofa. He knew he could have listened to the way you called out for him, his voice cracked with sleep, he could have stayed and listened to it every morning.

You seemed nervous as you reached for his hand and spluttered out words, babbling until he’d smirked and made a joke. His smile dropped into playfulness as you slid his hand up your shirt and gave him a pleading look. He wasn’t sure if you’d grasped the chance to have your current infatuation or if he’d cracked giving into indulgence. The two of you barely left the bed for two days. Bar a takeaway on the second evening. For a night he lived the normal life, no demons or monsters. It took every ounce of self control he could muster not to wake you as he kissed you on the second evening, dressing and leaving you asleep in your bed, not daring to look back because he would leave if he did.

He was doing it again. It was almost cruel to both of you. But you were better off without him. You’d taken care of your son for so long on your own. Not a demon in sight. He thought as he kissed your forehead. He dressed quietly. In the kitchen he paused, stopping long enough to make the breakfast he promised, wrapping it in tin foil and leaving it on the side as he crept out of the house.

Chas had found him the next afternoon, sorting through books back at the water house. “Are you ok?” He’d asked.

“Oh I’m fine mate. Better than fine. Didn’t I tell you I'd be fine.” His voice didn’t sound right. It was straining. Guilt had permanently lodged itself in his chest and it heaved with each breath. He hadn’t felt guilty for leaving you last time.

“You’re being awfully quiet and… not yourself. What happened this weekend?”

“Oh you know. Got arrested sorting out a demon and got bailed out by the girl I should’ve probably ended up with but I, as she put it, Johnned everything up. Picked my son up from school for the first time, helped cook dinner… had a great time. Read him a bedtime story. Then urm. I had sex with (Y/N), remembered why I abandoned her the first time and decided to leave without so much as a thank you for paying to bail me out. Oh. But I did make breakfast before I left, just like I promised. How was your weekend?” 

“Oh… it was fine. I had a nice time. Do I need to call someone. A lawyer? A therapist? Are you ok?”

“Not really no, Chas mate. But there isn’t much I can do about it now.”

“You could call (Y/N)... or I could drive you back?”

“And ruin the tradition of turning up every four and a half years and seducing her? No Chas. Besides I have demons to hunt down and send back to hell.” Constantine gave an awkward no in Chas’ direction and he turned back to the books on the table.

“I’m going to check in with (Y/N). Then I’ll find us something strong to drink.” Chas muttered, mostly to himself.

[solynaceawrites]

The ABCs of Demonology [1]: Aftercare

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Tags: NSFW Alphabet, Drabble Collection, Smut, Fluff, Established Relationship, Aftercare Chapters: 1/26 Summary: A series of drabbles based on the-coldest-goodbye's NSFW Alphabet template. Each drabble has a different theme, but all of them star Dante Sparda.

Hello, and welcome to The ABCs of Demonology, a drabble collection I’ve been toying around with for a while. I wanted to do some fun, short things for Dante while I work on my longer fics, and thought there was no better way than this! I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I have writing them!

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante has lived a rough life. It’s one of the things you noticed long before he ever told you, a suspicion founded in the walls a mile thick he kept between himself and the people around him, even the ones he’d known for a long time. Sure, he might open up a bit every now and then, when Patty came to visit or Nero was talking about his latest job and you’d catch that barely there curl to his lips born from genuine affection and pride, but, for the most part, he rarely showed anything other than a devil-may-care nonchalance coupled with a biting wit. Hell, you hadn’t known he’d been interested in getting into your pants until he’d had you pinned to the top of his desk.

And you were usually pretty good about catching those sorts of signs.

But those jagged edges were just as apparent in your lovemaking and the moments after as they were in the rest of his life, at least in the beginning. The foreplay was quick, the sex brutal, and his version of aftercare was tossing you a towel and telling you where the aspirin was before heading out to a job or for food. It made you ache, and not in a good way, your chest tightening and an uncomfortable, prickling heat spreading through your veins: embarrassment and a dash of humiliation at how little you must have meant to him to get nothing more than the absolute minimum of courtesy. 

It had come to a head one night. You, tired of feeling not enough—you might have had your share of one-night stands and flings, but you made damn sure that they felt cared for and loved when you left—and him, telling you to leave if you didn’t like it. You called his bluff, and there was a two-month period of time where you saw neither hide nor hair of the Legendary Devil Hunter. Patty had dropped by your apartment a few times to tell you that he was hurting, more waspish than usual and drowning in cheap beer and pizza grease, and you’d told her that he’d made his bed and he could lie in it. So imagine your surprise when you’d gotten a text one night when you were spoon deep in a pint of ice cream with a cheesy black-and-white film on the television warning you Dante was on his way over.

The only reason you’d let him in was the giant bag of take-out he held up as an offering. It was all food from your favorite place, an Italian joint with the best alfredo you’d ever had in your life, and he’d pulled out the containers of pasta and bread and soup and cheesecake and set them all out nice and pretty on your chipped dining room table. You’d had a bottle of wine that worked well enough, and even two candles, and the two of you had eaten in a silence that felt heavy with anticipation, broken only by requests for a napkin or the salt. He’d waited until you were done to talk, and you’d listened as he apologized, a fumbling, earnest plea for forgiveness, a promise to do better. No excuses, not that he was prone to giving them, and the conversation that followed was genuine. An airing of grievances, so to speak, and he’d listened as you told him how you’d been feeling, how you didn’t want him to be anyone else, just a clear idea of what you meant to him.

After that, Dante had taken steps to improve. It was slow, at times, human fragility strange to him, but he tried, and that’s all that mattered to you. And he surprised you, too, with how much he already knew about you and your needs, something that led him to admit how much he watched you whenever you were around. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. You rouse yourself from your dozing ruminations on the past to find him settling next to the tub, a bottle of water in one hand that he sets on the floor as he kneels. “How ya feeling?”

You take the aspirin he offers gratefully, swallowing them dry. “Worn out,” you answer, and he chuckles and dips a hand into the bath to stroke over your thigh. “This is nice, though.”

He perks up, a pleased shine to his eyes that brings a boyish charm to his features. It’s one of the reasons you love him, you think, the eagerness to earn your approval that had come the longer the two of you were together, the more the walls crumbled between you. “Yeah? Good. You plannin’ to soak for a while?”

“If I do, I’ll fall asleep.”

Dante chuckles. “Probably shouldn’t. C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

You offer no resistance when he lifts you from the tub to set you on your feet in front of him, and he remains on his knees as he carefully dries you off, planting a kiss to the red marks at your wrists. The towel he uses is warm, probably fresh from the dryer, and you’re yawning and swaying by the time he’s done. In fact, you’re pretty boneless when he scoops you up again, cradling you to his chest, which you nuzzle as he carries you into the bedroom and deposits you gently on the sheets, which are clean and soft. From the corner of your eye, you spy the ones that had been on the bed near the closet, but you’re distracted from the reprimand bubbling to your lips when Dante settles next to you and pulls the blanket around you both, an arm holding you snugly to his side. His lips whisper over your hair as you settle, using his shoulder as a pillow and draping a leg over his thighs, and you can’t even find the energy to complain when he shifts to grab the remote.

“Casablanca?” he asks, and you nod, already half-asleep. “Hell yeah.”

Dante’s had a rough life. But his love is genuine and warm, and the care he shows you now speaks volumes to how important you are to him.

[haloshornsinkstains]

Demons in My Head [Obey Me]

This is purely self indulgent comfort, I’m not remotely sorry. Featuring mainly Belphegor because apparently my comfort characters also like to try kill my MC. Also featuring my MC Kore.

CW: Mentions of Depression, Self Harm & ED behaviours. Nothing in depth really but be safe. Female OC. Lucifer is a bit of an ass in this, sorry Luci stans?

Belphie woke from his nap to find a second body under the covers with him, pressed up against the warmth of his own. It’s not the first time this has happened. It’s usually Kore, but sometimes Beel finds him in the attic and curls up under the covers with him, clearly not quite over the months they spent separated when he was kept up here against his will. It’s Kore this time, her shorter figure pressed against his chest, and really the fact he’d woken with a little spoon had given it away before he opened his eyes. But she seems smaller than usual somehow, curled up into herself in a way she isn’t usually. It worries him, and as he shifts up onto one elbow (carefully, so as not to wake her) he spots faded tear tracks on her cheeks. It sends a pang of anger through him, ugly and dark, wanting to lash out at whoever hurt her. Her face shifts, brows pulling together to form small wrinkles above her nose. She huffs and he sees her eyes cracking open ever so slightly before apparently she thinks better of it, burying her face in a pillow. Belphie sighed, gently wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her into him, away from the pillows. “You’ve been crying.” Kore, eyes still firmly shut, shook her head. “You’re a terrible liar Kore. Unless you’re wearing eyeliner on your cheeks too now.” He grumbled, swatting her with his tail until she cracked her eyes open to look at him. “Who upset you?” She just shook her head again, burying her face in his chest. “Just sad.” Belphegor sighed, holding her tight against him as they started to drift off again, promising himself he would find whoever upset her and deal with them.

The Demon Brothers (New) (7) Belphegor: Alright, which one of you upset Kore? Asmodeus: Mammon? Mammon: What? Why’d you always blame me? Mammon: I was out all day. Can’t have been me. Asmodeus: You didn’t forget you had plans with her again did you? Mammon: Hey! Mammon: [angry demon emoji] Belphegor: So, not Mammon. Mammon: That’s what I said! Asmodeus: I’m fairly certain only you, Kore and Levi are in the house right now. Leviathan: I haven’t left my room all day.

Well shit, that was bad. It meant whatever had upset her wasn’t something external, which meant this wasn’t a problem he could easily fix.

Belphegor: And no one forgot a date or anything? Satan: Kore was supposed to attend the new cat cafe in town with me, but she told me she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to stay home. I presume that wasn’t entirely true? Belphegor: She doesn’t seem unwell. Just sad. Belphegor: I woke up from a nap and she was next to me with tear tracks down her face. She wouldn’t tell me who or what upset her though.Just that she was sad. Satan: Are you sure she didn’t just watch something sad? She was crying with Levi and Mammon over one of Levi’s animated films last week. Belphegor: She would have told me. Asmodeus: Come to think of it she has been acting strange lately. Asmodeus: I went down to the kitchen last night to get one of my face masks out of the fridge and she was just stood there eating Mammon: That’s not weird? Asmodeus: No. She was eating like Beel Mammon: Huh? Mammon: [confused demon emoji] Asmodeus: She was inhaling food like she couldn’t taste it.  Leviathan: Wait. Was that the night I heard someone throwing up? Beelzebub: I smelled blood on her the other day. Lucifer: Then it sounds like we have a problem.

Belphie swore under his breath. Saying they had a problem was a massive understatement, but then again none of them could see the way she was curled in on herself, or the dark circles and running makeup under her eyes. She looked like hell, and his worrying increased tenfold. She shifted restlessly in her sleep and sighing he pulled her closer again, gently pressing kisses against her head until she relaxed in his grip. Belphie hummed, resting his face against her shoulder and dozing off again.

He didn’t wake up again until Beel came to get them for dinner, the way his twins expression drooped on seeing the state of their human didn’t go unnoticed, though he managed to school it back into a smile as Kore opened her eyes and the corners of her lips quirked upwards in response. “Was I asleep long?” Her hand scrubs along her cheek as if trying to rub away some of the mascara tracked there, and her lethargy along with it. “Doesn’t really matter.” Belphie huffs in reply, looping an arm through hers and tugging her up. “We should get down there before Luci complains.” Normally she would make a joke, or protest about leaving the comfort of their small nest, but instead she nods slowly and follows him. Her footsteps are sluggish, slow in a way that suggests she’s dragging her feet though she doesn’t seem to be doing anything of the sort. She winces when she accidentally bumps a thigh against the door, a sharp hiss of breath through her teeth that she tries to pretend didn’t happen. He wants to ask, but the expression on her face makes him snap his mouth shut. There’s something empty in her eyes that gnaws at his insides horribly, and for the first time since they reconciled he almost regrets allowing himself to care so deeply for this little human. It was easier when he hated the lot of them, when he didn’t need to worry. He spent so long worrying about Lillith and Beel, he doesn’t need another worry to add to the pile. Yet here he was, worried about his human and the way she moved too slow, the way she hissed at anything coming into contact with her thighs, the tear tracks down her face and apparent late night snacking habit. Softly he guides her to her seat, watching like a hawk as she starts to eat, only glancing up to register the worried expressions on the faces of his family. Even Mammon, dense though he usually is, can see something is terribly wrong with their human, and they are all kicking themselves for not seeing it sooner. “Kore, sweetie, did you see Mammon made the cover of Devil Style again?” Asmo asks gently, clearly hoping to spark some excitement in her. Kore nods, blank and quiet. The silence is deafening, the absence of excitement feels so very wrong. Last time Mammon had a modelling gig she had sprinted through the house, locking herself in her room with a copy of the magazine and Mammon shouting through her door. The lack of reaction is somehow worse than the tears earlier, as if something had slipped out of her while she cried in her sleep, though her soul is still there burning brightly beneath her skin. He’d checked, of course, that nothing had managed to steal her soul away. “Kore. We need to talk.” Her head snapped up at that, eyes wide and panicked as she stared down the table at Lucifer. Belphegor felt a growl rise in his throat. “You need to snap out of whatever this is. You are disrupting the house.” Kore dropped her head as the table erupted in noise, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. Within seconds Belphie had an arm wrapped around her, scooping her out of her chair and guiding her towards the room he shared with Beel. And if he threw a rude gesture in Lucifer’s direction as he left, well everyone was too busy shouting to notice.

Before long they are in the twins room, Kore wrapped tightly in Belphie’s blankets. He considers it a small mercy that she manages to hold herself together until he closes the door. The sound of her sobs is so loud and so pained it hurts him to hear and he knows the chaos in the dining room would only increase tenfold if the rest of them had caught wind of this. In hindsight maybe he should have brought Beel with him, his twin was much better at comfort and Beel’s hugs were undisputedly the best in the house. But his twin wasn’t here and she looked so small and broken huddled in his blanket and sobbing. Sighing he pulled her against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head and gently rubbing her back. “Kore.... you have to tell us what’s wrong so we can help. You know that right?” Under him he hears her sniffle, shifting slightly to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know. I’m just so sad. And… and…” she takes a long shuddering breath, desperately trying to hold back tears as Belphie squeezes her a little tighter “...he’s right isn’t he? I just… I-I- I cause trouble for you. I d-don’t deserve you guys.” A small growl rumbled in his chest, pressing her so tightly into him he could feel her heartbeat. “Lucifer is an idiot. We don’t deserve you, not the other way around.” “B-but, I get like this and I don’t know why and I-I…” “Shh.” Belphie clamped a hand over her mouth. “Lucifer is an idiot and I’m going to spike all of his food with hellfire chillies for a week. No, a month.”  He felt her chuckle against his hand at that, it was half-hearted at best but at least it was better than the lifelessness and the tears. “Now listen, I don’t want to have to say this again. We don’t deserve you, you’ve done more for us in a year than we managed to do for each other in centuries… you control Mammon better than Lucifer ever has, you get Levi to leave his room voluntarily, you calmed down Satan of all demons, and you never gave up on me even when I… Look, it doesn’t matter if you don’t know why you’re sad. Just tell us. We can help.” ‘I can’t lose you, we can’t lose you. Not like Lilith.’ Kore doesn’t say anything at first, but she leans back into his body properly and closes her eyes. Finally she whispers a sorry. Belphie huffs, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. The shouting from the dining room bleeds through the walls and he feels her flinch, growling into her skin.  “Let’s go to the attic.”

Leviathan (1) Belphegor: Grab Mammon and one of your shows that makes Kore laugh and meet me in the Attic. Leviathan: But, what show should I pick?  Leviathan: I have loads that make her laugh Belphegor: I don’t know, whatever you were watching the other week when she laughed so hard she choked? Leviathan: Do I have to bring Mammon? Belphegor: I’d rather not but yes. The idiot cheers her up.

By the time Levi and Mammon arrive Belphie has Kore bundled up in blankets in the middle of a pile of pillows, her body cradled against his. Mammon, ever the dramatic one, practically flung himself across the room to hug her, littering her face with kisses. If it wasn’t for the fond look in her eyes Belphie might have complained. “I was worried about ya! Can’t have my human being sad, it just aint right!” He whined, flopping down in her lap. Kore yelped, flinching away from the contact. Frowning Mammon tugged the blanket away, staring wide-eyed at the fresh bandage on her leg. His face dropped, and Belphie could swear he saw tears forming in his eyes as Kore tugged the blanket back over her lap. “You can still lie there, just be careful.” She hummed, patting her other thigh.  Slowly, as if she’d suddenly turned into thin ice, Mamon settled himself on the ground, propping his head on her un-bandaged thigh and humming contentedly as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I brought something for us to watch.” Levi hummed quietly, setting up the show on the small TV up there. “What are we watching senpai?” For all that Levi went bright red, her attempt at teasing sounded hollow and he whirled on her glaring. “S-stop pretending to be okay w-when you're not!” Kore blinked at him a few times before nodding. “Sorry.” “I brought the Devilball show. Um, “We’re Going To Defeat Everyone in Devilball and Maybe Learn Teamwork Along The Way”, that one.” This time Kore’s smile was wider, more genuine. “Oh! Thank you!” “A-and, I promise not to get too jealous when- when you drool over the characters this time.” Kore went a shade of red even Levi barely reached as the two demons on either side of her snickered. But despite the gentle hint of mockery their smiles and their warmth was genuine, Levi rolled his eyes (her one real companion in understanding the love for 2-Dimensional fictional characters) and settled down with them as soon as the show started, the three demons caging their human between them and their warmth. For the first time in a while Kore felt like she could breathe again, she felt safe. 

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 1/3

I don’t know how long this is gonna take but I’ve had the idea for a while. I’m Asian so it’s easier to insert myself into this weird setting. Hope it works for everyone out there thirsting for more Chema content ;) Read more Imagine Amado here.

Note: The first time Pacho makes appearance on the show, he’s treating guests a plate of sushi.

You're a chef specialized in Japanese cuisines, which are Pacho's favorite. You do catering when Pacho has important guests over at his mansion in Cali, preparing fresh delicacies like sashimi and sushi.

That's how you met the Mexican man in black. You didn't know who he was at first. People in your line of work tend to keep their mouth shut. Till the man becomes a frequent guest. You see how Pacho's fond of him as a business partner and a good friend, always treating him the best stuff when the Mexican is in town, as frequent as monthly.

But you never talked to him — Amado Carrillo Fuentes. You know enough about the name to avoid socializing with the biggest drug trafficker in Mexico in any form. 

Pacho is throwing a New Year party, of course Amado is invited. For the special occasion, you're asked to perform the whole process of cutting fresh sashimi in front of guests.

"You have to try this. The best bluefin tuna of the year, it's the fattest in the winter since the slimy bastards bulk up to deal with the cold Pacific torrent. I had it shipped from Japan via airplane, live. You should get into the business, you're the Lord of the Skies. Shit costs me thousands of dollars." Pacho is very enthusiastic about the fish.

Well, you can tell from the guarded smile that Amado is not a big fan of raw fish. You feel challenged, as if you need to prove yourselves to him.

"I'm more impressed you let people wave machetes at your dinner table," Amado snorts, "Your bodyguards are okay with it?"

"Ryoko chan is fine." Pacho winks at you, in fact he knows you better than anyone. You're not just a hired chef.

You don't say a single word, just slightly nodding to Pacho. 

The big knives are presented because you're handling a giant tuna (Pacho only wants the biggest ones!) You definitely put on a fucking show, piercing, cutting, slicing, finally arranging a delicate full plate like some fine art, with red tuna, white radish and pickled ginger.

Pacho and other guests give you a round of applause for your craftsmanship, while Amado just gives you a wavering smile.

When you bow to the guests before leaving, a reckless waiter serving sake next to you takes a step back. He inevitably bumps into you and the white headscarf you wear falls, exposing your black long hair.

It's the first time Amado really pays attention to you that night.

"Fucking hell, Pachito, I thought it's one of your boys. Look at her..." The dickhead is doing vulgar gestures, obviously making fun of your flat-chested body.

"Ryoko's the best in town. No man matches her skill set." The Colombian defends you (Pacho being nice and soooooo protective, ahhhhh!)

"Really?" Amado raised his eyebrows. He looks aggressively handsome, dark piercing eyes make you feel naked even though you're in the full white chef uniform.

You retreat to the kitchen, heart still beating fast due to the anger and humiliation. What you don't know is Pacho sees something different in Mexican's eyes and a radical plan is emerging when you're absent from the dining table.

"You want me to make amends to the fucker? Why?"  You can't believe what Pacho's talking about. "You left our guest without smiling. Your smile is beautiful, come on, Ryoko. Can you do that for me?" Yes, you will do anything for Pacho Herrera. 

And this time you have to put on a fucking kimono robe. Because Pacho picks it from his own wardrobe. "Kill me now." You sigh. Pacho is going all "It looks great on you. His jaw is gonna drop, don't you wanna see that?" 

You don't give a flying fuck what Pacho makes you wear. You're a chef, if someone's not interested in raw food such as sashimi, you need to change your game.

Later you surprise Amado with a totally different set of dishes, a small bowl of scallop miso soup with tofu and chicken yakitori. Hot food at midnight always smells extra tempting.

"You open the door without checking if I carry a machete first." You stand in front of Amado's private suite, giving the Mexican in his shirt and boxer briefs a little smirk.

"I'd be willingly stabbed by that bamboo skewer if you let me eat the grilled chicken first. I'm starving," Amado leans in, closer to the tray and your hair, "God, smell so good." The fucker knows how to flirt back for sure.

Amado obviously prefers the hot meal, "Thank God you bring a spoon. Chopsticks are for devils." He finished everything in record time, and as a chef, you have to admit it's kind of satisfying to see people (even he's a jerk) enjoy the food you make.

You don't talk much. As soon as Amado's done, you're about to collect everything and leave. He stops you, "You're not staying?" Big hand is tangled with the hem of your kimono robe. He's dangerously close, it feels like the thin fabric is gonna catch fire from the body warmth from you both.

"It's not like I have a cleavage to show you." You tease him.

Amado actually apologizes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." He gently flicks your hair back over your shoulders, eyeing your bare chest beneath the loose robe.

You're hesitant. Pacho did ask you to please the Mexican, but you have to stick to the plan, no early moves. 

You decide to call it a night. Amado doesn't stop you this time. 

Before you exit his suite, "Pacho wants sushi tomorrow," you turn around and smile, making sure the angel reveals more of your chest, "But I'll make a separate dish for you." 

That night you pray the Mexican's hooked.

The next day when everyone is having a cold plate of sushi, Amado gets a plate of tempura you prepare just for him.

"Thank you, dear. I won't last a week without you," Pacho makes some drastic remark as he enjoys the sushi you present and continues, "You know, one time I went to Guadalajara, they don't even have a decent Japanese restaurant. The only one Navegante found serves shitty noodles which remotely look like ramen. Your stubborn Mexicans really need a break from beans, steak and quesadilla." 

"Then can I borrow Chef Ryoko for a week? A short trip to Mexico, maybe Chef will find some new opportunity there." Amado suddenly proposes. 

Following Pacho's instruction from earlier, you act surprised.

Next thing you know, you're boarding a private jet with arguably the most powerful Mexican, both on earth and in the sky.

Your mission is to spy on Amado Carrillo Fuentes for a week. "Why? He's very business-oriented, low maintenance, no bullshit. But you never know if you can trust Mexicans. I need to know everything about Amado, every detail matters." Pacho's words echo with the plane engine before the takeoff. And he kisses you goodbye.

Amado's waiting for you at the bridge, smiling through his aviator sunglasses. You have no idea what you sign up for.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 39: Sleeplessness

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Notes: And it’s on time today! I didn’t oversleep! YES! Let’s go!

(-~-)

Although largely unnecessary, no one had thought to inform them of just how early everyone in the manor rose from their slumber in the morning. And that was if they had actually gone to sleep the evening before. It was entirely possible from what little they had come to understand about the Ludwig family that they might not be the kind to sleep in the evening, instead choosing to stay up and practice… whatever it was that they practiced. They had somehow managed to dance around the topic altogether while still giving them a basic overview. It was enough to make one wonder if they were worried about judgment should they actually reveal their secret, or perhaps they studied so many things that they simply didn’t know where to start? Who was to say but them?

Breakfast was served at 6:30 sharp for some reason, although they were all informed that it would continue until 10 am for the mercy of those unable to pull themselves from the grave that early. A fortunate thing indeed considering the fact that as comfortable as the beds had been in their individual suites that none of them had wanted to. But despite that, Nero had forced himself to get up and go to the dining room once he'd been informed of the starting time. He couldn’t say that he’d ever been awoken at 5 in the morning to be invited to eat by literally anyone before, but if the smell that he had been greeted with upon waking up was anything to go by, the last thing that he was going to do was complain.

Making his way down the corridor, the young demon slayer yawned, stopping to lean against a nearby wall so that he could stretch out his back slightly. Upon turning back towards the direction he had been going in previously, he was surprised to see Sirrus sitting upon the ledge of a tall window just above his head. Nero couldn’t recall if he’d noticed his presence before, or if he’d even been looking for him. For a moment he considered the possibility that the adjudicator might be capable of doing more than he continued to let on.

“Hey. Didn’t know you were awake. Are you still reading?”

Sirrus looked down at him, seemingly noting his presence for the first time since he’d entered the hallway. He didn’t seem startled so much as he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed his presence up until now.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Your brother and I spent some considerable amount of time going over a few standouts from Aluta’s privately curated collection, and we believe that we have something.” Sirrus swung his legs around and allowed them to dangle instead of remaining in his resting position before continuing. “I trust that you slept well, then?”

“Pretty much. Yea. I had a lot going on in my head, so it took me longer than I thought it was going to to actually go to sleep, but once I did, I was out cold. You?” Nero said with a shrug. He was sure that there was a lot on the minds of basically everyone right now. Considering what was going on, it was hard to consider that very exceptional. Still, his mind wandered and he found himself contemplating the possibilities laid out before them. There was an awful lot going on in the grand scheme of things that didn’t make that much sense in his mind, and he had a fair number of questions. Maybe Aluta and Sirrus could fill him in?

“Oh, me? I don’t really sleep.”

“You can’t sleep?” That was admittedly strange to him as well as being an interesting revelation. He and the others had just both Sirrus and V sleep for the better part of a day or so after they had returned from Belial’s domain. What in the world was he talking about? Had he simply been faking it?

“No, it’s not that. I just… don’t most of the time.” The adjudicator smiled slightly and hopped down, standing before Nero. The younger of the two shifted slightly, seemingly stiff but otherwise fine.

“So you can just kinda choose not to, then?” Now that was weird even by his standards.

“Generally speaking, yes. I can stay awake for extended periods of time, just as easily as I can sleep for long periods of time. I simply don’t feel like sleeping right now. There is far too much to do to waste my time like that at this juncture.” He seemed both serious and half-joking when he made that statement, so it was decidedly difficult for Nero to tell if he was being entirely truthful, or bullshitting simply for the fun of it. Either way, that was all that he could go off of for now, so he would just take his word for it.

“What about before? You were out for like two days.” As far as he was concerned, that was the only true outlier to that statement. He’d seen him asleep with his own eyes just after arriving to see what had become of his brother. Unless he had been faking for some inconceivable reason, then he had been asleep at the time. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had been unconscious. The two things were not exactly the same, after all.

“Due to a need to recover. I recover much quicker when I am asleep, especially when I am mortally wounded. I dare say that I still have yet to recover from my injuries, at least in a non physical way. I’ve healed, but my power reserves are utterly depleted.” Realizing that he probably needed to clarify the fact that he had been a bit more than asleep during that time. “I had simply been rendered unconscious and then chose to remain that way. It was in my best interests that I allowed myself the time necessary to recover so that I could be of use again.”

Nero took in this revelation, seemingly surprised by how straightforward yet strange that was to him. He could only imagine how strange that must be. But to be fair, it would also be useful. Being able to regulate your energy levels at your own discretion like that had to come in handy, unless that wasn’t the case. The better question might be…

“But… do you feel tired at all, then, or can you just turn that on and off, too?”

Pausing for a moment to consider his response, he made a strange face. “... Is that what you would consider the urge to rest? Because if it is, then no, I can’t say that I really feel that to begin with. The only thing that I feel that is similar to that is the need to rest and recover my strength after an injury, but it isn’t strictly necessary. I won’t pass out if I choose not to like a normal person would. I am incapable of overexerting myself in that manner.”

The young devil hunter had to admit that the more he learned about Sirrus, the more confused and fascinated he was by him. He already knew that he wasn’t human, at least not entirely, but that still didn’t explain away some of his… irregularities. One of these days he hoped that he could truly learn what he was, even if only to satiate his only curiosity. There wasn’t really another reason that he could come up with for why he would want to know something so personal about the other man, so he’d leave it be for now.

“Makes sense, I guess. What about eating? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.” He asked casually, noting that they had gone to the kitchen last night together and the man with the red hair hadn’t bothered to do anything more than taste a thing or two with a spoon and a small glass dish. He never fixed a plate or bowl for himself as the rest of them did, and he disappeared while they were eating only for them to run into them about an hour later when they were heading up to their rooms. It was interesting in retrospect how he hadn’t noticed the strangeness of this at the time.

“It’s much the same thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love eating. I just don’t strictly need to in a biological sense. I guess you could say that my power sustains me. I can’t really starve to death, much as many demons cannot. If they could, the demon world would have fallen long ago, I suspect. Mortal blood is nothing more than a delicacy to them.” Sirrus stopped then, seemingly reconsidering his choice of words. It was thought he had just said “no, that can’t be right” to himself in his head. “... I could be wrong, however. I know that human blood is the source of much of the power that more powerful Devils seek. Perhaps there is something more to it than that. I’m probably oversimplifying things. Perhaps that would be a better question for your father. He seems thoroughly knowledgeable. I can’t pretend to know everything, after all. I’m no devil. All I can say is that I myself do not require such things like a demon or devil would.”

Before Nero could follow up, Sirrus turned his head slightly to the side, seemingly noticing something. Nero followed his gaze until it landed on V, realizing for the first time that the young Summoner had walked up on them both without drawing too much attention. But a quick glance at Sirrus indicated that he had noticed his presence long before now and had simply elected to not mention it. These questions and answers had been directed at both of them, not just Nero.

“Hey, V. What’s up?”

Looking at both of them through a set of heavy, half-lidded eyes, was V, having clearly just awoken from his much-needed rest. It had been a long night for him. Or perhaps a short one, depending on the time that he had gone to bed. He looked as though he might simply slump back against the wall and doze off, or just slink back to bed without a moment's notice.

“... Breakfast?” V said feebly, his brain failing to assemble a more noteworthy statement.

Nero and Sirrus glanced at one another before shaking their heads and laughing slightly. V was clearly tired, and it was probably best that they get him downstairs before he keeled over and hit the floor from apparent exhaustion. He wasn’t much of a morning person to start with, but it seemed that the events of the night before and the residual exhaustion that he probably still felt as a result of the damage that he had suffered at Belial’s hands was still weighing heavily upon him. A good meal and some additional rest was probably in order before he was able to so much as call it even.

“I must confess, it was a long night. We spent several hours together pouring over documents and scrolls and generally enjoying one another’s company. But it was a productive evening, I assure you.” Sirrus smiled brightly, something that genuinely took Nero off guard as they gently guided V towards the stairs. It was probably best that they feed him now and simply send him back to bed. No one that they needed to see was probably up yet anyway. And if they were, Nero couldn’t imagine that they wanted to be bothered this early in the morning. They would try again around noon.

A quick look over at V was enough for Nero to come to that conclusion. V desperately needed sleep, and he had the feeling that he would find a way to achieve that goal, one way or another. And if what Sirrus said was true, at least his brother had had a pretty good time last night. It was rare that he heard anything about him having a good time. “Um, yeah, I can kinda tell. V looks like you poured him into the bed like an hour ago and snuck out of his room so that none of us would realize that you were still awake.”

Laughing in a slightly nervous manner, Sirrus shrugged and gritted his teeth, batting his long eyelashes as he looked down at his feet. He’d been caught red-handed. That was basically exactly what he’d done, if he was being honest with himself. Slithering away at the crack of dawn like some renegade teenage misfit beset by the fear of the wrath of his parents. How very much like him.

“Unfortunately, as a direct result of my lack of a need to rest, I often underestimate the need to do so that others around me possess. I believe that I may have inadvertently forced your brother to stay up far beyond his prime. But at least we had some wonderful conversations.” He shook his head, glancing with fondness over towards the young devil summoner. V would never cease to interest him.

Nero had to admit that he was curious now. What on Earth had they spoken about so late into the night? V had never struck him as much of a conversationalist, except perhaps on the few short occasions that he had made the mistake of allowing him to speak openly about his love of literature. He suspected that his brother was quite literally capable of going on for hours like that if someone didn’t put a stop to it. Perhaps that was what had occurred? Either way, he found the notion that V had stayed up late into the night conversing with Sirrus to be intriguing. His older sibling so very much loved his rest, so the idea that he had delayed it to spend time with someone was… odd.

“Really now… you're gonna have to fill me in over breakfast. I think he’s gonna end up sitting this one through.”

Another soft laugh. “You assume that he will be sitting. He may very well be lying. On the floor.”

“You're not wrong. Let’s get downstairs. He’s pretty light, but if I accidentally bash his head against the wall or something on the way down there my dad is gonna be livid, and honestly, I just don’t want to hear that shit today.” He adjusted the half-asleep summoner, shaking his head again at the sheer state of him. It was almost funny how utterly exhausted he looked. V needed to take better care of himself. He knew that this had to be an awful lot for him to take in. “And I don’t think that my brother would really appreciate that, either. He has enough problems.”

“That is a fair point. We should hurry. I’m sure that everyone has picked the good options dry by now.”

(-~-)

They had spent the better part of the night going over the options presented to them, unsure as to what they could do in a time like this. Dante had been able to do very little with the books presented to him the day before, and not entirely sure what he was reading. Though he had managed to find a few interesting things, they had turned out to all be red herrings. This wasn’t really his forte. The youngest of the Dark Knight Sparda’s twin sons was a bit more hands-on when it came to seeking out information, and he couldn’t say that he really knew what to do with himself.

Lucia yawned sleepily, glancing over towards the far window. They were surrounded by paper and stacks of general reference books. There was simply too much going on in this room, and they knew that they weren’t getting anywhere with this. All attempts at organization had gone out of the window as soon as they had started to become tired, and so had their ability to properly process information. Everything was a mess.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. I need a nap.” Dante said as he stretched and let out a lazy yawn, completely aware of the fact that he just didn’t have the energy reserves to deal with this right now. It was a shame, but it was the truth. He would be more useful after his brain had undergone a little reset.

Nodding in agreement, Lucia stood from her spot on the floor. She’d been full of useful ideas and propositions yesterday, but for now, she was stumped due to the all-nighter that she had just pulled with her longtime friend. She wanted to do her best for everyone, but at the rate that she was going, there wasn’t a whole lot of useful assistance that she could offer.

“You’ve got a good point. I believe we should both…” She trailed off then, walking over towards the open window behind Dante with a slightly perplexed look on her face. From her spot, a procession of servants and worried-looking young women had all started in the direction of something on the other side of the manor, seemingly headed towards something with a frantic pace. “Dante… I think that something might be wrong.”

Upon hearing her declaration, he stood up, redirecting his attention towards what she was talking about. If Lucia had a bad feeling about something then he was going to look into it. It was that simple. She followed her gut, and he got the impression that her gut was normally correct in regards to these sorts of things.

He noticed the procession of members of the Ludwig household and folded his arms over his chest, seemingly as innately uncomfortable with it as she was. The pair turned and looked at one another before heading out of the door, intent on heading over to the other wing of the property and seeing what was going on. They needed to see what was going on over there.

Where were the others?

(-~-)

Hmm… Should we be worried about what’s going on? Because I feel like that might be the case. All the commotion kinda makes me feel uneasy, you know? But that’s a matter for Friday, so I guess we all have to continue suffering until then lol!

So anyway, how is everyone? Sorry for any delays? I’ve sorted out most of the book distribution things… I think. Anyway, I’ll update you on that soon! 

[writingsofmyimagination]

Silk Tie

Summary: Wide awake with midnight munchies? No problem. Dom Hobi (As if he’s anything else :P)

Hobi x Reader. (Established relationship)

Genre: 18+, PWP basically. Hobi ruins me like that. Some cute stuff though :P Not going to lie loved writing this hope its not too terrible.

Words:2564

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (Light bondage, Oral F receiving, Slight Exhibitionism, Spanking, Hint of Cum Play) Think that’s it.

Enjoy ARMY. Love You ALL! Please Reblog and Comment your thoughts.

“What time’s your alarm set tomorrow?” you inquired, rolling over enveloping your arms around Hobi’s chest. You were shameless in trying to share the body heat permeating of his skin; being greedy with the warmth already supplied to you buy the cosy duvet shrouding you both.

“4” Hobi groaned mid-stretch, one of his hands falling to your waist.

“What!” your normal tone hiked up a few notches higher looking up at him. The brown wavy hair pushed back from his forehead as he chuckled.

“We’ve got a shoot tomorrow what do you expect?”

“Well, wake me up at that time and BTS will need a new choreography lead” you toyed.

“I’ll do my best” he rewarded your forehead with a delicate kiss.

“How have you slept this week?”

“Too well”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I suppose not. I’ve missed this though” gripping his body where your hand rested.

//

5 hours later you were wide awake, irritated at the amount of tossing and turning you’d done. Huffing, you threw the covers off and made way for the kitchen. Your feet cooled on the marble floor as you stood focusing your sight on the cereal cupboard. You needed Frosted Shreddies. The moonlight slithered in the high panel windows, an opaque white stream guiding you to slump down feet under you on the sofa. The TV near on silent, your gaze barely registering the cascade of moving pictures in front of you. Going back up for seconds, the patchwork wheat lightly clanging in the porcelain bowl. Ears pricked up at the sound of light shuffling behind you. Hobi was heading over to you, grey trackies cushioned at his hips. The midnight beams bouncing of his delicious sculpted torso. His hands slid around your front, his head resting on your shoulder.

“What’s keeping you up baby?” he spoke softly. Since the news Hobi had been much more observant of you. He’d have never normally left the comfort of the bed to come and find you.

“Cravings” You lifted up he bowl and twirled in his grip to face him. The concern dropped from his face as quick as he dropped down to your waist level.

“Why don’t you let mummy sleep this is no time to be hungry? And you could have at least picked a nicer choice than dry shreddies” he spoke to your stomach holding a hand there. You chuckled batting his hand away

“Hobi, Stop!”

“What?” he whined dodging a playful attack to his arm. You finished your mouthful before answering.

“We don’t want the boys hearing it’s only been nine weeks” His smile was not the least bit apologetic, keeping this from them had been the hardest for him by far.

“And I doubt squishy can hear your disapproval of craving choice” you added.

“Hey you told me at nine weeks the ears get more defined even though squishy is just a grape” he protested taking the bowl from you and placing it behind you.

“Touché Mr Hoseok that I did” Unobstructed he was now free to pull you into a kiss, allowing yourself to be pushed back against the side. Your hands locked behind his neck as he left your lips chasing his. Finally getting Hobi back after week, your fluctuating hormones were giving you serious that only Hobi could currently take care of.

“Shouldn’t you be heading back to bed. You’ve got to be up soon. I’ll be fine” you suggested rummaging the bowl, hands hurrying to continue snacking.

“Probably” he agreed

“Buuut?” you goaded.

His hands ventured underneath your night shirt, his shirt and traced your sides teasing his hands just underneath your breasts. One of your weak spots.

“I missed you” He was creeping and you both knew it. You were enjoying cute Hobi, you knew it wouldn’t last. Your hands dropped, trickling over his chest.

“Missed what exactly” you teased. He knew he’d been busted. Something darkened behind his eyes when his desire took over; it was unmistakeable, devilish. He hesitated.

“Sure it wasn’t this?” you took lead of his hand and guided it beneath the slack waistband of your underwear. Slowly coating his slender fingers with yourself; both your eyes flashing wickedly at each other.

“This is most definitely part of it” You left him taking over your lead. His forehead fell meeting yours, his eyes focused on his hand. The atmosphere between you quickly deteriorating into a heated starved cluster.

“Fuck this!” he breathed. In moments your behind tight in his grip, legs secured round his waist. The anticipation to be underneath him on your bed quickly seeped down into panic. Your ass being placed on the glass dining room table. Your hands hanging on to his shoulders as you sheepishly looked at your surroundings.

“Hobi, what… here? We can’t” He was already pulling at your thighs, the silk of your underwear enabling him to have you almost perched on the edge.

“Why not?”

“Erm because you live with six other guys that could walk in any second” You’re protesting weak, underwear already being slipped down your legs.

“Better be quiet then while I have you dripping round my mouth then” The words could only tug at your core for a few seconds before his tongue was pressed flat scooping through your arousal. Your fingers lacing through his hair, tight enough to pinch at his scalp. Your other hand clamped round the edge of the table, colour draining from your knuckles. The slow stripes of his tongue becoming more pressured circular movements honing on your clit. He took a breath, admiring your inner thighs with wet delicate kisses.

“Tell me how good I make you feel baby” he requested, hot breath fanning your core. Fingers stroking your folds in his tongue’s absence.

“Sooo good, please Hobi” His lips curled up against your thigh.

“Uuughh” you winced as his teeth clamped down on your flesh.

“Gotta make sure I have you marked as mine princess”

“Hobi just give me your tongue for god’s sake” Your frown was met with ‘The Glare’. Blood rushed straight to your core, adrenalin pumping ferociously below your skin. You’d awakened the devil. And you were weak for it.

“Up” Any sweetness in his voice was long gone. You were not going to keep him waiting. Even the presence in front of you was different. His chest heaving, passionate eyes and tall toned stature now oozed authority. He swirled his finger round. Turn around. He flicked his finger down. Bend over on the table.

The cool of the glass table was felt through your thin cotton shirt.

“You don’t get to demand what I do to you, do you?” Passively informing you of your mistake.

“No, Sir!” you responded correctly.

“Arms behind your back” You cursed Namjoon silently for leaving a red silk tie slumped over the breakfast bar chair. He secured your wrists with little give.

“Hobi we’re In the kitchen” you reminded

Swear to god if someone walks in…

“You can count with me. 3 okay!” Your pulse already boiling and racing since the second he’d taken the wooden spoon from the cutlery draw. He completely ignored your previous words.

“MMhhm” you hummed.

“Yes” you quickly corrected. Flinching preparing for a reprimanding smack for not using words. It never came.

“1” he warned

“1” you responded through gritted teeth, stalling the moaning whine dead in your throat. The sting prickling on your behind.

“2” you continued, squeezing your thighs together.

“Fuck, I love it when you ask for your own punishment” he growled, the wooden spoon striking the same place again. A cry seeped past your lips permeating into the room. Hobi stepped to you pushing his weight into you gripping the back of your neck.

“Keep It down! Do you want the boys to know you’re here bent over for me in their kitchen?”

“3”

SMACK!

His palm nursed the rose tainted skin on your behind.

“Good girl, all pretty and pink” You hauled yourself on the table, more than ready for him to take you to the bedroom. Force pushing down on your shoulder blades shoving you back down, the heat of your breath fogging up the table.

“Hoseok please, just take me to bed” you whined.

“Oh baby, we’re not going anywhere” His hands trailed up your sides catching your shirt and rolling it half way up your body.  His fingertips denting lightly at your sides, his touch becoming soft at your hips. They inched round your behind, dipping between your thighs. The pair of you both gasped, your hips chasing the direction of his fingers.

“Fuck…Baby I think you like the idea of being caught” Your mind was too busy honing in on how his fingers felt gliding through your arousal; your brows millimetre by milometer furrowing each time he purposely neglected your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your sighs and exhales increasingly becoming laced with frustration.

“Does my baby want something?” he coaxed, his bulge pressing into you was certainly one of your answers.

“Yes” you breathed

“Tell me”

“I want you, just touch me” His movements ceased, hovering over your clit, barely making contact.

“You’ve got to do better than that otherwise you’ll get nothing” One his hands was gripping at your hips tightly, refusing them to move into his frustratingly static fingers.

Fuck

“I need you Sir, pleeassee. I want you to fuck me, right here, hard!. I need you to make me cum”

“You spoil me princess” He groaned in appreciation. Instead of holding your hips back he pushed you into his fingers.

“I’ve fucking missed this” you moaned

“Yeah?” The slow circles on your clit spreading already had you arching your back. He shuffled behind you

“And this?” Your wrists pulled against the tie, fidgeting as his hand left you, trailing up to grip your hair.

“Have you missed how good my cock makes you feel” He asked coating it in your answer, you rolled your head, forehead on the glass.

“Mmmmm” you responded in a hum; not wanting to open your mouth for fear of your volume control failing.

“Words!” he scolded

“Volume down baby” he warned. Hair yanked back, he pulled you onto him, hard. His warning was lost.

Your whine was loud and drowned out with an expletive. He refused to move letting you to adjust to him or to listen for any movement elsewhere is the dorm. Or both.

“Such a dick” you breathed.

“But I’m all yours baby” he whispered in your ear. Your hair still gripped. Pulled back against him. His breath passing over your neck in a warm breeze.

“Now if I let you go are you going to be quiet while I fuck you on my kitchen table?” words falling across your skin like honey, clenching around him. You loved when he spoke filth in your ear; and he knew it.

“Yes” it was more of a plea than anything else.

“Good, cos I’d hate to not let you cum cos you can’t do what your told” His grip relinquished and he shoved you back down. Hands harshly digging into your hips stabilising you, his hips already bucking into you roughly. You struggled to filter through your cries and moans into soundless bursts. Becoming too much his hips slowed. Drawing out of you so slowly. Pushing back equally torturously.

“Yellow” You whined. You used this warning for only one reason. To signal to Hobi you were near some kind of limit. He would stop momentarily, and give you free reign to say whatever it was that you needed him to know in that moment.

He stopped.

“What is it princess?” Concern suspended heavily in his voice, it had become more weighted since the pregnancy started, understandably so. Especially with how hard he could go. You’re convinced he has slivers of sadistic tendencies beneath that sunshine smile of his; not that you’ll ever complain.

“It’s too hard to keep quiet, I need..something for my mouth” You breathed. Rather tell him you’re not going to be able to achieve what he wants than not being given release you needed after time apart.

“Is that so?” he teased pulling out of you even more slowly.

“Yes! You feel too fucking good” you complained while obviously not complaining. Stroking the shaft of his well-deserved bedroom ego. The silk of the tie loosened around your wrist, your body spun round, tie secured at your wrists again, in front of you. The ache in your shoulder washed away with the fresh movement, synovial fluid flowing blissfully around the joints. The pair of you out of breath as he hooked your arms over his neck hoisting you onto the table; pulling the back of your thighs forward.

“Use me baby” he panted lining himself back up with you. The strands of his hair were locked firmly in your fists, bracing yourself.

“You close baby?” Your teeth and mouth clamped down onto his shoulder, his skin absorbing the moan he elicited from you with his thrust.

“Mmm” Your ability to formulate words was lost, every thing focused on how the muscles in your lower stomach began to tighten, his shoulder was already blossoming red under your mouth. Your hands had no energy left to pull his hair, falling limp into the restraints. Your moans against his skin became soundless, energy drained to the bundle of nerves in between your legs.

“Cum for me” With the pressure of his finger against your clit, everything unwound. The top half of your body froze, nails clenching into his neck. The bottom half of your body convulsed, unleashing the surge of dopamine flooding your nervous system. Your muscles spasmed clenching around him causing him to still inside you; letting you ride it out until the waves calmed.

“Why did you stop?” His hands stumbled your restraints undone, hooking the tie round your neck.

“Knees!” he ordered

That’s why

Normally you’d flat out refuse, roll your eyes at least but

1.       You were in no mood to be a brat and be disobedient

2.       The way his eyes glimmered at the image of you on your knees, picturing his cum smeared over the bottom half of your face was too hard to refuse.

//

“Your too fucking good to me” His praise ignited your smile like a christmas tree, his finger tipped your chin upwards and you stood following his hand. He wiped your face with the silk round your neck.

“Hobi!” you laughed pinching the tie from his grip.

“What?” his tone a pitch higher, he winked sticking his tongue out at you.

“You’ve just wiped your cum off my face with Joon’s tie”

“And? it’ll wash”

“You’re unbelievable! I’ll never look at it the same way ever again” You chuckled retrieving your dignity in the form of your underwear from the kitchen floor.

“What if he wears it to our littluns first birthday party” he was exaggerating his words, teasing your embarrassment further

“Or oh my god what about on stage, at an intervie…” you launched the light soiled fabric directly at his face.

“Okay I’m going to bed” you announced shaking your head, doing your upmost to hinder your lips curving up.

“Love you” he lightly called after you. All he got you from you in return was your middle finger.

“I’ll be in a minute baby”

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 3: A Savior

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Ruby and Granny scramble to make rent before Mr. Gold comes calling.

Read on AO3

Ruby Lucas was going to lose her goddamn mind. 

Ever since yesterday when Mrs. Gold had stopped by the diner, Ruby and Granny had been frantically trying to gather up enough cash to make rent before Sunday evening. 

It wasn’t like this every month. Most months only had four Sundays, so Granny knew that the last Sunday of the month was rent day and she could have everything ready. They usually had a week that was dedicated just to earning rent money. But this particular October had five Sundays. So when Granny had planned out the spending for this week, she had spent that money on stupid shit like food and the electric bill. She had planned it like it was a regular week. Not the week that rent was due. 

The worst part for Ruby was that they had the money! Friday had been a great day for business! Granny had deposited the cash at Storybrooke Savings and Loan on Saturday morning! When they checked the account balance at the ATM, there was more than enough to cover the rent!

But Mr. Gold would only take cash.

And the bank wouldn’t open again until Monday at nine.

And Granny could only take out $300 out of the ATM in a 24-hour period. 

So the diner and the bed and breakfast had to net a four-figure profit--in cash--in less than one day in order for them to make rent. Mrs. Gold had made it clear that there was only one alternative if they didn’t have it all when Mr. Gold came for it at 8:15 PM. 

And Ruby was damned if she would let that happen. 

So it was time to get to work. 

Normally, Saturday nights were her one guaranteed night off. Depending on how wild things got on Saturday night, she might need to take Sunday morning off too. But on that night, Ruby pulled a double and hustled like she had never hustled before. 

The first thing she did was scrawl OUT OF ORDER on the back of some receipt paper and tape it over the card swiper. The machine was working fine, but it could take up to three business days for the company to deposit the funds from card purchases into their bank account. Ruby didn’t have three business days. 

“What do you mean by this?” Albert Spencer said when he came up to the counter to pay for his meal of liver and onions and decaf black coffee. He held up his platinum credit card  like it was the world’s tiniest battle axe. “Why can’t I use my card?”

“Sorry!” Ruby lied in her cheerful customer service voice. “We’ve got the guy coming in to fix it on Monday. Right now it’s cash only, but there’s an ATM right across the street.”

“I’m not going across the street!” The old man was so angry it was like she had told him the card machine was at the bottom of a full dumpster. “How dare you not accept my card? I’ve got a fifty thousand dollar limit!”

“But you don’t have ten bucks to pay for dinner?” The words were out of Ruby’s mouth before she could stop them. She was too busy thinking of all the problems in her life that would be solved with just five thousand dollars. Or even five hundred.

Mr. Spencer’s face went purple. “Who is your manager?” he shouted. “I demand to speak to someone with power!”

Then talk to Mr. Gold, Ruby wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, she told Mr. Spencer that the manager and owner of Granny’s Diner was, in fact, Granny, and that she would go get her now. 

Granny had been in the kitchen. She was relieving stress by yelling at Tony, and the wait staff, and the food itself when no other target was available. When Ruby told her what was happening out front, she squared her shoulders and marched out for battle.

“What kind of slop house do you think you’re running?” Mr. Spencer spat when she came out front. “Why won’t you accept my credit card? Don’t you want my business?”

“Of course we want your business,” Granny lied. She didn’t shout at Mr. Spencer. But she kept her arms crossed over her chest and stared straight at him. Ruby had seen that look in her eyes every time she had ever been in trouble growing up. “But the machine is broken. I’ve already called the repair man. He can’t come in until Monday. So for the time being, we can only accept cash.”

“This is ridiculous! Whatever happened to ‘the customer is always right’?”

Granny leaned forward and gave Mr. Spencer a tight smile. If he was steel, she was stone. She wasn’t going to budge.

“Right now we’re living by another motto. ‘Cash is king.’” 

Mr. Spencer looked like he wanted to order them beheaded and then burn down the diner as a lesson to anyone else who dared question the authority of him or his platinum credit card. But instead, he just pulled out his wallet, counted out ten one-dollar bills, and dropped them on the counter.

“See if I ever come back to this shithole,” he said very loudly as he left.

“See if you’re ever welcome back,” Granny muttered. She looked around the diner. “Anyone else take offense to our technical difficulties?”

No one else did.

****

That was the night that Ruby perfected the art of up-selling. Sure, you could have a cup of coffee, but wouldn’t a latte just hit the spot? We’ve got pumpkin spice, for a limited time! And avocado! Just a dollar extra! Are you guys celebrating? You should get dessert! No, get separate desserts! None of this “one sundae, two spoons,” nonsense! Live a little!  

And it worked. By the end of the night on Saturday, they had almost half of what they needed to pay the rent. It was a record profit for the day before rent day. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

It was less than half of enough.

So Sunday morning, Ruby dragged herself out of bed to keep the hot streak going. She hissed advice to the other waitresses, and threats to the ones who were slacking. She led by example and smiled, smiled, smiled. 

The rush started as soon as the churches let out. The same rich people who had been there for dinner on Saturday night swung by in the afternoon for brunch--except for Albert Spencer. You would think that spending an hour in the presence of God would sweeten people’s attitudes, but no. If anything, they were more demanding and sour on Sunday afternoons. Maybe worship had made them uncomfortably aware of their hypocrisy. Or maybe they just hated squeezing into fancy clothes every week.

According to rumor, Mr. Gold always started his rounds at the Sisters of St. Meissa Convent. Every month, wealthy parishioners came into the diner chatting about how he approached the Mother Superior just as mass was letting out. Mrs. Gold always stayed behind in the Cadillac. Ruby could imagine Mr. Gold in his black suits, parting the seas of the brightly-dressed faithful. His presence would be a reminder to people of what was coming to them, the reckoning that would come due that very day. 

Walking up to a church, Mr. Gold probably looked like the devil. 

That was why it was only the rich people who came out for brunch on the fourth Sunday of the month. Rich old people got the same cheap meals they always ordered no matter what Ruby suggested. And they tipped badly no matter how much Ruby smiled and laughed at their stupid jokes. 

Even worse than the rich old people were the rich young people. Technically, Sean Herman and Hunter Duke and their friends were all the same age as Ruby. She had vivid memories of them all going to Storybrooke High together. But in terms of experience, those kids had stayed in preschool their whole lives. Without asking, the group pushed two tables together and stayed for two hours. They ordered nothing but nachos and sodas and they didn’t tip anything.   

Plus, when the housekeeping maid Ashley Boyd saw that Sean was in the diner with another girl, she started crying so hard that Ruby thought she was going to go into labor. It had taken fifteen minutes to calm her down. Fifteen minutes where Ruby had to let another waitress take her tables and her tips. 

Somehow, she got through the day. The diner closed at seven and Granny went back to count the register. Ruby stayed out front with the door locked and half the lights off. She told everyone to go home and used her nervous energy to do all the cleaning up herself.  

Would they have enough? Was this going to work? Or had Ruby just pushed herself to the limit for no reason? If they didn’t have enough, was there any way that Mr. Gold would work with them? Would he let them have one day to take cash out of the bank? Could he possibly be persuaded to take a check? Or her car?

But as Ruby sprayed glass cleaner on the bakery display case, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Mrs. Gold had made it very clear what her husband wanted Ruby to offer--something red and sweet.

Herself.

Or at least her body.

“Fuck!” Ruby muttered as she scrubbed at her reflection with a paper towel. The cleaner fumes made her eyes sting and water. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

The dining room was as clean as it was going to get, and Tony had already taken care of the kitchen. It was seven-thirty on Sunday night, and Mr. Gold always came by at eight-fifteen sharp. 

Ruby wheeled her bucket of dirty mop water to the utility closet and drained it out. That was all life really was in this stupid town, wasn’t it? Life just made people dirtier and grosser until they weren’t useful anymore and then they went down the drain.

Fuck.

When she got to Granny’s office, piles of cash were lined up on the desk in neat rows. Granny was bent over them, counting out loud. 

“Five, ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen--”

That was bad. If Granny was counting out fives and ones, they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. When she got to twenty, the counting stopped. Granny straightened up in her chair and let out a long sigh.

“Do we still have quarters?” Ruby asked, trying to be hopeful.

Granny didn’t turn to face her. “I’ve counted it three times,” her voice was as wrung out as a dirty mop. “And every time it comes out the same.”

“We’re millionaires!”

It was a stupid joke, but she was so desperate for them to have the money. She would do anything to put off the inevitable. For just a few more seconds, she wanted to live in a world where she didn’t have to prostitute herself out to her landlord and his wife. 

“You worked hard today,” Granny said. “Harder than I’ve ever seen from you. We had to come up with a lot of money in not much time. You--you did good, Ruby. I’m proud of you.”

Granny was not normally one to offer praise. For as long as she could remember, Ruby had never made her proud. If she was saying something nice now, it was only because something very bad was coming. 

“But…?” Ruby whispered.

“But,” Granny agreed. “We’re still short. By a hundred and eighty bucks.”

Ruby’s stomach cramped, like she had been punched. She was so stupid. She should have never gotten her hopes up. She had known this was coming. But the hurt still knocked the wind out of her.

“A hundred and eighty dollars?” Ruby repeated weakly. “Is that all?”

Granny spun around in her office chair to glare at her. “Is that all? Do you have that much squirreled away somewhere? Because I sure as hell don’t!”

“No.” She shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I don’t have anything.”

She looked away from her grandmother. Without consulting her brain, her legs began to move through the kitchen from the diner to the bed and breakfast. She didn’t know where she wanted to go. All she knew was that she had to move. Some deep and primal instinct howled for her to run.

But she had nowhere to go. 

A hundred and eighty bucks! The amount was the final twist of the knife. They were so close! Compared to how much money there was in the world, it was almost nothing! A hundred and eight bucks. Mrs. Gold probably spent that much going to the hair salon! Mr. Gold probably spent that much on a tie!

It was almost nothing. 

But it was something they didn’t have. 

So it was everything. 

Ruby bolted through the kitchen into the other building that housed the bed and breakfast. She paced around the empty lobby, going in circles until she felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage. She was sure as hell ready to bite and claw and howl.

“It’s not fair!” She heard the tears in her voice when she spoke out loud. “We worked so hard! And we’re so close!”

Granny had followed her. She stood in the doorway to the lobby, looking at Ruby and wringing her hands. 

“We could ask somebody?” Ruby tried. “It really isn’t that much money. Just twenty dollars from nine people. Or ten from eighteen! Don’t you have friends, Granny? Can one of them help us out, just until the bank opens?”

Granny took off her glasses and let them fall from the chain around her neck. “This afternoon I called everyone I knew. What we’ve got here--” she patted her sweater pocket where she had a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band-- “is with all the help I was able to get.” 

Ruby looked at her in disbelief. 

“Don’t forget, everyone we know who’ll lend us money also has rent due today. But they dug in, and they did the best they could--”

“And it wasn’t enough,” Ruby finished, so quietly she could barely hear herself. “And the best we could do wasn’t enough. Nothing is enough. No one in this town can do anything, can they? I’m so fucked.” 

  She slumped against the front desk and covered her face with her hands. After a minute, she felt Granny’s hands on her shoulders. She was holding her, hugging her, giving her affection that Ruby hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember.

“It’ll be okay,” Granny assured her. “We’ve been in this spot before and we’ve pulled through.”

“Yeah, remember when he wanted your jewelry?” Ruby was trembling. “And the time before that, it was that old wolf doll from when Mom was a kid. He took those things, and now we don’t have them anymore. Think, Granny, what else do we have? What else would a man like that want?”

It only now occurred to her that she hadn’t told Granny about Mrs. Gold’s visit. Not about the specifics, anyway. But she must have seen the truth from the look in Ruby’s eyes. She could put the pieces together without Ruby ever having to say the words.

“Oh, sweetie,” Granny breathed. “Oh, Ruby Red, you’re not going to--”

“What choice do we have?” She backed away from her grandmother, wouldn’t look at her. If she thought about what she was doing, if she confronted this reality and then had to look into the face of love that she so rarely saw--she would scream.

Granny sighed and let her go. “At least it won’t be too bad for you.”

Ruby blinked. “What?” She turned her head sharply to the old woman. “What did you just say?”

Instead of backing down, Granny stood her ground. The moment of sweetness between them had passed, and all their old resentments were coming back to the surface. “Well it’s not exactly like you’re saving yourself for marriage. I know you’ve been around the block--been around every block in Storybrooke from what I hear.”

Her mouth dropped. For the second time in ten minutes, Ruby felt like she’d been physically attacked by something Granny said. But this wasn’t a punch in the stomach, it was a slap in the face! It was an insult. From her own goddamned grandmother!

“Is that what you really think of me?” Ruby whispered.

Face going red, Granny tightened her fists. “I think if this was a normal Sunday, you wouldn’t have woken up in your own bed--or at least not alone.”

Ruby opened her mouth, but no words came out. “So--so what, does that make me a hooker to you? Do you think I deserve for this to happen? You think because I’m such a slut I’ll be able to just fly through the act of selling my body for money?

“Ruby…” Granny tried to come closer, but Ruby just backed away.

“Don’t act like I’m the unreasonable one here! Yeah, I go out on Saturday nights. Yeah, I like to have a good time. Yeah, Granny, I like to have sex!” She hissed the word, like it was just as dirty as Granny seemed to think it was. “But that doesn’t mean I’m for fucking sale!”

“I don’t think--”

“You think I’m just like her, don’t you? You don’t think I’m any better than Mrs. Gold!”

“Well you certainly don’t look any different!” Granny snapped, clearly done trying to make things better. “Maybe that’s why Mr. Gold thinks he can treat you the same as her. Because you do dress like a hooker, Ruby. And before today, I wouldn’t have said you were much of a waitress.”

Ruby slammed her hand down on the counter. “I’ve worked my ass off my whole life for you! You’re the one that doesn’t know how to run a business!”

“What would you know about anything that isn’t boys and beer?”

“I know enough to know that a hotel in New England isn’t supposed to be empty on every weekend of fall! And I know that there are five Sundays this month, Granny. If you knew that, I wouldn’t be about to put myself up for rent just to save your shithole of an existence!”  

   “Don’t act like I asked you for any of this, young lady! You are free to sleep your way up and down the eastern seaboard whenever you--

“Hello?”

A new voice entered into the conversation. Ruby and Granny both looked at the door. There was a woman. She was blonde and pretty, but tough-looking. Her red leather jacket was amazing. She lingered in the entrance of the lobby, unsure of what was going on. 

“Is… this place open? The bed and breakfast?”

“We sure are!” Granny recovered more quickly than Ruby could. She put on a smile and pulled out the hotel sign-in book from under the counter. There was a thin layer of dust on the cover, and Granny wiped it away with her sleeve before she opened it up to the woman. “How long will you be staying with us?”

“Just a week, I think,” the woman said. “That should be enough time for me to figure some things out. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“That sounds great,” Granny kept smiling. “Now, we have a forest view or a square view. Normally there’s an upcharge for the square view, but we can waive that--”

“If you pay in cash!” During the course of their conversation, Ruby had done some quick and desperate math. “It’ll be two hundred dollars, right?” She looked at Granny. “To stay for a week in the smallest room, that’s two hundred. But we can give you the best room in the house for the same price. If you pay up front. In cash.”

The woman looked skeptical of the bargain, but willing to go along. “Sure,” she said. She put her wallet back in her jacket pocket and reached down to her combat boots to pull out a wad of bills. “Two hundred, you said?”

“Yes!” Ruby squealed and reached out to take the cash. The precious cash--twenty whole dollars more than what they needed! 

With a wordless look, Granny handed Ruby the roll of bills. Smiling more than she had in her entire life, she took out twenty dollars’ worth of measly fives and ones and added the blonde woman’s twenties to the roll. The twang and snap of the rubber band were the most satisfying noises she had ever heard. 

Granny took up a pen and held it over the register book. “So what’s the name?”

“Swan,” the woman said. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma.” It was a man’s voice, deceptively soft and friendly-sounding. Mr. Gold walked into the lobby. “What a lovely name.”

Ruby glanced at the grandfather clock. It was 8:15. He was right on time.

But he was also too late.   

Ruby slammed the roll of cash onto the counter. “It’s all here.” You son of a bitch.

If Mr. Gold was disappointed or angry that he wasn’t going to get his “something sweet,” it didn’t show on his face. There was something weird about him right now. His expression wasn’t sharp and calculating. He didn’t look like he was on the hunt for souls to buy. He looked at Ruby as he took the money, but he didn’t seem to see her at all.

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” he said distantly. He turned his eyes back to the blonde woman. “You enjoy your stay--Emma.”

The woman, Emma, gave him a pleasantly blank look. The kind of look women all over the world give to men who seem too interested in their lives. “Thanks.”

And then, as quietly as he had come in, Mr. Gold walked out. Poverty and desperation passed them by for another month. 

When the front door closed behind him, Ruby burst out laughing. She had never felt so light. Emma Swan was the first guest the bed in breakfast had seen in as long as Ruby could remember and right now she was the most important person in the world. 

“Oh my God!” Ruby had been smiling all day, but now she meant it. “Thank you for paying in cash! You do not know how much you saved my ass!”

Literally.

Emma kept up the same cautious-but-amused half smile she had given to Mr. Gold. “Who was that guy, the local mafia heavy?”

“Mr. Gold is the landlord for just about every place in town,” Granny said as she wrote down Emma’s information.

“Including here, huh? Must be some kind of hardass.”

“You have no idea!” Ruby was still giddy with relief. 

“Anyway.” Granny pulled out one of the keys from the wall and handed it to Emma Swan. “Welcome to Storybrooke.”  

[icecoffeemilky]

[7:45pm]

The smell was amazing. You hummed and tasted a bit of the delicious soup you made. “Whoa, perfect.”, you mumbled. You were really proud, because it was a recipe you wanted to try for a long time and nailing it at the first try makes you just happy. 

You turned the stove down to low heat and went to your balcony, where your beloved plants grew. You picked some fresh green basil and washed them. 

You looked at the clock and it was already 7:52pm. You only had eight minutes to decorate the dining table. You rushed and took two glasses, plates and spoons and placed them on the table, while taking off your cooking apron. 

You went to the stove and stirred the soup. The smell was just... wow. You took the fresh baguette you bought earlier and cut them into perfect equal pieces. You were just about to place it on a plate, when you felt two arms around your waist. You shrieked and immediately turned around, the bread knife still in your hand and ready to fight. 

“Whoa babe, wait! Chill, it’s just me!”, Jaemin laughed out loud. 

You stared at him with wide eyes and breathed heavily. 

“YAH! NA JAEMIN! WHAT THE HELL!” 

He laughed so hard, that he needed to hold his stomach. You just stood there with a terrified expression watching him laughing his ass of. 

“Babe, I’m sorry, but your fighting position and your expression made my day”, he laughed and wiped his tears away, “Can we please do it again? I definitely need a picture.”

He stopped laughing as soon as he saw your annoyed face, but there was still an evil smirk. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m gonna yell first before coming in next time, okay babe?”

You grunted and placed the bread knife down. You took the bread plate and placed in on the dining table and went to the stove to stir your soup, Jaemin becoming slightly nervous. 

“Babe?” 

You looked at him with a little smirk. 

“Who said there’s gonna be a next time?” 

His eyes went big and he immediately apologized over and over again. You chuckled and hugged him. 

“You’re evil, do you know that?”, you said to him with a little smirk. “Pff, you’re the little devil here.”, he chuckled. You laughed and kissed him softly. He tilted his head to kiss you deeper.

“By the way, the soup smells amazing.” 

You laughed happily and turned down the stove. 

“I know.”, you turned around with an evil smirk. “That’s why this soup is only for.... me. I’m sorry Jaem, find something else to eat, love ya.” 

“WaIT WhAAtttttt??”  

playlist:

Dear DREAM - NCT DREAM

Puzzle Piece - NCT DREAM

Candle Light - NCT DREAM

I was so in my NCT DREAM feels haha, hope you enjoy it! <3

-🥛🍵-

[whoelsereadslightnovels]

IN ANOTHER WORLD, BUT WITH FRIENDS

CHAPTER 2: TURNING IN THE QUEST AND WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED

 “Come on guys we’re almost there.” Puvi said as he looked towards their destination.

 *****

 Yellow Wood Town was a small sized town with a population of slightly over 13,000 people. The city was named so not only because of the town being surrounded on three sides by the ‘Yellow Wood Forest’ which was filled with Yellow wood trees but also because the town walls to the houses of the residents were made of yellow wood, which made the whole town look yellow.

 At the entrance of Yellow wood town, two slightly robust looking guards wearing light plate armour were standing guard. “Hey, I heard that they were probably coming back today.” The first guards said, turning lazily towards his companion. “They? Oh, right. I wonder if those kids succeeded. I hope they did not encounter any big trouble.” The second one replied. “Well you’d usually only find low levelled beast types in the outer parts of the forest so I doubt they had gotten into trouble.” The first guard replied.

 The first guard was a middle aged man that had been a guard for over 10 years while the other one was a recently appointed guard. He was only 24 years old.

 “You are probably right.” With that the second guard looked turned away and started looking around to observe for any abnormalities again. “Hmm? Speak of the devils, I think I see them… and it looks like they succeeded too.” The guard looked over and smiled faintly as he saw three young men walking in their direction. One of them was carrying a wolf bigger than himself on his back.

 “Hey Uncle Tom, brother Bin, how is duty today, anything interesting happened while we were gone?” The lean young man wearing leather armour and full body tights underneath shouted out. “Nothing unusual has happened lately, other than you boys appearing of course.” Uncle Tom said. “We shall go to the guild and turn in your quests then. Good luck you two!” Yimso smiled and said to them as they walked into the town. “Well then.” Both guards nodded at them.

 __In the guild hall__

 Note: I hope you know what a guild is. It would save me the trouble of explaining it.

 The guild hall was circular with a diameter of 100 meters. Of which, over half of the room was filled with tables and chairs, and armed men and women almost taking up all the seats, and a reception table in the middle with 2 young women and a young man seated behind it, talking with the people coming to them to pick or submit their tasks. And there was a big board with tasks put up on it while people would pick a task from them and take it to the receptionists.

 These people who complete tasks from the guild and receive rewards were called ‘Adventurers’ in this world. Yimso, Puvi and Titus had also registered themselves as adventurers and taken several quests in the past few weeks. They decided to become adventurers because of ‘certain’ reasons, if you get what I mean.😉

 At this moment, Yimso and his party entered the guild with the wolf they had hunted. It had been slightly over a month after they had found themselves here and they had taken in several quests from the guild. The latest quest they had chosen was the type where they needed to hunt a certain monster or group of monsters.

 [CURRENT QUEST]

Type- Monster Subjugation

Description- There have been a few [Elite] Rank monsters seen in the outer perimeters of the Yellow woods which are rare to see and has disturbed the balance in the forest. Slay at least two [Elite] Rank monsters to help bring back balance.

Task Reward—

Coins- Depends on the level of monster killed

[Wind Blade] x1 Skill Book

Status: Completed. Go and turn in your quest to receive your reward.

Yimso walked over to a free receptionist and placed the wolf carcass on the table while Titus pulled out a 1 meter rat like monster they had hunted before the wolf out from a sac. “Hi Miss Tess, we want to turn in our quests. And we will also be taking the wolf carcass.” Saying so, Yimso fished out the quest paper and handed it over to her.

 “The reward for completing the quests has been totalled to 470 silver coins for the wolf and rat monsters, 280 silver coins for the normal monsters, 20 silvers for the herbs and the skill book for [Wind Blade], Mr. Yimso.” The receptionist with long braided hair smiled as she handed over the reward.

 After giving the receptionist a slight nod, they made their way into an inn close to the guild. The inn had four floors and had a big sign board that had ‘Iron Inn’ written on it. It may sound like a weird name, but there was a reason for it. The owner of the inn had a blacksmith friend who had helped build this inn and so most of the inn was built with iron, making it very sturdy. In exchange, the inn owner had built a shop for his friend to use in the inn itself. The adventurers and travellers liked to stop here most of the times and it was the best inn in town.

 The three of them booked a storage unit from the inn counter to keep the wolf carcass in and headed to room no. 94 on the fourth floor, which is where the biggest rooms are located.

 After entering the room Yimso immediately collapsed on one of the beds and closed his eyes, not even bothering to remove his chainmail armour. Even he was exhausted after carrying the wolf all the way to the inn. Not to mentioned he had even tanked the wolf on his own. His consciousness slowly drifting away, he thought about the first time they had fought a monster. Thinking a little farther back, he thought of the time before they found themselves in this unfamiliar but also strangely familiar world.

 Note: Time for a flashback.

 __Over a month ago__

 _In a restaurant on earth_

Four young men were talking and joking and laughing together with a table filled with various foods and drinks between them. They were in the 2nd and 3rd years of highschool.

 “Hey I heard three of our seniors got married this year. Damn, time sure does move fast.” A thin young man said with a smile. “Sigh, I agree, but I think it’s too early for them to settle down and start families though, tsk.” Titus said as he clicked his tongue to agree to the thin man.

 “Heh, you are just saying that because you haven’t found a girlfriend yet.” Puvi sneered at Titus. “Chock, cough, cough. You… .” Titus chocked on his glass of beer upon hearing Puvi say that but couldn’t find the words to refute him so he just looked at him begrudgingly.

 “Hahahaha!” Everyone burst out in laughter at this point.

 In the midst of their laughter, they didn’t notice the tiny tear in space that had appeared right above them, slowly growing bigger. They were all sucked into the special tear which spat them out outside this town. The guards said they found the four of them unconscious outside the town without any signs of injuries. They also didn’t look like bad people either, so they had carried them back inside.

 __Back at the inn__

 “Oi! Get up you bastards, time for dinner!” At around 7 pm, they were woken up by a familiar voice.” The three of them groggily got up and looked towards the thin man that was yelling from the dining room. “You… cooked?” Puvi said while shifting his hair that almost covered his eyes. His eyes twitched as he looked at man wearing an apron. “Of course I did, why?” The man questioned. “…” Puvi didn’t reply but instead looked towards Yimso who was taking off his armour. “Uh… nothing, let’s eat.” Puvi said.

 At the dinner table, the three of them were inspecting the plate of food in front of them with questioning eyes. It was curry and rice, according to what the man said. It looked and smelled exactly like normal curry but recalling all the other times he had cooked something, even before coming to this world, they were unsure of whether to eat it. “Well, looks ‘normal’ enough.” Yimso was the first to speak. He took a spoonful and put it in his mouth and froze. Just then, Puvi and Titus too put a spoonful in their mouth and froze.

 *WHOOSH*

 Suddenly, all three of them rushed to different directions. Titus ran to the kitchen sink, Yimso ran to the bathroom and Puvi jumped out of the window.

  *Blerg*

 Sounds of gagging and puking could be heard.

 “Oh come on guys, it can’t be that bad can it?”The thin man wearing the apron rolled his eyes as he put one spoonful of the ‘food’ in his mouth. “…” He immediately froze too.

 *WHOOSH*

  The next moment, he too jumped up from his chair and rushed towards the sink. He pushed aside Titus who had just finished puking and started puking himself. “Dimmit Hikivi, what the heck did you put in it this time?” Yimso shouted as he came out of the bathroom. “Ugh… it can’t be helped can it? I’m a dark mage and am supposed to work with poison and curses so ‘maybe’ something got mixed in the food, hehe.” Hikivi said as he smiled bitterly. “You were asleep so I thought I’d try cooking today.”

 They ended up having dinner at the inn’s diner that night.

 __After dinner__

 After they had their dinner the four of them returned to their room. The entrance would lead to the bedroom which was 10 meters long and 4 meters wide with 4 beds and 4 wardrobes. The bedroom connected to the dining room which was attached to the kitchen, to the living room which was 6 meters on each side and to two bathrooms.

 They then decided to check their earnings from today. “We got 770 silver coins from the quests we turned in today. That’s the most we have ever gotten in a single trip.” Yimso said. He was quite happy with their gains. “Let’s give the [Wind Blade] to Titus then. It’s faster than the [Fire Ball] spell and it will increase the chances of our plan succeeding.” Puvi chimed in. “Okay.” Yimso then took out two intricately decorated books with ‘Wind Blade’ written on it and handed the green one to Titus.

 “Thanks.” Titus thanked him and immediately started tracing the edges of the book, observing it carefully. Immediately after, a blue box with ‘Do you want to learn [Wind Blade] skill now?’ appeared in front of him. He ignored it and continued checking the book out. “And this one is for Hiki.” Yimso handed out the purple book with ‘Binding Chains’ written on it to Hikivi. “Thanks.” He smiled and accepted the book.

 After checking the covers of the skill books, they both clicked the ‘Yes’ button that had appeared in front of them and the skill books flickered for a few moments before stopping.

 Then they both immediately spoke out at the same time. “Status.”

 __End of chapter 2: Turning in the quest and what actually happened__

 *Thank you for reading

[easyfoodnetwork]

Mushroom Hunting at the End of the World

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JUbLZq https://ift.tt/3korg8w

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

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