#it's baaaaaaaaack

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Formaggi e Frutta

Papa Emeritus III x Reader | NSFW

AO3 | Insalata | Masterpost

Selecting the pairings for cheese can be deceptively complicated. Anyone can put some cheese on a tray and call it done but for it to be truly good some serious thought needs to be done. Texture, flavour, sweet vs savoury, creamy vs crunchy, all build up to a well rounded dish. The first bite of a juicy grape paired with tang of a strong cheddar, or the sweet bitterness of cranberry with the mellow creaminess of a brie. Every element has to work together to create a bigger experience. If you make these choices with care then you will have a show stopping course and all you had to do was some slicing.

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You had been lingering in his office. He was perched on the edge of his desk with his arms locked around you, preventing you from leaving and ending your time together for the day. The two of you had been in this position for at least half an hour, every time you tried to extricate yourself he would pull you in for one last kiss which became two, then three, then he would remember another important matter you just had to discuss right now. So far you had covered Cabaret the musical, why linen was the superior summer material, his favourite type of pen to do signings and the lies he used to tell people about ghoul mating habits. And now you were discussing your favourite cheeses.

‘I honestly have to say I don’t think I have tried a cheese I didn't like,’ you admit after listening to him explain why Italian cheeses were by far the best in the world. He wrinkles his nose at you, shaking his head in disgust. As inconsequential as these topics were, you enjoyed hearing his typically outlandish opinions and his passionate defence of them. You may have even been guilty of disagreeing with him deliberately from time to time just to enjoy his attempts to convince you of his point of view. 

‘Even the stinky ones?’ He looks like even just thinking of them is a displeasure he can’t abide, the charmingly emphasised wrinkles above the bridge of his nose almost distracting you from his argument. ‘The French, thinking they can get away with crimes against dairy just because of a few good ones,’ he grumbles, pulling a laugh from you. 

‘I think the English are guilty of that too, I am afraid,’ you remind him. ‘Have you ever tried Stinking Bishop?’

‘Ugh!! Never and I never will,’ he shakes his head again refusing to even entertain the thought. ‘But, cara mia, that is why everything Italian is far superior,’ he says, lifting his eyebrows suggestively and you suspect he isn’t just talking about cheese any more.

‘With what I have learned in the last few months I can’t say I disagree,’ you reply against his lips as he is already reeling you in for another kiss. You don’t let him distract you for too much longer though this time. ‘I don’t think you should judge a cheese until you try it with accompaniments though. The right flavours paired with the right cheese can make all the difference.’ 

‘I suppose there is some truth to what you say, mia cuocoina,’ he trails off for a moment looking like he is waging a battle internally before he takes a deep breath and continues. ‘Speaking of cheese, did you know there is a farmers market in town this weekend? I have heard they have very many types of cheese on sale there.’

‘I had heard, yes. It happens every month.’ You think back fondly to those trips out of the Abbey with Mona. ‘We used to take it in turns to go and pick up some obscure ingredients as a challenge for the others. I haven’t had a chance to go for a while.’

‘Would you like to go to this one? With me?’ His hesitancy makes your heart melt. How this man could ever think you wouldn’t want to go with him you have no idea? As if you don’t willingly spend almost every moment of your free time with him.

‘Are you asking me on a date, Terzo?’ You tease, hoping to ease his worry a little. The two of you may have done everything backwards but you can’t help the little thrill you get from the idea of him taking you on a proper date. He had been watching you nervously as he waited for your response but at your gentle teasing the corner of his lips pulled up in a smile even as a light blush crawled across his cheeks. 

‘Si, I am,’ he says simply, lifting his head and looking you directly in the eyes, hypnotising you for a moment in his gaze.

‘I would love to go with you,’ you reply as soon as you snap out of it, not wanting to leave him hanging any longer. His wide smile always takes your breath away and you stand there for far too long, just grinning at each other before you realise you do really need to leave. You give him one last kiss before making your way back to your room, mind full of your upcoming date. 

The morning arrives and you are up early having explained to Terzo that the earlier you get there the better. It would be less busy, you got the best pick of the produce and all the tasters won’t have sat out for so long. Taking your advice he had agreed to leave the Abbey around nine, and also on your advice you both were skipping breakfast, not wanting to fill yourselves up before you get there. But his morning coffee is non-negotiable… 

After getting ready you let yourself into his rooms and start the coffee machine. You can hear him moving about already so you don’t worry about getting him up, but instead have time to fuss about… well, everything. You smooth your hands over your outfit as you wait letting your nerves get the better of you for a second. It’s not to say you didn’t usually make an effort with your appearance, you did, but your clothes and hair had to be practical when cooking even if just for him. This was the first time you had had the opportunity to dress up and for some reason it had your stomach in knots. 

You wore your hair down today, letting the dark waves cascade down your back where they were usually secured in a bun and your make up was light as you had considered the time of day - just a subtle base and some eyeliner, mascara and lipstick to add a little emphasis to your features. The dress you picked was one you had never worn before. It was black, as was the majority of your wardrobe, but the light cotton fell softly over your figure, the hem ending at your mid-calf. It was buttoned up from your chest to your knees, giving a glimpse of leg and decolletage you hoped would capture his attention without flaunting too much. The puff sleeves and broderie anglaise finish the look and make it, in your opinion, the perfect dress for a date at the farmers market.

Just as you finish the coffee you hear him come to the door. You turn around a cup in each hand to catch him frozen in the doorway. With one hand he is clinging to the door frame and then other is laid dramatically over his heart. He is looking at you as if he has never seen you before. He looks incredible himself, his hair slicked back as you had not seen it for a long time and his face surprisingly clear of his paints, given you were leaving the Abbey. He is wearing an off-white revere collar shirt, habitually unbuttoned half way down his chest over tailored linen trousers in a soft dove grey with black woven loafers. He has a matching linen blazer over his arm, and he looks like he has just stepped out of the pages of a Milanese fashion magazine.

‘Good morning, Terzo,’ you greet as you go to hand him his coffee but he ignores it in favour of pulling you in for a kiss, letting go of the door frame and instead wrapping his arm around your waist and letting his hand glide down your body over the smooth fabric. You hum into his mouth enjoying his attentions but slightly worried about spilling coffee on you both as you hold them over his shoulders. ‘I could get used to this sort of greeting,’ you say when he lets you pull away, still seemingly at a loss for words. 

‘Grazie,’ he whispers, finally taking his coffee and savouring the first sip before continuing, letting his eyes roam all over you. ‘You are, well… beautiful doesn’t even cover it, I think. Sei una visione di bellezza, come non ne ho mai viste.’ He does this every now and then, slipping into his native tongue when he can’t seem to find the words to express himself in English. You don’t understand what he is saying but the sentiment is clear, so you let the melodic words wash over you and let your smile widen in response. 

‘You are looking very handsome today too.’ You cup his cheek with your now free hand and let him nuzzle into your palm. ‘I have been looking forward to this all week.’ 

‘Me too, cara mia.’ He places his hand over yours before taking it in his. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘I’ve got my coffee, I've got you, I don't think I need anything else. And if we leave now everyone will still be at breakfast so we shouldn’t be bothered.’ With a nod and a smile he leads you from the kitchen through his rooms and out to the corridor, pausing only to lock the door behind you. You realise then that this is probably going to be the first time he has left the Abbey since returning from the last tour and what a big step this must be for him, as well as the two of you. You walk through the corridors quickly, leaving a plausible distance between you in case you were seen by anyone but before you reach the main entrance he leads you down an old corridor that, as far as you knew, only led to an older unused wing of the Abbey. 

‘Where are we going?’ You ask him as you follow him along the twists and turns of the dusty corridor but he just shushes you and continues as though he is looking for something. To your surprise he ignores the few doors you pass coming to a stop at an old painting covered in dust, which depicts what you can only assume is a life-sized satanic knight posing in his armour in the landscape of hell. Without any further explanation he feels around the edge of the frame until you hear a click and the painting swings forward revealing a secret set of stairs leading down to a door where you can see slivers of daylight seeping in where it has warped in its frame. Taking your hand he helps you down the steps before having to give the door a shove once, then twice before it opens and you find yourselves at the side of the main Abbey just outside the tall garden wall.  

‘This is the way we used to go when we didn’t want anyone to see us leaving,’ he says, shooting you a mischievous grin. ‘When we were boys especially and the older sisters wouldn’t give us the time of day we would sneak into town…’ He trails off realising the story he was about to tell you and his expression turns a little sheepish. ‘Well, you know how teenage boys can be.’ You shake your head at him good naturedly but take his offered hand so he can lead you down what is clearly a well trodden path through the public gardens to a side gate that opens on the main road into town.

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The first and arguably most important consideration when preparing a dish like this is making everything bitesize. Slice things too small and the flavours will not balance well, slice things too big and you will end up with all sorts of mess, but getting it just right? A slice of cheese, a piece of fruit, a spoonful of chutney, a sliver of meat could all fit on a cracker and be eaten in one perfect bite.

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It is a short pleasant walk especially on a morning like this. The Abbey is about half a mile from the town and despite the occasional comment or funny look, the residents seem to have accepted sharing the area with a satanic church a long time ago. The residents of the Abbey brought a lot of business to the local shops and trades people, doing their best to contribute to the community they were fringe members of which served to strengthen the tolerance of their presence. You yourself had good relationships with the local food stores, avoiding spending your budget at the supermarket as much as you could, so you had never experienced anything but a sideways glance from some of the more conservative members of the community. 

After about fifteen minutes you reach the town square which is already bustling with life even at this early hour of the weekend. Rows and rows of stalls fill the usually open space and there are already plenty of shoppers drifting from stall to stall. Having finished your coffees, you take his and put them in the nearest bin before pausing so you can come up with a plan of action.

‘When I come with Mona we try to be strategic,’ you explain as you try and suss out what the closest stalls are selling.

‘Oh, and why is this? To get the best produce? The best deals?’ He asks inquisitively, tilting his head as he thinks. You wish you could say those were the reasons but it was much less professional.

‘Nope. It is so we don’t get too full before we have eaten everything we want.’ He laughs loudly, clearly surprised at your reasoning but you try your best to keep your face straight. ‘It is important you know!’ you insist as his laughter calms.

‘You have been training me up for this moment, no?’ he says, patting his belly and winking at you knowingly.

‘Bigger appetites than yours have been defeated by the farmer’s market tasters, I will have you know,’ you respond, doing your best not to get distracted by his insinuation.

‘Psh, I could eat one of everything and still have room for whatever delicious dish you have planned for tonight.’ He winds his arm around your waist pulling you against his side as you walk together to the first stall. You can’t keep up your serious façade, his confidence and manhandling bringing a flush to your cheeks, at least until you realise what he said.

‘Need I remind you it is Saturday and my day off.’ You prod him in the side in retaliation and he jumps slightly when you catch his ticklish spot. He grabs your finger before you can poke him again, a little tug of war ensuing before he lets you free with a stern look.

‘Well I can cook for you then,’ he says, snapping his fingers as the idea comes to him. You dip your head for a moment, your chest feeling full at his insistence you spend even more of today together. Until the reality of him cooking anything for you sinks in. You had long suspected that he lacked even the most basic cooking skills, which was confirmed the only time you ever let him try to help you.

‘And what exactly are you going to cook for me?’ You ask as you reach the first stall filled with assorted jars of conserves and jams.

‘I will cook…’ He pauses, looking around at the closet stalls. ‘Cheese!’ he exclaims loudly, drawing some looks and a chuckle from the cheesemonger a couple of stalls over. He clears his throat, quieting his voice. ‘Cheese, cara mia, like we talked about the other night. Cheese and crackers and fruit and chutney. Like this!’ He picks up a jar of spiced cranberry chutney from the stall.

‘That will be 55 krona please, sir,’ the lady behind the stall tells him. He hands the jar to you and fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing her cash and insisting she keep the change. 

‘That’s not exactly cooking is it,’ you scoff, putting the jar in one of the many tote bags you had thought to bring along. ‘But that being said, I would be happy to join you this evening.’ 

‘Maybe not but I can assure you I will put a lot more effort into dessert,’ he replies with a smirk as he pulls you towards the cheesemonger. ‘Now, Signior, I need a selection of your best cheese for mia cuocoina, and a little advice.’ 

He leads the way around the market, insisting on tasting this and that and asking questions of the vendors about flavour pairings and serving suggestions until your tote bags are beginning to weigh you both down. You find a bench at the edge of the square and flop down onto it taking the weight off your aching shoulders. He follows after you, sliding the bags to one side so he can sit right beside you. 

‘Try this, cara mia,’ he holds a small pastry to your lips, one he has already tried if the tell tale crumbs around his lips were anything to go buy. You almost refuse, your tactical plan having flown out the window long ago at his insistence you taste test almost everything. He looks at you beseechingly though and you cave, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed it to you. Before he can pull away though you close your lips around his fingers, getting your own back the only way you can right now. He freezes, his pupils blown wide as he watches you suck the tips of his fingers. 

‘Fancy seeing you here.’ A voice you recognise breaks through your lustful haze. You almost choke between the pastry and Terzo whipping his fingers from your mouth as if they were burning. You swallow your mouthful without even registering if it was nice or not as you turn to see Lilly and Rich stood before you. You jump up quickly, offering them each a hug, then trying to stand between them and Terzo, wracking your brain to explain why you were out in public with Papa's fingers in your mouth. 

‘Hi guys, what a lovely surprise. You should really try the pastries from over there, they are very good…’ You can feel your face burning completely at a loss on how to explain away what they must have seen.

‘Will Papa hand feed them to us as well?’ Rich asks sardonically, looking at you with your eyebrows raised as if waiting for an answer. At least until Lilly elbows him sharply in the ribs. 

‘It’s so nice to see you and to see you too, Papa. Hello!’ She says leaning around you to offer Terzo a wave. He stands dusting crumbs from his face and his shirt and carefully keeping some space between you as he shifts to see them both. 

‘Hello, Sister…’ He glances at you and you realise he has never met them before and some introductions are in order.

‘Lilly, Ter… Papa, this is Lilly and Rich. We work together in the kitchens.’ Lilly smiles at him offering another wave which he returns but Rich still doesn’t look impressed, clearly wanting to confront you both on what he saw.

‘Ah, si. Hello, Sister Lilly and Brother Rich. And I can assure you those pastries are delicious whether fed from my own hands or not.’ He switches his Papa persona on, and it’s a little jarring after all this time. ‘Sorella here, I have tired her out having her carry all these bags of things I wanted. I thought I better not tire her arms any further.’ 

‘Right,’ Rich replies slightly at a loss for words. You don’t think his story has helped the situation at all but though he looks a little awkward and uncomfortable, it doesn’t seem like Terzo really minds the two of you getting caught, so you take a deep breath and relax.

‘All this shopping and eating… I could do with another coffee, I think. Si…’ He nods to himself, already heading towards the coffee stall. ‘Anyone else?’ He asks almost as an afterthought and you all nod. ‘Four coffees then, ok.’ The three of you watch him go but as soon as he is out of earshot, they both turn to you.

‘What the hell was that?’ Rich asks in an angry whisper. ‘I thought you were just doing your job and he was far too stressed about getting fired to try it on? Not that it looked like he had to try that hard…’ He had always been protective of the three of you, but you couldn’t help feeling defensive when he had no idea what had been growing between you.

‘Oh leave her be, they both looked happy while they were doing it. What does it matter?’ You smile at Lilly appreciatively, thankful for her understanding.

‘Guys, please just listen.’ You knew you had to explain something. ‘We, well, look, we just-’ You can’t even find the words to start. It’s not like with Mona where you can tell her everything and she just understands, not that you have time for that anyway. You glance over to the stall and see him standing in line, carefully studying the menu and certainly not looking back over every few seconds. ‘I… I can’t really explain what we are; not at the moment,’ you sigh. ‘But Lilly is right, we are happy, everything is fine.’ 

‘You do look happy, and he looks better too.’ Lilly says reassuringly and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

‘Yeah, no one can accuse you of slacking on feeding him.’ Both you and Lilly turn to glare at him.

‘Don’t be a dick, Rich!’ she admonishes him, treating him to another elbow to the ribs.

‘What?’ He says defensively rubbing his side. ‘He is looking a lot more well-fed than he ever did before.’ It isn’t an apology but it is probably as close as you will get from Rich. 

‘Could you guys just keep this between us, please?’ You feel like you are begging, but the last thing you want is people finding out about the two of you through gossip. You hadn’t really thought about it or discussed it but you were sure that Terzo would like to tell his brothers himself when the time was right.

‘Keep what? There’s nothing to tell anyway, right Rich?’ She threatens him with her elbow one last time but relents when he agrees with a flinch.  

‘Right, nothing to tell.’ The three of you look at him just as he looks away sharply and he gets handed the tray of coffees. You feel a little relief but the silence is awkward as you wait for him to make his way back over. 

‘Caffè for everyone!’ He announces on his return and you each take a cup.

‘Thank you Papa, that was very kind,’ Lilly thanked him genuinely. ‘But we better get going. We have a list. Mona has really taken to bossing us around since you've been gone.’ You know she is joking, but it still sends a pang through you. As happy as you are in your current position, you do miss them. ‘Anyway, it was lovely to see you! Bye!’ She grabs Rich by the elbow and drags him away with only one last glare over his shoulder. 

‘Terzo, I’m sorry,’ You say slumping back onto the bench.  

‘They didn’t know about us?’ He asks cautiously. He sits beside you but leaves enough space to be considered decent and keeps his hands to himself. You can’t decide if you are disappointed or not. 

‘No, they didn’t.’ You shoot him a sideways glance and he is looking down at his coffee, his expression unreadable. 

‘So, you haven’t spoken to anyone about…?’ He trails off, neither of you at a point of being able to define what is going on between you. ‘Even before, you didn’t seek out your friends?’

‘Well I did… Mona, but I trust her. She would never say anything.’ He holds up a hand to halt you and you feel a bubble of panic starting to grow in your chest.

‘That’s not what I meant, cara mia.’ He finally looks at you now and the bubble dissolves. His eyes are warm, full of care. ‘I am glad you spoke to your friend about this, just as I am glad of her discretion. I would hate to think about you being so upset and also alone.’

‘You were dealing with it all alone.’ His hand rests on the bench between you and you place yours over the top. It feels wrong not to be touching at all during such a conversation. 

‘Ah, I am used to it,’ he says, brushing you off. ‘I am used to it.’ He turns his hand under yours loosely lacing your fingers together. ‘And anyway, I am not alone anymore am I?’ It’s a slow smile that grows across his face, like he is only just realising it now. 

‘No you aren’t,’ you confirm, squeezing his hand and returning his smile. If you had your way he would never be alone again. 

‘May I ask,’ he pauses like he isn’t sure he wants to ask what he is about to say. ‘Why you didn’t tell your other friends?’ But this is something you can easily offer him an answer to.

‘Well it’s just… Lilly is young, she is only twenty. It feels a little odd talking to her about relationships when she feels like a little sister, and Rich? Well, he is the biggest gossip in the whole kitchen. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but he just gets a little carried away sometimes.’ You can’t help your fond smile. ‘And he is pretty protective of us, even if he can be a little bit of a dick about it.’

‘I see, I see.’ He seems happy enough accepting your reasons. ‘Are you ok?’ He inches a little closer now, already over keeping a sensible distance. 

‘Yeah, I am.’ You decide even as you are saying it. The confrontation with your friends could have gone better, but it could have gone a lot worse. And it’s better you get caught by your friends then any other random inhabitant of the Abbey. In fact, you should have foreseen this happening, going out together so close to home. You wonder if he feels the same though. ‘Are you?’

‘Si, I think it is time to go home though,’ he says and you nod in agreement. You think you have both had enough excitement for today. ‘I called for a car while I was waiting for the coffee,’ he admits a little sheepishly. 

‘Oh, thank Satan.’ Your relief is palpable, both your full stomach and your sore shoulders thankful. ‘I thought we were going to have to carry all of this back.’ 

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Presentation is the second most important consideration and for that you need a suitable foundation. Depending on the number of people you are catering for you need a vessel large enough to hold enough food. The material is less important, dictated by aesthetic preference, whether you prefer wood, glass, slate or porcelain. Consider whether you need vessels for particular ingredients, additional cutlery to serve. By planning for all eventualities you make sure the meal is a success.

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

With a plea from you and an order from Terzo a ghoul assists in carrying the bags back to his rooms, leaving them on the kitchen table before departing to wherever it is ghouls go when off duty. You begin to unpack, starting to sort out the haul to put in the appropriate storage but he comes behind you taking your wrists in his hands and steers you back out of the kitchen. 

‘Mia cuocoina please,’ he murmurs against the back of my head. ‘I need peace for the art I am about to create.’ You try to suppress your laugh but it comes out an inelegant snort.

‘I can help,’ you reply, twisting in his arms to look at him. ‘Just tell me what you want me to do.’ 

‘No,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘It is my turn to make food for you!’ He continues shepherding you backwards towards his office. ‘Go have a nap, visit friends, whatever.’ he drops a kiss on your lips before spinning you back around. 

‘You may come back in two hours,’ he swats at your ass as he opens the door and lets you out into the hallway. 

You pause for a moment wondering where you even wanted to go. Going back to your rooms wasn’t very appealing, there were no distractions there and you knew the time would crawl by. The kitchens were out of the question right now if you didn't want to be subjected to the interrogation you were spared in town, something you were keen to avoid as long as possible. The gardens were an option except you could still feel the ache in your arms from carrying the bags around the market and you know for certain if Primo catches you in the garden there was no chance you would be leaving unencumbered by whatever vegetables he could give you. 

Your wandering takes you past the upper clergy offices, mostly dark and unused of a Saturday afternoon but you spot movement behind one of the doors and you are not surprised when you realise whose it is. There is only one person you know that would willingly work on a Saturday and fortunately that was a person you had been meaning to speak to. Since you and Terzo had joined his brothers for lunch in fact. You had no sweet treats prepared for him today but you were sure he could do with a break. He could always do with a break. 

Approaching the closed door you knock softly and wait for him to answer and the slightly frantic scuffling you can hear lets you know you won’t have to wait long. But a few moments pass before he answers the door. His exhaustion is plain on his face, sadly not much different than any of the other times you have seen him lately. 

‘Sorella,’ he says with a tired smile when he registers it is you at his door. ‘How can I help you today?’

‘I found myself at a loose end and saw you were working!’ You explain as he holds the door open for you and gestures to the seat before his desk. ‘And why are you working on a Saturday?’

‘There is so much to do and so little time,’ he says, flopping back into his chair with a heavy sigh. ‘I was not busy today anyway so I thought why waste time when there is so much to catch up on.’ The clergy’s decision to remove Terzo from his position has caused more problems than you had first thought. You can’t help thinking how odd it is that no new Papa had been appointed after all these months when there was clearly a need but you set that aside for now.

‘Even you need a break Cardinal.’ You struggle to keep the worry from your voice.

‘Well you are here, let's have a break now.’ His smiles grows more genuine as he speaks. ‘I wished to speak with you anyway.’ 

‘Yes me too,’ you agree. It makes it easier now that he has brought it up himself. ‘I have been meaning to come and see you since the lunch but well, you know Papa, he was keeping me busy. Even on my day off he had me going into town with him to the farmers market.’ You are starting to worry your blush is becoming permanent and you hope your smile isn’t as sappy as it feels. If you plan to continue keeping your relationship quiet you really need to get better at schooling your reactions. 

‘Si, I imagine Papa has lots to keep you busy.’ he agrees laughing but his face turns serious. ‘He is.. Well he is treating you well Sorella?’ He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully, his fingers coming up to play with his moustache nervously. ‘Like a gentleman? When things are hard I think sometimes he can forget he is a good man.’ You sense that Copia may be talking from personal experience and having seen that side of Terzo yourself you are keen to reassure him.

‘I think I understand what you mean, Cardinal, he …’ You pause thinking over your wording just as carefully. ‘When I first began working for him he was different, while everything was fresh but he, we, found a compromise. He has apologised for some of his more thoughtless actions.’ Copia raises his eyebrows and you panic momentarily. ‘Oh nothing so bad and really, I had a lot of sympathy for his situation. I wasn’t expecting him to be at his best.’ 

‘It was regrettable what happened.’ He takes off his beretta and runs his hands through his hair. ‘It .. well it was unexpected for all of us, I think but it is good to see him doing better.’ He does look genuinely relieved even though the situation has clearly impacted him. ‘All this food seems to be doing the trick eh?’

‘The food probably has helped, yes,’ you laugh, and the rest you thought, keeping that to yourself. ‘But I think it is really just time, Cardinal.’ He would have improved with or without you over time but you do like to think you have helped him move on a little faster then he may have done otherwise. 

‘Now, can we discuss those notes you brought me to translate?’ His direct questions bring you straight back down from your romantic imaginings.

‘I was waiting for you to bring them up.’ You know you owe him something of an explanation  but you are not above waiting to see what he has worked out for himself.  

‘They, well I suppose I don’t know enough to say really,’ he begins confidently before tailing off. ‘But they didn’t read like professional recipes.’

‘That's because they weren’t but Cardinal, it’s not my place to say more, not that I even really know anymore.’ In this at least you can be honest. You could probably make a good guess as to who wrote out the recipes but you aren’t willing to voice that now. ‘He gave me some recipes and he never said where they came from or why that was all he wanted and I didn’t feel it was my place to ask. There were things said at lunch that might have given me some clues but even so.’ 

‘Si, before. I noticed that too.’ He takes a deep breath before continuing. ‘It has not been long since I was considered an outsider to them and outsiders really know very little by design. If it hadn’t been announced that I was also Nihils son then that would still be the case. But even though I never grew up the way that they did, well Secondo and Terzo anyway, I was here in the Ministry already and I saw what happened.’ 

You say nothing, waiting for him to continue sensing his need to unburden himself. 

‘I was brought up as an orphan you see and while most children in the church are brought up communally, orphan or otherwise, the Emeritus brothers were always separate.’ He switches into lecture mode but you still hang on his every word. There were very few people you mixed with who had been a member of the church for so long. ‘Primo has always been here, his mother was a Sister of great reputation chosen especially to birth an heir but Terzo and Secondo, their mothers must have met Nihil on his travels because they weren’t brought to the church until the were ten, Secondo only a few months before Terzo.’  

‘What happened to their mothers?’ A part of you feels bad even asking but your curiosity wins out. You would not feel comfortable asking Terzo himself this but it feels like the last piece in a puzzle you had been building since you had accepted this position. 

‘They just carried on with their lives I suppose. I know Primo fought with Nihil about it, that their mother’s should have been invited to join them or at least to visit but it was decided. No distractions, they had had ten years of normal life and now they were to prepare for their future as men of the Emeritus line.’ His expression turns wry as he continues. ‘It makes me almost glad that he didn’t acknowledge me until recently. I might have liked having brothers growing up though.’ You pat his arm where it rests on the desk offering what little comfort you can.  

‘Anyway I know Terzo’s mother tried for a while, sending packages of food and presents for him but I don’t know what happened after that. One day they just stopped coming.’ Your heart clenches, for Terzo, for Copia, for all of them. They may be in some of the most powerful positions in the Clergy but it was clear they had all been forced to sacrifice a lot for the privilege. 

‘It sounds like it wasn’t easy for any of you.’ Like any organisation there were machinations going on far above the notice of normal members like yourself, you weren’t naïve enough to think otherwise but you found it jarring learning that somewhere that had felt immediately like home and safety to you had treated these men so poorly.  

‘No I suppose not.’ He rubs his hands over his face, the conversation having turned heavier than either of you expected. After a moment he offers you a tired smile. ‘Now tell me more about this farmers market.’ You while away the rest of the time describing in detail the stalls and the tasters and when you eventually leave you hope you both are feeling a little lighter. 

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Once you have your vessel and your ingredients prepared then all that is left is the arrangement. There are endless ways to arrange the food enticingly. If you want your dish to be eye-catching and mouth watering you must consider the balance of colour and texture. You can create contrast with light and dark meats or cheeses. You may introduce pops of colours with fresh fruits and berries and mix textures with a soft cheese, a juicy fruit and a crisp cracker. Complimentary flavours could be grouped, the arrangement of your board encouraging certain combinations both traditional and daring. Your final result will be a visually appealing and delicious dish to present.

• • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

It’s been a long time since you have had to knock before entering his quarters but it feels appropriate now, giving him a chance to finish the final touches to his creation before you enter. You almost reach the point of knocking again, wondering if he hadn’t heard you when he pulls the door open. He was still wearing his shirt and trousers but he had borrowed your apron.

‘This looks good on you,’ you tease, pulling at the strap around his neck, but he only takes your hand and leads you inside.

‘Now cara mia you are in for a treat if I do say so myself.’ When you reach the dining room he stops you, placing his hands over your eyes as he guides you the final distance. ‘No peaking now,’ He says as he positions you at the end of the table. 

‘Ta daaa,’ He uncovers your eyes and as you blink you can’t help but be impressed. The centre of the table is covered in what may be every plate in the kitchen; each one has a different cheese and its suggested accompaniments arranged around it. You had fought valiantly for any cheeses other than Italian but he had refused to budge keen for you to taste all of his favourites. He pours you a glass of wine, a deep red and hands you a glass. 

‘This is Barolo, aged in oak caskets it is the most decadent of Italian wines. The King of wines they call it.’ You take a sip and examine the flavours. It is rich, fruity and floral but with an earthiness that should pair well with your meal this evening. You were by no means a wine expert but your palette was well developed over your career and you can tell an expensive wine when you taste one. 

‘Terzo this is very extravagant,’ you stop when he raises his hand.

‘You deserve the best, cara mia, as does this cheese!.’ He gestures across the table and you survey all the options before you, savouring another sip of the wine. In the middle he has laid out a selection of crackers, water, butter and grain in a variety of different shapes. There was crumbling gorgonzola drizzled with honey to calm the bite of the blue veins and topped with quartered grapes and shelled pistachios. Slices of nutty pecorino sit between folded slices of ham generously filled with halved figs and walnuts. Cubes of provolone mixed with slices of olive oil, cured sopressata and green olives and taleggio and apple slices wrapped in salty prosciutto. Finally a bowl of whipped mascarpone, dark red cherry and balsamic dressing pooling between the peaks and whole cherries and pecans sinking into the soft cheese. 

He pulls out your chair for you, getting you comfortably seated then he goes to take off the apron before joining you at the table waiting as you take in the whole spread. It is strange being on the receiving end of such a gesture. You can’t remember the last time someone had prepared an extravagant meal for you like this, even if he had only sliced and arranged the food, it was clear how much effort he has put in to impress you.

He lets you start helping yourself to the plate closest to you when you struggle to decide where to begin with so many enticing options. The two of you are quiet for a time only pausing to express your pleasure with the flavours to each other. After trying at least two helpings of each cheese you sit back with your wine before your stomach begins protesting after your second round of overindulging for the day.

‘Thank you for doing this Terzo,’ you say as you watch him assemble another mouthful. ‘I’m not sure I remember the last time someone did this for me.’ He pauses before taking a bite, looking at you in surprise.

‘Is that so?’ He looks thoughtful as he finishes off his mouthful, getting every trace from his fingers. ‘You are very welcome, cara mia. In fact I enjoyed doing this more than I thought.’ 

‘Am I out of a job now?’ You joke just to watch his eyes widen in panic.

‘Hold on no no!’ He shakes his head emphatically. ‘I did not mean that at all. I will always prefer your incredible cooking.’ 

‘I suppose I will stick around then,’ you reassure him.

‘Thank Satan as much as this was fun. I could not imagine doing it everyday, multiple times.’ He looks exhausted just thinking about it. ‘You are a superwoman, mia cuocoina.’ 

‘I’m not, I just enjoy it,’ you explain. You always had since you were young and had followed your mother around the kitchen.

 ‘Why do you think you were so drawn to cooking?’ He asks. It wasn’t something you had thought much about before. It had just been a fact of your life. 

‘Well I like food obviously,’ you say with a laugh but you pause as you think of what it is you enjoy most about it. ‘I think it's just such a big part of our lives, we have to eat to survive so why not make that as enjoyable as we can?’ Of course it is your job and has been for the longest time but there is a more personal element to it, especially when it comes to people you care about. ‘And you know if you can cook you can make your friend a delicious soup when they are ill, you can make their favourite pasta dish after they just got dumped or you can bewitch a man by making his stomach fall for you first,’ you finish with a wink.

‘Mmmm I see,’ he says sipping his wine, his eyes going heavy lidded as he regards you. ‘So this was your plan was it?’ His voice goes deep and teasing and you shift in your seat. 

‘No, just a happy accident.’ You lean towards him without even noticing, so easily drawn into his orbit. ‘I think my food was just too good for you to resist.’ He nods in agreement, conceding to your point but this conversation is far from its end.

‘And what about you?’ He holds your gaze, keeping you attentive to his every word. 

‘What about me?’ You ask, tilting your head not quite understanding his question.

‘What made you unable to resist your Papa?’ You swallow thickly. There are so many reasons you wouldn’t even know where to start.

‘You don’t need me to tell you how irresistible you are.’ you say instead. You aren’t against stroking his ego usually but you know he is well aware of his affect on people and you in particular. 

‘I have my own charms. I am in no doubt about that.’ He says confidently and you know it is true. ‘You though? I think it is a little different than any I have seduced before.’

‘Oh?’ You have an inkling where he is going with this. You had your suspicions that there were a lot more feelings involved then either of you were used to in your past relationships but this didn’t feel like the build up to a heartfelt confession. He was looking at you as if he had been leading you to a trap and you had just fallen in. 

‘You like feeding me.’ he states, matter of fact, placing his wine glass down on the table.

‘Yes we have discussed that.’ You are sure the two of you had discussed how you enjoyed taking care of him even as early as your first dinner together.  

‘No we haven’t. Feed me.’ His voice is hard but not cold as he orders you but you hesitate.

‘What?’ You think back trying to clear your confusion and you remember the lunch or more specifically just before when you had been reassuring him in his bedroom. You had known then that he wouldn’t drop that forever but it still didn’t make you any more prepared. 

‘I am not yet satisfied. Feed me.’ You swallow again, unable to control your body's reaction to his strict demands. You want to obey him, to feed him but again you hesitate. 

‘Terzo …’ He gives you a stern look cutting you off before you can continue. ‘Papa?’ It comes out as a question but it seems obvious what he wants. He rewards you with a smirk. 

‘I want some more gorgonzola, si,’ He encourages as you take a water cracker and begin to load it with cheese. ‘Plenty of honey too per favore then be a brava cuocoina and feed it to me. Then I will explain.’ You offer him the cracker and he tuts at you shaking his head.

‘Uh uh,’ he sighs. ‘Do it properly.’ He pushes the plates to the side and pats the table in front of him. You stand uncertainly but he pats the table again until you sit before him and offer him the cracker a second time. He scoots his chair forward forcing you to spread your legs to accommodate him but now he is in the perfect position for you to place the food in his waiting mouth. He chews slowly, moaning low as the flavours combine and harmonise on his tongue. 

‘Mia cuocoina, I think the taleggio now, no?’ You take his suggestion, the rolls of prosciutto and apple are much easier to feed him. He watches you for a moment before continuing. ‘There were clues you see but I did not notice at first. Now though, now your Papa understands.’ You offer him the next bite but his warm hand closes around your wrist holding you in place. 

‘You kiss me differently, did you know this? After we have eaten, you like me tasting of food you made me I think.’ You feel like you can’t breathe as he begins listing all the things he has noticed. ‘And my clothes, you look at me differently too, when things get a little tighter, tighter than they used to be. You like seeing how I have changed with every meal you have fed me I think.’ You can’t deny it because what he says is true. A part of you had hoped he might not have noticed everything but with every word that hope gets smaller and smaller. 

‘And now here. Your heart is racing and yet all I have done is eat a little from your own hands.’ He pauses to take a bite, his teeth sinking into the soft cheese and crisp apple and just grazing the tip of your fingers. ‘You enjoy feeding me, more than you realise I think.’ 

‘Papa I …’ You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look angry or upset but you feel the urge to apologise even as words fail you. He swallows the last bite freeing your wrist.

‘Shhh it is ok mia cuocoina.’ His hands trail down to your ankles tracing miscellaneous shapes into your skin. ‘Cherries now per favore. The balsamic cherries with the mascarpone. His fingers creep up your calves ghosting the shape of you before hooking behind your knees. He pulls you forward until you are sitting at the edge of the table. You lean across him, choosing a butter cracker, the thicker texture better to support the soft cheese. 

‘I am craving something sweeter,’ he explains. You bring it to his lips, the cherry juice starting to drip down your fingers and he catches it with his tongue leaving a sticky trail behind it before closing his lips over the mouthful. Your breath catches in your throat and his eyelids droop seductively as he sucks the last traces of juice and cheese from your fingers. 

‘That didn’t quite hit the spot,’ he says, hands already sliding your skirt up your thighs until he can clearly see your underwear and the wet patch there is little point trying to hide. ‘Ah so I was right. You do enjoy hand feeding your Papa.’ He spreads your legs even further so he can lean close enough that you feel his steady breathing against you. ‘After all that fuss.’ He grazes his teeth over your clit, the material of your underwear protecting you but the threat still makes your thighs shake. When he does bite down it’s only on the hem of your underwear as he pulls them to the side leaving you bare to him for the first time.

He just looks at first holding you in suspense but in a split second his tongue is all over you yet somehow still not hitting any places you wanted him, needed him. Around and around he swirls his tongue over your folds, then the most gentle suction. Little sounds of enjoyment he seems unaware of that vibrate through you as he tastes you thoroughly. But his teasing as you fed him, his sucking and nipping at your fingers had already got you ready for so much more. Giving in you lace your fingers through his hair to guide him to exactly where you want his attention most but he resists all your attempts, making the frustration inside you build and build. You try another tactic grinding your hips against his face but he pulls away pressing your hips down onto the table and stopping any further movement and forcing a whine from deep in your chest.

‘Cuocoina, please. I am just trying to properly enjoy my meal.’ He pauses to lick a long stripe, tongue flat and broad to give you as much friction as possible. You can’t breathe, not for a moment, the sudden rush of pleasure the only thing your mind can comprehend but almost as soon as it starts it ends the only thing you can feel are the puffs of his warm breath.

‘But perhaps you would prefer to feed me this too?’ He positions himself that he is a hair's breadth away from you before his vice-like grip on your hips loosens. ‘Feed me’ he growls and you have to obey.

You grind your hips against him over and over, his tongue finding your entrance making your thighs shake as you fight to get him even deeper. Your foot loses purchase where it had settled on the arm of his chair and you scream as your clit catches the tip of his nose. One of his hands finds its way to your thigh helping to steady you but the other creeps up your body underneath your dress. He cups your breast over bra, his maddening fingers finding your already hard nipple through the light material pinching and twisting until you can't decide if you want to arch into his teasing hand or push back against his face. 

‘Papa! Terzooo,’ you moan his name in frustration, struggling as your pleasure builds to take what you need from him but he finally takes pity on you, hooking both your legs over his shoulders and lifting your hips clean off the table.

‘Fuck mia cuocoina,’ he growls against your core. He sucks your clit long and hard until you scream your toes curling against his back. ‘Sei la cosa migliore che abbia mai assaggiato, cazzo.’ You barely register his switch to Italian, too busy chanting his name in your pleasure fuelled delirium.

You are so close to the edge when his lips close over you sucking and sucking while his tongue swipes over your clit over and over again. You can feel it building, a charge shooting through your nerves from the soles of your feet to the palms of your hand and you continue babbling his name, repeating until it is almost meaningless. He pinches your nipple, hard, and you arch up from the table with a gasp just as he slides a finger inside you curling it perfectly to press against your g spot. 

Every bit of air is forced from your lungs as your orgasm overtakes you. Your ears begin to ring as the force of it pulses through your body and what feels like every muscle contracting and releasing as you gasp for air. Your hands are still gripping at his hair keeping him in place not that it is needed as he laps at you greedily, catching every last drop of your orgasm. 

‘Making sure you are well fed?’ You giggle deliriously, still feeling somewhat detached from reality. You release your death grip on his hair and he sets your hips back down on the table helping you ease the vice-like grip of your thighs around him. His face is wet with your slick but it only emphasises his flushed cheeks. He grins at you in satisfaction, his eyes sparkling as he takes in the state he has made of you.

He pulls you back upright by your hands after straightening your underwear and your dress but this time no one could mistake the treatment you had just received. Your balance has not yet returned and so helps you into his lap where you can lean against his warm body. As you get settled you can feel his hardness trapped beneath you but as you reach for him cupping him through his trousers, he catches your wrist gently and instead wraps your arms around his neck. He distracts you by stealing kisses and you discover you almost enjoy the taste of you on his lips as much as you enjoy the taste of the food you make him.   

He slows your frantic kisses down, only offering you slow pecks to help you actually catch your breath. He rubs your back soothingly over your dress and encourages you to rest against him but you still end up clinging to his shoulders to help keep you upright as the haze of your pleasure recedes leaving you exhausted. He tucks your hair behind your ear, his hand settling at the back of your neck.

‘Mmm, now I am satisfied,’ he whispers against your lips before distracting you again with his captivating kisses. 

[ellooo0ooo]

Keep Your Judgement

Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: After taking the capital, you and Aleksander move onto the next stage of your plan - locating Morozova’s workshop to find a cure as Aleksander’s condition worsens.

Warnings [18+]: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, hint of breast play, Aleksander’s dirty talk, canon level violence and death.

A/N: it feels like this chapter has taken me forever to write but it’s finally done!! (without extensive proofreading since I’m too excited to actually post something again) I hope you guys enjoy it, it’s been a struggle to find time to write these days which sucks but hopefully I’m getting back into my flow now

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

The Grand Palace is practically deserted when you and the rest of your Grisha advance upon the capital. In a matter of days, the occupants of the Sanctuary have settled into the Palace.

Seeing Aleksander in the royal study is a sight to behold. He looks just as worn and tired as he has for the last few weeks, his hair askew from his own hands, head lowered over some maps. But the polished furniture and luxurious upholstery suits him.

His dark eyes flicker up to watch you lean against the doorway as he registers your presence. A fond smile plays over your lips as you look at him, his gaze wandering over the silk nightdress you’re wearing. The fox preens inside your head and you nudge the creature away from your thoughts as you advance towards Aleksander.

“I thought you were coming to bed,” you accuse him lightly. He smiles softly, discarding his papers and leaning back in his chair.

“I am.”

You tilt your head at him.

“Are you?”

His smile widens, a bashfulness creeping into his features as he glances down - avoiding your questioning gaze.

“Aleksander,” you murmur gently, hooking a finger under his chin to guide his eyes up to meet yours. He hums quietly. “We’ve taken the capital.”

His eyes flutter closed as you press a kiss to the small scar on his forehead. A shiver runs over your skin as he settles his hands on your hips, your bodies being drawn together with a magnetism that has your heart fluttering with anticipation.

“The sun summoner is in the dungeons.” He breathes out a soft sigh as your lips lower to the scar on his cheek. “If the Lantsov Prince is still alive, our people will find him.” He helps you settle into his lap, your legs straddling his. “In a few days, we will find Morozova’s workshop and begin working on a cure for you.”

His hands begin to stroke down your sides as you kiss the scar at the corner of his mouth.

“There’s nothing else to do tonight. Come to bed, Sasha.”

Aleksander slides his hands down your hips, wandering over your thighs with a casual eagerness. He squeezes whatever bare skin he can find, fingers caressing your inner thighs in a manner that has you squirming. There’s a roughness to his tone as he whispers,

“You look beautiful.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks as you glance down at the nightdress. Delicate lace adorns the neckline, lilac ribbons tied intricately at the bodice. Shyly, you smooth down the skirt, fingers playing with the hem that stops mid thigh.

“Genya made it for me.”

“The dress is exquisite,” he admits with a small nod. “But I was talking about you.”

“Aleksander,” you whisper as your nose grazes against his. “Take me to bed. Please.”

He leans in, kissing your lips with an intensity that makes your toes curl. Aleksander’s worsening condition has made you cautious, concerned about hurting him with his body becoming so fragile. As a result, when he reaches underneath the hem of your nightdress, he finds the fabric of your panties soaked with arousal.

A broken moan of relief escapes from the back of your throat as he slips his fingers under the gusset of your underwear. He makes a small sound of approval when he finds your cunt dripping with need. As he finally begins touching you, slow strokes of his fingertips against your entrance, you press your forehead against his, breathing shakily.

“I’ve been neglecting you, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips. You shake your head with a small gasp of his name. He circles your clit with his fingertip, the barest hint of movement despite the firm pressure he’s using and you whimper as the cloud of pleasure hazes over your thoughts.

Aleksander captures your lips with his once again. Without thinking, you begin to rock your hips against his fingers, moaning quietly when you feel the growing bulge beneath his trousers. Aleksander is moaning too, soft sighs and breathy whines he’s fighting to suppress.

“With the merzost… my control has worsened since the last time,” he admits. “I won’t last nearly as long.” He bites down on his lower lip, stifling a groan. Every word he speaks is stilted by his breathlessness. “I fear I might… spill my seed the moment I enter you.”

“I don’t mind,” you tell him. “Just, wait a moment. Wait until I’m close.” He increases the speed of his fingers as your walls tighten at the thought of him climaxing as soon as his cock begins to stretch you open. “Sasha, I’m so close.”

With fumbling fingers, you tug on the drawstring of his trousers, pushing the fabric away to free his cock. He hooks his hand under your thigh, giving you assistance as you sink down onto his hardened length. Feeling Aleksander push into you so intimately, one hand cupping the back of your head as the other continues to stroke the sensitive nub of your clit, has you crying out in pleasure.

A deep groan reverberates from his chest and the sensation of his bared teeth against your thundering pulse has you nearing your peak at an alarming pace. Being untouched for so long has weakened your own sense of control. His nails bite into the soft plush of your thighs as he urges your hips closer, slamming you onto his cock. Both of you gasp one another’s names.

During the moment, you aren’t certain who climaxes first. Perhaps it’s the sensation of Aleksander’s release bursting inside you, his hot spend covering your walls, that pushes you over the edge. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your quivering cunt clenching rapidly around his cock, that has Aleksander coming undone with a broken moan.

In the silence afterwards, the two of you lean on one another, breathing heavily as the pleasure of your orgasms thrum through your bodies. Both of you breathe out a smile as you begin to kiss lazily, soft laughs of embarrassment and shared bliss interrupting the movement of your lips. The moment feels youthful.

With shaking hands, Aleksander loosens the ribbons at your bodice. One at a time, he hooks his finger under the straps of your nightdress, dropping the fabric from each of your breasts.

As the two of you begin to catch your breath, he suckles gently on your nipple. His tongue strokes lazily over the bud and the warm heat of his mouth has your cunt clenching around his softening cock.

“Darling,” he rasps warningly, removing his mouth from your breast with a wet sound as his salvia clings to your skin.

Going for another round would ruin you both, but Aleksander in particular would suffer the most from the overstimulation. Nevertheless, your cunt grips at his cock in protest.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I can’t help it.”

He grits his teeth, pulling his cock from your cunt. His fingers dig into your thighs as if he is imagining dragging you back down onto his length.

“I want you, as many times as possible,” he admits against the hollow of your throat as he layers kisses up to your ear. “Until you’re spent and shaking in our bed. I want to feel you come apart on my cock and continue fucking you through your peak.”

His crude words and lingering kisses over your skin have you clenching around nothing, tears of need prickling in the corners of your eyes. He sighs deeply, and both your body and heart aches simultaneously for him. Gently, you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, pushing your arousal away as best you can to comfort him.

“When we’ve found a cure,” you say softly. “When you’re all healed and recovered, we can spend an entire day in bed and you can do whatever you want to me.”

A darkness creeps into his eyes, a sharp glimmer that makes you shiver. He winces slightly at the sensation of tucking his cock back into his trousers, though he manages to give you a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

A hint of the darkness in his previous expression is now mirrored in your eyes as you return his smile, somewhat bashfully.

“I hope you do.”

»»---------------------►

“You asked to see me?”

At the sound of a familiar voice, you turn away from the entrance to the throne room to face your friend.

“Genya, yes.” The smile you give her is brief as you observe the way she fidgets with the sleeves of her kefta. “How are you?”

The question seems to catch her off guard and her answer is rather stilted.

“I’m well.”

“Walk with me?” you ask, inclining your head towards the length of the throne room. Her nod is jerky but her steps are smooth as she walks beside you.

“I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must make you, being back here.”

Her back straightens slightly which you pretend not to notice as you turn your head towards the thrones at the head of the room.

“I would have preferred to have returned to the Little Palace,” you admit. “But this building is more defendable.” She nods in response to your words.

Genya is just as practical as you are. Despite how hard it must be, staying in the Grand Palace after everything that happened to her here, you know she will prioritise the advantages it gives. Even still, it can’t be easy for her and you want to offer her something that might make up for it.

The two of you stop at the dais at the head of the room. A small crease appears between her brows as she watches you move towards the collection of decorative swords fixed onto the wall in a rather ornate display.

“I’ve altered the structure of the gold on the throne. I’m certain you’ll find it rather brittle now.” Handing her the one of the king’s many swords, you take a step back, inclining your head towards the throne. “It’s all yours.”

Understanding seems to dawn on her features as she takes the sword from you. There’s a spark of eagerness in her hazel eyes, fuelled by the bone deep anger and hurt she’s been forced to bury inside herself for years. Her grip tightens on the handle, delicate fingers curled with a white knuckle pressure, as she tests the weight of the blade.

“Thank you, moi soverenyi.”

The sound of Aleksander’s title is a surprise - you aren’t sure if it suits you. But the look on Genya’s face has you thinking you might be able to earn it.

As the door closes behind you, a fierce crash sounds from within the throne room and a small satisfied smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. One thing is certain, the Lantsov dynasty is over.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander calls out your name sharply and you lift your head up from the long grass surrounding you. Remaining in fox form, you scamper back over to where he’s waiting with the horses.

The fox is much more familiar with this area of Ravka than you are, meaning that during the search for Morozova’s workshop you’ve shifted form on a number of occasions.

Aleksander crouches down as you approach and you nuzzle your face against his stomach, paws pressing onto his thighs. Dewdrops cling to your fur, soaking the fabric of his kefta and cloak.

“Don’t run off to where I can’t see you,” he warns you, threading his fingers through the fur between your ears. He barely flinches as you shake the dew from your fur, scattering the water droplets around you. “Are we getting close?”

Nodding your head, you turn to lick at his fingers, nudging your damp nose into his open palm. He cups your jaw, blunt nails scratching affectionately at the short hair there.

Shifting back into your human form in front of Aleksander isn’t something you shy away from anymore. His hand remains under your chin as your body returns to its natural state, half settled in his lap and warmth spreads over your cheeks.

“Hello,” you murmur quietly.

Aleksander smiles softly, squeezing your chin affectionately.

“Hello, sweet girl.”

“I think the workshop is around a quarter of a mile away.”

He nods.

It doesn’t take you long to find an abandoned structure, built into the side of a hill. Trees and shrubbery have overtaken the space, hiding it from a casual onlooker. But you would recognise the tingle of merzost and the work of a materialki anywhere.

Old Ravkan sigils have been carved into the rock that comprises the door. Reaching for your power, you encounter an immovable resistance amongst the mechanisms that keep the door locked. Frowning, you brush the tangle of vines and overgrown greenery aside, noting a smudge of red near the centre of the door.

“It’s a blood lock,” you state. “I’m assuming only Morozova blood can open the door.”

Aleksander reaches for the knife tucked beneath his kefta and you wince as he slices a fine cut over his hand. Then he steps towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, grasping onto his sleeve. He frowns, blood pooling from the cut as he holds his hand mere inches from the door.

Retrieving a handkerchief from your pocket, you begin to mop up the blood from Aleksander’s wound, smearing it over the fabric before you wrap it around his hand.

“I’m not letting you put an open wound on such a dirty rock.”

He breathes out a soft laugh, shaking his head despite the fond expression on his face. Aleksander places his hand over the door, blood soaked handkerchief pressing against the stone. The lock shifts, the door opening with a grating sound that has a shiver running down your spine.

Aleksander steps inside first.

At the entrance, there are two stone coffins, side by side. One has been opened, revealing an empty grave, whilst the other remains closed with a freshly picked bunch of snowdrops placed at the helm. Torches light your way, as you follow Aleksander deeper inside.

Baghra stands in the doorway of the workshop, a flickering torch in her hand. She doesn’t seem surprised to see you both. At the sight of his mother, Aleksander’s eyes go wide, scanning over the contents of the workshop behind her to seek out any potential threats.

In the back of your mind, the fox’s fur stands up in anticipation and you turn towards the entrance quickly. But not quick enough. Someone you don’t recognise is standing at the door, watching it close.

Rushing forward, you place your palm against the rough stone of the door, your power reaching for the mechanism at the hinges. After feeling the lock slide into place, you turn back to Aleksander.

“The door’s been locked on the other side. Someone with Morozova blood has sealed us in here,” you say. Aleksander goes still, his eyes unfocused as he comes to some sort of realisation.

“Mal,” he states quietly. “All this time.”

“An otkazat’sya,” Baghra states, a bitter yet knowing look in her eyes. “Morozova did always love the ordinary.”

She steps forwards and Aleksander eyes her warily, moving to stand between you and his mother, though Baghra’s gaze is fixed on the open coffin. She traces her fingertips over the rough edge of the lid, worn by time.

“He made me watch him while he built this coffin, knowing he would never use it. My sister was never buried. There was no village boy saved by Sankt Ilya, like in the stories you’ve heard. There was only my sister. The ordinary girl who should have lived an ordinary life.”

She lifts her head, staring at you.

“There is no firebird.”

“The third amplifier is a person,” you say quietly. She nods, the corner of her mouth twisting.

“Morozova was corrupted with merzost; it seeped into everything he created.”

She glances at Aleksander and you try your hardest not to think about the darkness staining his veins, poisoning his body. As she stares down at the flame flickering in her hand, you watch her move back into the heart of the workshop. Aleksander follows her without hesitation, as a bone deep instinct from his childhood seems to carry him forwards.

“We are his blood,” Baghra says, turning to her son. “There is no redemption for the Morozovas. A legacy of wrongdoing never made right… which ends today.” She looks at you, her eyes locking on yours. Too busy considering her next move, you struggle to decipher her expression. “I tried to warn you, girl. He is beyond saving.”

You shake your head.

“Baghra-”

Before either of you can stop her, she tosses the flaming torch over the contents of Morozova’s desk. The papers there burst into flames instantly. She retrieves another torch from the fixture on the wall as baskets filled with scrolls begin to crumble with the heat, consumed by the fire that burns brighter. Aleksander rushes towards Baghra, snatching the remaining torch from her hand.

“What have you done?” Aleksander asks, his eyes widened as he stares at her.

“What needed to be done, child.”

He shakes his head minutely, taking half a step back from his mother. His expression fractures, anger and sadness and unbridled heartbreak evident from the tears in his eyes and the slight quiver of his lips. Over the crackle of the flames rising, you can scarcely hear his shattered whisper,

“Have you no faith in me?”

“I loved you, Aleksander. Now, I see that was not enough.”

He flinches. Aleksander flinches.

The nonchalance and, at times, outright contempt that you have seen Baghra use when referring to her son has always made you angry. But seeing Aleksander recoil at her words has you wondering how much he has endured over the centuries and an ugly feeling stirs in your stomach.

The fox had remembered Aleksander as a child, and you feel ill at the thought of that small boy growing up believing his mother’s conditional love was all he deserved.

“Madraya,” he whispers weakly. Baghra gathers her hands together and the shadows stir to life. Then a startled cry escapes his lips as he drops the torch, moving forwards to stop her, “No!”

The Cut slices through Baghra’s middle, not a clean cut but deep enough to be fatal. She will bleed out in Aleksander’s arms. He reaches for her swaying body and her clouded eyes fix on the stag bone embedded in his hand, stained with merzost.

“Stupid boy,” she murmurs. Her legs give out and her son catches her.

He sinks to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks as he holds Baghra close. Sobs heave at his shoulders, as he grips onto Baghra’s dress, rocking back and forth with the strength of his cries. He’s murmuring quietly, small pleas and apologies, and tears gather in your own eyes at the sight.

Aleksander is shaking as he reaches to close her eyes, smoothing her hair back with care. He chokes on another sob, a childlike whine of loss catching in his throat.

Slowly, you place your hand on his shoulder. His hold on Baghra loosens slightly, as he leans towards you. He rests his forehead against your collarbone, eyes shut tightly as grief settles into his heart.

“Aleksander. I’m so sorry, but we need to get out of here.”

He nods weakly. His eyes are unfocused as he looks at your surroundings, as if he isn’t truly seeing the flames curling around the two of you. Only Morozova blood, on the other side of the door can fix this. Knowing this, you search for an alternative to keep you alive.

“Maybe we could use some dirt to stop the fire?”

Aleksander nods, some clarity returning to his features as he comes back to himself somewhat.

“Search the floor,” he instructs you.

The two of you scour over the rough floor of the cave, giving Baghra’s body a wide berth. With every step, panic begins to fill you and your lungs tighten as the fire begins to rage around you.

The fox skitters frantically through your thoughts, agitated at being trapped with no escape. Aleksander heaves out a violent cough and worry spikes through your stomach. There’s a weary rasp to his voice as he asks,

“Anything?”

“It’s all stone,” you cry out.

“Here.”

Hurrying over to him, you stare down at a tiny patch of dry brown dirt. The ground is too solid for you to gather enough dirt to snuff out the fire that now blazes as more papers are consumed by flame.

“Aleksander, that isn’t enough.”

“Shift.”

“What?”

“Shift into your other form and dig yourself out of here.”

You frown at him.

“There isn’t time for me to get out and around to unlock the door.” Not to mention that only Morozova blood can activate the blood lock. Perhaps you could take the bloody handkerchief from his hand?

He shakes his head.

“I want you to leave me here.”

Stepping backwards, you shake your head with tears glossing in your eyes. The fox goes frighteningly still in your mind as you both stare at Aleksander.

“No. You told me not to leave you again.”

Something shatters in his expression as he steps closer to you, gripping onto your forearms as he insists softly,

“This is different.”

“The Grisha need someone to lead them,” you protest, trying to appeal to his rational side. No one can protect them like he does. He takes your hands as the flames creep up the walls of the cave.

“They have you,” he says lowly. “You understand what needs to be done. You understand sacrifice.”

Tears spill over your cheeks as you cry openly. The nichevo’ya stir in the shadows, responding to Aleksander’s distress but unable to materialise without his call.

“I do… but there’s one thing I can’t sacrifice. You, Aleksander. Everything I’ve done has been for you. I can’t- I won’t leave you.”

He draws you into his arms, sinking the two of you down onto the ground to escape the smoke. Coughs rattle through his lungs, as he breathes into the folded crook of his elbow. The frantic heaving of his chest frightens you and once his coughing stops he buries his face into the juncture of your neck. Every breath he takes is shaky and you can hear how thin the air is for him already.

“My sweet girl, I’m so sorry,” he whispers in a broken voice.

It takes everything in you to pull yourself from his arms, stumbling over towards the remains of the desk as Aleksander continues to choke on the smoke. Your own lungs itch in your chest, throat dry as you scramble through the surviving papers, searching for Morozova’s research on the blood lock. Everything requires balance, something must be able to counter the bond placed on the stone of the door. Something must be able to break the seal.

With shaking hands, you scour through charred papers, doing your best to beat the flames back with the sleeves of your kefta. Once you find what you’re looking for, you toss the little journal onto the dry-stone floor. Instantly, you sink to your knees beside it. Your mind is running faster than you can keep up with, turning pages like lightning, eyes flickering over the scribblings of Aleksander’s grandfather.

Then you find it. According to Morozova’s research, the only thing that can counter a blood lock is someone else’s blood.

Without any time to hesitate, you reach for the knife in your sleeve. Grisha steel bites into your palm, sticky red blossoming from the cut which you smear over the surface of the door, mimicking the pattern drawn onto one of the pages you had seen.Using both hands, you place them in a familiar position and draw upon your power.

Concentrating on the lock is difficult. With the air thinning, sweat rolling down your skin and emotions running high in your mind, focusing on the stone cogs that will open the door seems almost impossible. The fox bares his teeth in the back of your mind and your doubts cower away. Then there’s a low groan from the door.

A gasp catches in the back of your throat as a thin sliver of daylight slips through the gap, pale and faint but it’s the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. There’s the sound of movement behind you, but all your energy has been placed on forcing the door to open.

Aleksander presses his chest against your back, encaging you with his arms so that he can curl both of his hands around each of your wrists. His power flows alongside yours, helping you to slowly shift the mechanisms of the lock held in place by his grandfather’s blood.

Even with Aleksander’s amplification, it’s a struggle. It’s only once you notice the darkness crawling over his hands that you turn back to look at him.

Black skeins of merzost creep over his cheeks, his blood thick with the dark magic he’s drawing into his body to continue amplifying your power. The veins in his neck are stained with shadow, curling around his throat as he struggles to breathe. The sound of his lungs rattling has tears blurring your vision.

“Aleksander,” you whisper, your voice hoarse with emotion.

“Don’t look at me,” he insists. “Just focus on the door.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you draw upon every scrap of power inside you. There’s a fierce sound of stone grating against stone which rings in your ears. A large sigh of relief heaves at your shoulders, though a sharp cough rattles in your chest at the sudden inhale of smoke.

As you emerge from the cave, Aleksander appears to be on the verge of losing consciousness. Draping his arm over your shoulders, you manage to drag the two of you from the smoke. He stumbles over his feet, struggling to keep himself upright after the exertion of amplifying your power. Both of you wobble unsteadily, clinging to one another for support as you attempt to get back to your horses.

Stones and mud scuff against your boots, making your journey all the more difficult. There’s a fierce pain at your temples, coughs wrack through your body alongside Aleksander. He bends, doubled over, as he chokes. Black blood drips from his nose and lips, running down his chin.

He sinks to his knees and you fall with him, the world spins as dry leaves touch your palms. Aleksander is on his back, your legs somewhat tangled with his as you struggle to stay conscious.

Voices in the distance have anxiety spiking in your chest but when you lift your head to survey the oncoming threat, the blood rushes to your head. Stars sparkle in your vision, your breath shifting into rapid gasps before you collapse against Aleksander’s chest.

»»---------------------►

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[sopekooks]

i feel so normal about him wearing glasses

[randomminty]

Honk shoo mimimimi

[crush-1]

I said I was going to doodle really fast and it took me 9 hours, what.

[aturnoftheearth]

I FEEL LIKE IM WALKING THROUGH A FIREWORKS FACTORY WITH A LIGHTER THE WAY HE DOES HIS SILLY "UNTIED GONNA GET A LITTLE WILD" WOUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[rebouks]

Robin’s first day at school after the winter holidays was just like any other; painful, overwhelming, and slightly boring.

There was a myriad of reasons he didn’t want to be here, but Oscar and Courtney were adamant it was somehow important-.. and mandatory, so Robin didn’t have a choice. They’d become immune to his avoidant shenanigans over time too, no longer were they so easily fooled, even when he’d made himself sick on purpose.

 He’d given up eventually, the worried glances they’d exchange each morning proving to be as tiresome as school itself. Pretending to be fine was better than being shipped off to some snooty shrink again; one who wouldn’t believe him anyway, who couldn’t even imagine the nonsense he was subject to on a daily basis, despite their fancy certificates hanging behind their fancy desks.

Robin was completely mute whilst at school, save for the odd whisper to Jude or sometimes Jacob, if necessary-.. but never Juniper. She was too condescending with her concern and far too obvious. He wanted to fade into obscurity, not be thrust into the limelight by an overzealous cousin trying to do the “right” thing by speaking on his behalf.

He’d resorted to telling her off in the end, her lip quivering as he explained how she was only making things worse. Robin wasn’t sure what had surprised her more, the fact that he was so vehemently opposed to being defended, or that he’d spoken to her at all. She’d acquiesced though, so that was something.

The only person he spoke to properly was nurse Wiles, or Silvia, as she insisted at this point. The cacophony of voices and Robin’s general disdain for being trapped in this hellish building for six hours a day usually resulted in a pounding headache and a disgusting, dissolvable aspirin; he was her most frequent visitor, discounting the child that was practically allergic to everything in sight.

He kept to himself as much as he could, scrawling out enough work to avoid being pulled up and listening to music wherever he could. He had a solid collection of tiny I-pod shuffles and headphones by now, enough to rotate between classes as they inevitably wound up being seized by exasperated adults.

His favourite deception were the decoy headphones, their obnoxious size drawing immediate attention and victorious confiscation. He’d huff and hand them over in defeat, only to thread a smaller more inconspicuous pair beneath his shirt and tuck them under his thick, curly mop as soon as their backs were turned; they were none the wiser, content with their perceived punishment. Robin thought teachers were supposed to be smart…

Though Robin’s long tangle of curls were useful in some ways, they also drew their fair share of unwanted attention. As if being provoked, shoved, tripped, and called “Mutey” wasn’t enough, he was often referred to as a girl, particularly by the other boys.

He wasn’t entirely sure why it was so hilarious, or why it never got old, especially since it was painfully obvious by now that he didn’t give a shit. He was used to being the proverbial punching bag. Being as different as he was obviously made him an easy target, almost as though he had a bullseye permanently woven into the fabric of his jumper.

He’d surmised that they had their reasons for picking on him though; some had parents who were just as cruel, some had none at all, some were desperate to fit in, and some were just too stupid to know any better.

Either way, Robin had decided a long time ago that he’d rather they mithered him with their so-called bullying than risk upsetting some poor schmuck who wasn’t privy to the concealed insecurities that diluted their venomous words and wicked laughter.

Most of Robin’s classes were raucous, yet dull. He could barely hear himself think over the combined clamour of diligent workers and class clowns, and since he could usually glean the answers to any questions from his classmates or the teachers themselves, he never saw much point in trying.

He knew it probably wasn’t great to miss out on the “working out” part of the work, but it was too hard to concentrate even if he’d wanted to. Oscar always helped him with his homework after dinner anyway, so a least he wasn’t going to end up completely lacking in the brain cell department-.. hopefully.

Swimming lessons and PE weren’t so bad, but art was his favourite class of all. Most people got too caught up in what they were doing to daydream noisily or obsess over potentially incorrect answers. There was no right or wrong when it came to creation, and Robin was actually good at drawing, painting, or whatever else his sticky fingers fancied throwing together.

His art teacher even let him wear his headphones during class too, so he’d get to sit at the back of the room in a blissful cocoon of loud music and pencil shavings, wishing every period were this laid back.

All in all, school was utter shite; and at the end of each terrible day when the bell finally rang, Robin was beyond glad that it was over.

Previous // Next

[ufonaut]

Absolute Power: Task Force VII #3 - Jadestone

The final issue of Absolute Power: Task Force VII sees the Amazo robot Jadestone absorb the powers of the Justice Society of America.

"But after being compromised by Green Lantern Alan Scott's willpower, Jadestone is faced with the possibility of making its own decisions. Will it continue to execute Waller's orders or exercise free will, as the remaining JSA members attempt a rescue to free their teammates and escape to the Tower of Fate?"

The issue is written by Jeremy Adams, drawn by Marco Santucci and published on July 31st 2024.

[the-lion-guard-88]

MR. PUZZLES IS CANONICALLY COMING BACK AAAAAAAAAAA

[tinkerbitch69]

Watching The legend of Lara Croft episode 1:

Oh shit! They got Trevor Belmont up in this bitch.

That gruff voice was not on my bingo card.

[skulls-soul]

I have been summoned by our dear friend @silly-inky And I have yet to post anything?

How will people know I'm like Beetlejuice!?!?

Call my name and I'll be there >:]

Anyways, why not? Let's have a spooky pup

Oop

Luigi a bit upsetti QUICK GRAB HIM SPAGHETTI

[solstrix]

Monster High March Day 9: An Underrated Character

Moanica could've been SUCH a good villain if they had only let her be/stay scary

[cheesecakeonthelanai]

The Golden Girls OUT OF CONTEXT

[userautumn]

Every day I check to see if SNW 3 has a release date and every day I am filled with sharp agony

[sluttybibuck]

oh, my, love is a lie! shit my friends say to get me by 

[suremango]

I miss riptide

I miss the fish and the chips and the wings on the side

That's all I just miss em