#no filter? no boiling? just raw? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelystarkersworld · 27 days ago

Text

Guilt Ridden

Peter strikes up a plan to seduce his mentor but doesn't realize how much he's messing with the man. Brought to you by many episodes of Kitchen Nightmares.

tw: underage(?) no specified age but peter can be seen anywhere from 16-19 and him being a teen is a dilemma (hence the title)

word count: 10.1k

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62289841

The first time Tony saw Peter was when he was walking into his own house to find the older man sitting on the couch talking to his aunt and it’s an image that he treasures. He had looked so starstruck and his eyes were wide with adoration, Tony wanted to ruin that innocent persona. When he first had that thought as the boy had stumbled over his words, he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole.

Tony had never prided himself on being a good man because he had his slip ups in his past and he was known for only using people for a quick fuck but he'd never once stooped so low to think a teenager was attractive. He was old enough to be this boys father, he should be thinking about how attractive his aunt is. She's much more age appropriate and don't get him wrong, she's beautiful but he found himself enraptured by the boy.

So when they are alone in his room, he's swallowing back any remark that dared to leave his mouth about how attractive he was. Tony was never known for having a filter and not flirting so he fought tooth and nail to hold them back and stay true to what he'd come for, to recruit the boy. The Avengers were having a falling out and it was looking more and more like there'd be a fight, not that he wanted one, and he thought the boy would be a good helping hand. And to his surprise, he's able to keep everything PG between the two.

He only saw Peter twice before the fight: once when Tony had come over again under the guise of wanting to go over the game plan with him. Sure he did actually have to tell the boy how everything was going to go down but he could've waited til the day of or before to do that, he just wanted to see him again. The next time is when he finally gives into the boy's pleas to see his Iron Man suit and when the boy bends over his hotel bed to grab a blueprint that sits forgotten, it makes him want to throw himself off of a roof. He gets a beautiful picture of Peter's round ass in his tight jeans and he hates how hard he stares, the guilt boiling in his stomach.

Tony's in his hotel room working on his third glass of two fingers of whiskey when he's receiving a receipt to his email. He opens it curiously because he knows for a fact he hadn't bought anything and Happy wouldn't use his account for things. He's met with a charge to the television which only causes him to furrow his brows more, maybe he was hacked? That thought only solidifies more in his mind when he reads the title of the...movie. Older Man Fucks Boy Raw.

Peter. The name settles deep in his brain and his eyes widen, hand stopping midway as it brings the glass of liquor to his lips. Was Peter watching porn two rooms over? More importantly, was he watching porn with a large age gap? He stares down at his phone but doesn't dare to do more, fire in his chest spreading down to his gut as he wonders what the video was, what the boy was doing. He could be laying down on the luxurious bed with his pants and boxers tossed to the floor, hand wrapped around himself as he pumped his cock. Was his shirt on or off? Were those hard abs he knew the young boy had on show for the empty, cold room? What if he was circling his tight hole with his fingers?

He doesn't even notice when his empty hand is reaching down to grope himself through his pants, his cock already growing hard from the nasty thoughts of the boy. The alcohol worked to make the worry wash away and the only thing filling his mind are pictures of Peter in different positions as his ass gets stuffed probably for the first time. God, he was most likely a virgin. Now that thought had him downing the rest of his drink, the ice freezing his lips which helped to ground him from his growing neediness. He sets the glass down on the bedside table and his hand finds its way down into his sleep pants, stroking his dick through his tight boxers. His phone has slipped through his hand and is sitting on the mattress, face up and glowing to remind him of what the young teenager was doing just a couple of rooms away.

It didn't take long for him to shove the bottoms down his tan thighs and wrap a hand fully around himself. His head tipped back and gently hit the wall as he allowed himself to finally give into the week long thoughts about the young boy. He didn't even try to hold back the moans that were slipping past his lips, if anything he wished Peter was here to make it that much more noisy. He has to physically pause his strokes and take a deep breath in when his mind supplies him with the idea of messaging Peter, no that was too far.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and tries to redirect this thoughts which is quite easy to do when, for once, he's not swallowing back the idea of fucking the boy into his bed. He came quicker than he has in a long time, spilling over his fist with the whisper of Peter's name hanging in the air. As he comes down from his high, realization of what he did settles deep in his gut.

He wants the throw up, he just got off to Peter. Something he'd been avoiding doing for days because he knew it was a pipeline that he needed to avoid. He stands from his bed and drags himself to his bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he makes his way there. Tony stares at his nude body in the mirror and he feels bile crawling up his throat, disgusted with himself. He takes a scalding hot shower and scrubs himself raw, trying to wash away the nasty guilt that spreads through this body. For once ever in his life, he felt sinful.

He avoids the boy the next day, letting him instead pester Happy as he sat in his hotel room mulling over what he did last night. He couldn't so much as hear the boy without the, quickly becoming familiar, feeling of guilt spreading through his chest. And when it's the day of the fight, he swallows all feelings he has for the boy and tells himself that he wouldn't slip up during the fight but he is still avoiding him as much as he can, not even staying when he dropped off the new suit.

Thankfully during the fight, he's not distracted. He's able to put his full focus on trying to stop the others but yet he still fails in doing so but he's dismissed Peter from the fight earlier, he'd been thrown around too much for his liking. He doesn't see Peter for a long while after that, he's busy healing from the 'breakup' of the people he once saw as a family and for once he's thankful for his shit life, it distracted him from how disgusting he felt in himself.

His sexual thoughts of the boy eventually become background noise when he's busy making sure Peter doesn't kill himself by going against villains too big for him, maybe he's underestimating the younger boy but he didn't want to risk him dying. He'd only have to deal with more guilt surrounding the boy then so he takes the suit away and leaves the boy in tears in some clothes they picked up along the way.

Eventually he proves himself to Tony and the man for the first time ever, felt something more than sexual desire for him. That has him racing home and downing more liquor than he can keep count of, his mind racing so much that he can't even focus on the car he's working on. Of course the universe would make him even more of a disgrace to walk this planet and have a crush on a teenage boy.

He can't continue pushing Peter away because the boy doesn't understand the dilemma he was going through because why would he? Why would he think that the older man he had a crush on since he was a little boy had rubbed one out to the thought of him before? All he knew was that Tony cared for him even when he thought he hadn't so he pushed Mr. Stark to actually give him an internship under him so he could learn from one of the smartest men. Tony gives in eventually, saying that Peter could come down to the lab once a week to help him on projects. Except once a week turns to twice, to three times to four and eventually Peter is at Tony's lab at night more often than not.

It's hard on Tony to not give into his wants, he had never been one to try and hold back so it takes every inch of will to not slam the pretty boy against his desk and make him beg for more. He wonders if Peter had ever fucked someone before, stuck his dick into something other than his fist. It'd taken a bit for Tony to accept that he was a switch and the idea of someone hitting his prostate as he buried his face in the sheets was a hot one and when he adds Peter to that fantasy? It only works to make him not be able to make eye contact with him without that image burning in his brain for a couple days.

More often than not, he was drowning his disgust in alcohol and reverting back to his old ways of hooking up with strangers except now they were cute brunette boys who were in their teens, too young for a man like him to fucking and if he had to bite his tongue so he wasn't moaning his young interns name, no one had to know. When they moaned his name under him he would whisper in their ear to call him Mr. Stark and they all passed it off as a honorific kink, which it partially was, but mainly was because it reminded him of a certain brown, doe-eyed boy calling for him.

Peter eventually noticed how much more Tony was sleeping around, he sometimes would arrive early to hear moans and the slapping noise of skin hitting each other and he's sure Mr. Stark is fucking the boy so good. He'd caught glances of the boys his mentor slept with occasionally when he came up from the lab to grab water, in reality he was hoping to hear more of those noises for later tonight when he was alone, and he noticed that Tony had a type. Cute, young, pale, brunette boys who had big brown eyes and that's when he got the bad or maybe great idea.

Who's to say he can't seduce Tony to his bed? The similarities were uncanny. He just had to learn how seduction works because he was not going to embarrass himself in front of his longtime crush. It was weeks before Peter finally let his plan become reality, he'd spent countless hours watching spicier movies and even reading books to learn how to pull this man into his trap. He refrained from porn because he knew it was all overly staged and probably wouldn't do him any good.

The plan was a simple one, first it has to ensure that Tony was actually attracted to him like he thought. It would be many days of bending over the bench to read blueprints, arching his back, “Wait this one?” He’d ask as he looked over his shoulder, batting his lashes. He would stand a little too close to Tony when they were talking. His hands would trail over the man's biceps as he explained something to the younger boy, “Thank you for helping, Mr. Stark. You're so good to me.” and Tony should really stop him from the obvious wanting but he can't. Everytime he feels the boy's hot breath fan across his lips when they talk he can feel that oh so familiar burn in his stomach of both hot need and guilt bubbling.

Peter learned that each time he would get too close or push too much, Tony would pull back and have a look on his face that was mixed with excitement and dread. He couldn't blame him, he was young after all but he allowed the touches and let him get a little too close. So phase two of his plan comes into action, finally allowing himself to go on that date one of his older classmates had been asking him out after they'd hooked up once and tell the older man all the gritty details, except for the sexual part, in hopes it would strike some jealousy in him. And it works, he can see the tick of the man's jaw as he talks about it. He sees the way his fist clenched around his tool a little too tight but nothing happens. That's okay, Peter didn't expect it to. It was to sew threads of jealousy deep into the man's brain.

Tony could feel a new feeling churn in his stomach alongside the usual ones that sat there, jealousy. Peter had never shown interest in anyone before, at least not to him so the knowledge that in a couple of days he would be going out with some random kid from his school made anger flood his veins. That only worked to make his guilt all the much worse, he shouldn't care if Peter was dating. He was supposed to date, he was at the correct age for it after all but the idea of some other boy wrapping his arm around that beautiful waist and pulling him in close was not one he wanted.

Peter didn't know how much he was truly messing with the older man. Each time Peter bid his goodbye and left him alone, Tony would put all his work down and rest his forehead against his desk. He would sit there for minutes, just staring at the ground below him in dread. Eventually he would get up and drown out his thoughts with liquor, like he's used to, and go back to working but he wouldn't get much done. His thoughts would be too clouded and eventually he would leave his house to find another cute brown haired boy who he could fuck in oblivion. And when he was done and the boy left, he would shower under hot water to wash away his shame. A new routine of his.

Meanwhile Peter was thinking of phase three, he would start talking about sex around Tony. He wasn't exactly experienced in that area, he'd only given one blow job in his life and it was with that kid who asked him out. They're sitting in the lab, music playing in the background as Peter helped update the new spider-man suit Tony had built him, when Peter finally speaks up. He'd been thinking of how to bring up sex without it being overly obvious what he was doing, “Can I ask you for some advice, Mr. Stark?”

Tony looked up from the Iron Man suit he was fixing and nodded his head, “Of course, kid.” Is his simple response as he turns back to his work.

“I’m thinking of,” He paused for a moment, “of taking the next step with Jeremy.” Peter really had no plans of letting that boy take his virginity but Tony didn't have to know that, “That kid I went on a date with a couple weeks back and I just,” He sighed softly, “I don't know how to, you know, seduce someone…”

Tony paused his movements and silence filled the room for a long moment. His mind raced with thoughts, what does he mean the next step? As in have sex? Give home self up to that boy? He swallowed thickly, “Don't you think it's too soon for that?” It's hypocritical coming from him, he'd never been one to take it slow but the idea of someone else touching Peter made him angry.

Peter shrugged softly, “I dunno,” He looked at his mentor who was staring at the leg of his suit but hands were stuck in the same position, “I like him a lot and he's really sweet to me.” Not really a lie, Jeremy was a kind boy but Peter had no real feelings for him and he does feel a bit bad for using the boy but he had no plans on accepting any more dates with him, he didn't want to lead the boy on, “What do you think?”

Tony realized how he had yet to actually continue working so his hand finally continued the careful tinkering, “I think you shouldn't give it to a boy you barely know.” You shouldn't give it to anyone but me.

Peter nods slowly in agreement, “Maybe you're right.” He drops the subject now that the new seed has been planted and the two go back to their work.

Peter doesn't bring up sex again until days later, it was late at night and the younger was gathering his belongings to head home–against Tony's wishes, it was so late and Peter had his own quarters in the, growing empty, tower but the boy had school tomorrow morning so he had to get home. That doesn't stop him from walking up behind Tony, who was entranced in his work before him to notice to approach until he feels a warm hand gently trace up his muscular arm.

“I should be heading out soon, Mr. Stark.” He says and Tony's turning his head to look at the pretty boy. He nods softly in agreement, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pete.” It was so usual for the boy to come over after school that he expected him to show up.

“Oh! I took your advice.” Peter let his fingers trail down his arm before dropping his hand. As much as he wanted to feel up the muscles that Tony usually hid unless he was working down in the lab and wore those damn tank tops, he knew he couldn't touch too much without spooking the older man.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his head tilted to the side just slightly, “What advice?” He hasn't forgotten about their conversation, God no. It sat deep in his brain and ate him up at night as he tried to fall asleep. It usually ended with him either staying up for nights on end, blaring music as he worked to drown out his thoughts.

“About sleeping with the kid, Jeremy.” Peter explains further and he has to hide back the smirk that dares to spread onto his face and as he sees Tony's jaw clench at the sole mention of the boy's name, it had to be working.

“That's good, kid.” His response was cut and short, too afraid that if he opened his mouth more than he would let out too much and he would end up digging himself into a deep hole.

“Mhm, figured I should probably save it for someone more…experienced.” The last word comes out breathy and he's leaned in a little too close to the man's ear, whispering the word.

The reminder of when he lost restraint that night in his hotel room came crashing down on him as he remembered Peter watching porn to get off. A teasing remark sat on his tongue but he bit back, he shouldn’t allow himself to slip but he let out a strained laugh, “Experienced, huh?” He shouldn't be encouraging this conversation more, he should've cut it off and sent the boy on his way but he can't help but pry.

Tony can feel the hot breath hitting his neck as Peter spoke the next words, “Yeah, I hear older men know how to do it better anyways.” He's laying it on thick now, it's clear what his intentions are to anyone who understands the basics of flirting. Nervousness was settling in his gut at the idea of being rejected but he knew it was likely and sure enough Tony was coughing lightly after a moment of silence, “You should get home.” He's quick to change the conversation and run the boy out.

Peter smiled and nodded, “Bye, Mr. Stark.” The name dropped off his tongue teasingly, it was still whispered almost sensually into the older man's ear. He pulls back and gives Tony another smile before he's twirling around and waltzing out and heading home.

That night was the second time Tony let himself fall into his thoughts as he laid in bed hoping to doze off. He’d done the same as that night in Germany and shoved his bottoms down to stroke his quickly growing cock. He came just as quickly as he had in the hotel but this time he was sober so he couldn't blame it on a drunken mind when he eventually comes down from his sex riddled brain.

Peter continues this little game for months, touches that lingered a bit too long and topics that were inappropriate for their relationship but they happen more and more often and one day the stars just so happened to align in his favor.

It was a Friday and the night grew closer and closer but Peter had yet to wrap up what he'd been working on to head home. For the first time in a while, he wasn't thinking of seducing Mr. Stark which might be why everything worked out the way it did. What's that saying about things coming your way when you're not expecting it? When you are expecting something, nothing happens. When you don't expect anything, everything happens. The upgrade to his suit that he'd been working on for the past month, Tony let him do it all by himself!, was finally coming together and he was excited to try it out in a couple days. A simple upgrade, his webshooters got jammed more often than not and well that obviously couldn't benefit him in fights so he was working on a new version that would give more room for the fluid to be released.

“Ah shit.” The words are mumbled after a soft hiss sounds throughout the room and Peter looks up from his work to see Tony with his pointer finger in his mouth, gently sucking on it to soothe the pain Peter assumed.

“What happened?” He asked to which Tony just looked over at him, not realizing the other had heard him and without pulling out his finger he responded honestly, “Jus’ burn’ed myself by acciden’.” His words slurred and mumbled around his thick pointer finger. The burner sat on his work bench cooling slowly after the older man sat it down to tend to his wound.

Peter's eyes are trained on the way Tony's pretty lips are wrapped around his finger and gently sucking on it to help the burn. It's a completely innocent act but it sends a familiar feeling of heat through his body. How could his mentor look so good doing something so little? He doesn't notice that Tony has stopped suckling on the finger and is looking back at Peter until the man is pulling out his finger slowly, the boy's eyes follow the way it pulls the bottom lip down slowly and it bounces back in place. He blinks back into reality now that the distraction is gone and he blushed at the realization that he'd been caught staring.

Tony had caught on to what the boy had been doing early on and he'd been able to evade every move easily. The guilt in his chest overruled the need to know how he feels for the boy, except for those two times that took weeks for Tony to fully get rid of the feeling that gnawed at him, but when he catches Peter staring at his mouth with hungry eyes it does something to him. There is a fire behind those pretty brown eyes that he'd never seen before and his brain is giving him the idea of how needy Peter would look if Tony put on a show for him but he doesn't, he pulls out his finger like the semi respectable man he was but for once he's at a loss for words. What do you say when the boy you've been lusting for clearly has the hots for you but you can't make a move because it was wrong to advance the situation? That thought almost makes him laugh. Apparently he was Tony Stark, the epitome of morally correct choices now. Then the boy is opening his mouth and he wasn't expecting the words that came out.

“I can help suck on it. I've been told I’m pretty good at making it feel better.”

The double meaning is clear to anyone and Tony's not sure how true the words were but the idea of someone else having been able to feel the way those pink lips wrap around and suck, been able to see the way Peter looked up through his lashes has the jealousy that he only felt when he remembered that boy from Peter’s school returning. This was one thing the boy hadn't tried yet, directly flirting sexually with him and there was something about the way Peter looked so innocent yet spoke so sensually. Tony is pretty good with handling these situations, he'd been flirted with more than enough times to know how to flip the switch, “Oh? How good are you, pretty?”

The words slip from his mouth before he can even realize what he's saying because it's so normal for him to flirt he doesn't realize who he's flirting with. Not to mention all the pent up need for the boy, it was a ticking bomb til he opened his mouth like always. He wants to take it back immediately because Peter’s eyes widen slightly as the realization of his words settles in and he's quickly latching onto the opening, “Never had any complaints, in fact I’m always met with a lot of encouragement.” He doesn't mention that he's only ever given one so there wasn't much feedback to begin with but that one time, he'd been told how good he was for a virgin so he can only assume that he's okay at it.

Peter is standing from his bench seat slowly and walking towards Tony, steps small but not hesitant. The older man's eyes follow him and he can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, “Pete…” That's all he says to stop the boy and he knows he should do more because he knows how this will end. He's been here more than once in his life but this was the first time he should be stopping it. Peter is finally standing in front of him and Tony has to tilt his head up slightly from where he sat to continue the eye contact, “Would you like to see how good, Mr. Stark?” The question is asked so softly and Tony can feel the fingers start to trail up his forearm, “I’ll make it even better for you.” He's leaning forward slowly and his touch reaches the man's strong muscles.

“Peter. You shouldn't.” He needs to pull away. He needs to stop this. This was approaching dangerous territory very quickly and he was going to do something he regretted but as much as he knows what he should be doing, he can't find it in him to do it now. Not when Peter's face is approaching so much closer with those big brown eyes, “What? You don't want me?” The question is bratty, he knows that, but it would force the other to say the truth one way or another.

“What? No, that's not what-I mean,” Tony inhaled a deep breath after his small slip up, “You're young and my intern.” He feels Peter's fingers wrap around his bicep, “You should get home.” He's trying to cut the conversation off and send the boy home, it usually worked. Peter would always take the hint and never push, always giving him his pretty smile and a chirpy ‘Okay, Bye Mr. Stark!’ before taking himself home but today? Today, Tony let out slip that he did want him and Peter caught onto it because he's smiling big and sweetly at him and his hand is squeezing his arm softly before letting his finger trail through every grove of the deep lines to his muscles.

“Oh c’mon,” Their faces are so close that Tony can feel the warm heat of Peter’s breath hit his lips, “I’ve been saving it for you, y’know?” Tony's brows furrowed at the confession before he realized what he was saying, his virginity. Heat runs from the tips of his ears to the bottom of his feet at those words because obviously Tony knew he was a virgin and he knew he liked older men, he'd admitted both without Tony asking, and Tony suspected the attraction early on but the confirmation that he was desired by him makes him run hot. Even if he did give in, he couldn't give the boy what he wanted right now. There was no lube in this room and he was not going to take this precious boy’s first time in a cold lab.

“We really shouldn't.” Is all he says but he's not stopping the situation even though the voice in his brain is yelling at him to push Peter away but the horny part of his brain is telling him to lean forward and close the distance between the two. He doesn't. He can't but Peter isn't letting him get away, he's filling his space with that familiar scent of cheap cologne that drove Tony's mind crazy.

“Let me make you feel good.” The words drip from his lips and Tony can't tear his eyes away from them, “Just this once.” Peter's lips graze against his own softly as he speaks, “Do you want me to stop?” The question hangs heavy in the thick air. No, please don't stop. Tony stared at the lips so close to him and he didn't answer the question because he'd be lying if he said yes, “Peter…” The name leaves him again as a hail mary and that was the last thing said before the young boy is biting the bullet and leaning forward to seal the gap between them.

Tony stills frozen for a long moment, eyes wide in shock because he wasn't expecting Peter to actually surge forward and kiss him. Sure the flirting and growing tension should've given him that idea but he just assumed Peter would back out like he always did. Peter doesn't have to let the lack of reciprocation make him fill with anxiety because after only a couple of seconds, Tony is finally giving into him and his eyes fall closed as his lips finally find the pace of the boys. It's not as hot and messy as one would expect for a kiss that had been building up. Instead their lips are moving against one another in a wonder-filled kiss, learning the feel of each other's lips. Peter’s were so much softer than his slightly chapped ones and was that cherry he tasted? Chapstick probably, it would explain why they were so smooth.

Peter doesn't want to pull away from the kiss, it would give Tony time to overthink the situation and he had finally gotten what he wanted so he presses his lips to the man’s own with more pressure. Tony doesn't hesitate to reciprocate the feel, tilting his head up and pushing his weight against his seat so he could match the kiss. Peter can finally let his hands truly feel up the older man now so he lets both of them find their way to the older man's covered abdomen. They trail up his stomach slowly and he wishes he could feel the smooth skin against his own so they find their way up the tight tank top. His fingers grazed the skin gently and Tony's hands were trembling beside him. He gripped the chair tightly as the kiss began to grow hotter the more they spent kissing, Tony could only hold back how horny he was for Peter so much now that the seal was broken.

The man's tongue pressed up against the boys gently in invitation to turn the heat up and Peter happily accepted, letting his tongue slip out and graze over Tony's as their lips moved together. Peter noticed the lack of hands on his body and well that wouldn't do so he reached out blindly, following the length of Tony's body until he found his wrists. He grabs them gently and pulls them away from the iron grip they hand on the seat below him. Peter leads them to his hips, encouraging the touch. Tony's fingers grasped the hips gently at first but as the kiss continued, his fingers tightened more and more until his right hand was letting go and Peter rejoiced when he felt the warmth lead over his side.

Tony had given into his wants and all of the usual feeling of guilt was gone, being replaced with the burn of need. So when Tony has to pull away because his head is growing light and he can feel less and less oxygen in his lungs, he doesn't hesitate to lean up more and press wet kisses to the boy's neck. Peter is happy to tilt his head to the side and encourage the open mouthed kisses. His own hand found its way to the man's thick hair, tangling his fingers into it and gently pushing his face closer into the crease of his neck.

Tony's hands find his hips again and he pulls the boy in close to his body, thighs spreading to invite his body in as far as possible. Then they're trailing behind his body and down until he's finally giving into his long awaited want, groping the boy's cute, pert ass. His lips are still trailing over the pale neck until he settles on the pulse point right where his neck meets his collarbone and then he sucks. Tony was never one to leave marks on his partners, they were usually one offs but the idea of seeing Peter tomorrow with a hickey he left made his mind race.

Peter can't help the soft moan that leaves his lips at the feel of his neck being sucked. He's never felt anything quite like it and it was hot, the knowledge that he would look into his mirror for the next few days with the reminder of what happened here was what really turned him on. After so many nights of trying to get the man into his pants, tonight would finally be the night. Mr. Stark's thick fingers are digging into the flesh of his butt, squeezing and rolling the skin as if he'd been thinking of doing this for just as long as he has.

Peter uses the grip in the older man's hair to pull him back and Tony lets out a loud moan at the feel of a sharp tug to the locks and the noise sends a shiver down the boy's spine, he needed to hear that more. He is eager to straddle the older man's lap, having dreamt of this moment for years. His legs hang off the side of the chair and he sits directly on top of the other’s crotch. He doesn't dare speak in case he accidentally makes Tony snap out of his horny haze and realize what he's doing so his lips find the man's again but this time the kiss is what you would've expected their first to be, needy and filled with lust. Their tongues touch each other and Tony is taking the boys into his mouth and suckling on it. That has Peter moaning out loudly which in turn, Tony's hands find his glutes again and give them a sharp squeeze. Their lips find the fast rhythm again and Peter’s hands are feeling the older man up completely, finally getting to feel his childhood crush up. He feels Tony’s hands push his body up and his ass rubs up against the older man's clothed crotch. Peter is quick to get the hint and his hips begin to grind down against the man. His own crotch was being pushed up against the man's stomach with each grind and it was obvious how needy he was growing from how hard his dick was already.

There are soft pants being shared between the heated kiss and Tony is growing more and more desperate. Believe it or not, he was still holding back slightly but it wasn't going to last with how good it felt to have the boy's butt rubbing against him. He hadn't felt this horny over some simple grinding and kissing since he was a teenager, his cock was already twitching in interest. His hands roll the flesh of the boy's ass, still guiding his hips back and forth in a rocking movement. The kiss is growing more and more intense by the second, Tony's tongue basically invading the boy's mouth now.

There was a burning sensation filling Tony’s lungs at the lack of air but he wanted to continue the feel of the sloppy, wet lips on his own. He can only put off the need for oxygen for so long and he's pulling back against every want in his body but he doesn't have to dread it for long because Peter is taking the next step and sensually pulling himself off of the older man's lap. His hands trail down the man's chest, abdomen, to his thighs and Tony inhales a breath through his teeth, a hiss ringing through the room.

Peter continues the slow trail of his hands down the man's thick thighs as he lowers himself down to his knees gently, careful not to hurt his knees on the tiled floor. Tony is catching onto the intention quickly and his hands come out in front of him for a moment, “Pete, we really shouldn't.” It's a weak attempt to stop what was inevitably going to happen because his thighs are spreading open to invite the boy between them and although his hand had come forward, he wasn't pushing the other away.

“Tell me to stop.” Peter dares, looking up at the older man from his new position between Tony's legs. Their eyes met and there was a fire behind Peters because he knew the chance of Tony going back on his wants right now we're low and he's proven correct when Tony says nothing and just lets his hand fall down beside him. A grin finds its way onto the boy’s face, “I promise I’ll make it worth it.” His hands are stroking his thighs again until they find their way up to undo the button of the older man's jeans. Peter’s eyes are glued on his crotch as he begins to slowly pull down the bottoms, hooking his fingers into the man's boxers along the way and dragging them down with the help of Tony lifting his hips from the seat. They fall down to a pool around the older man's ankles and he kicks them off somewhere beside them.

His cock isn't fully hard yet but there was definitely some chub and that's okay, Peter would make his throb in need soon enough. The boy's hand trails up his, now exposed, thighs until it's wrapping around his dick. He pumps it slowly at first but is gaining momentum quickly. He'd never given a handjob to anybody before so he could only assume that what he did to himself late at night would also feel good to Tony. He is concentrating on growing the man's arousal and making him fill out completely. He's only thinking of how big Tony could possibly be. Sure there were plenty of leaked videos of Tony that Peter has spent countless nights touching himself to them but none clear enough to get a good look at his dick.

Tony let out a breathy moan as he watched Peter’s smaller hand move up and down his shaft. His cock was growing to full size in no time now that the younger boy was paying full attention to him and Peter was obsessed with the feeling of the cock hardening under his touch, it made him feel attractive, knowing that someone like Tony Stark was into him in a sexual way.

Peter looked up at Tony through his thick lashes and leaned forward slowly, mouth falling open and his tongue came peaking out. He licked a clean stripe from the base of his dick all the way up to the tip, letting his tongue trail over the slit softly which resulted in a shaky inhale of breath from the man above. There was a salty taste settling on his tongue and he was already thinking that Tony tasted better than the boy from his class. He clears his mind of the thought, now is not the time to be thinking of someone other than the man of his dreams and that man is letting out low moans each time he feels the boy's hand move down.

Peter stops drawing out the moment to print the image of his mentor moaning above him in his brain to finally wrap his lips around the tip of his dick and he suckles on it like a lollipop. The taste of him has a moan slipping past his lips, he wished he could print this into his mind but he knows that eventually he will forget the way the salty sweat tasted in his tongue so he makes sure to enjoy the moment. He can feel the eyes of the older man on him so he lets his own come up again to make eye contact as his tongue begins to swirl around the tip. He lets his tongue wiggle into the slit and that gets him a loud moan in return.

Tony was watching the boy closely because he knew that he couldn't do this again, he shouldn't be doing this now but there's no way he can stop. There's no point in stopping now, the boy had already wrapped those pink lips around his cock and was suckling on it like it was a candy. His hand comes up and it tangles in the thick, brown curls but he's not pushing him down, he's just holding it in place and the image of his hand touching the boy as he swirls his tongue around the tip has more moans erupting from his throat.

Peter is encouraged by the sounds and he begins to sink down to the shaft, slowly taking more and more in until he can't anymore. He's a little upset that he can't take it down all the way but he can't be blamed for not knowing how to deepthroat. Not that Tony seems to mind, he's still letting out consecutive small moans with each inch Peter takes into his mouth. It's only about half, maybe less, before Peter feels a gag in the back of his throat so he stops sinking down and focuses on the part he has in his mouth. He pulls his head up until only the tip is in his mouth and then sinks back down, then up and back down and soon enough he is setting a rhythm. His tongue laid flat against the underside of the cock as he bobbed his head, his hand resuming the stroking on the part that didn't fit in his mouth.

Tony could care less that Peter wasn't deepthroating him, it was already the best blowjob of his life because it was him. It was the boy of his guilty desires and secret wet dreams that had him taking cold showers almost every morning. His head wanted to tilt back and his eyes wanted to shut to enjoy the moment but he didn't dare look away from Peter’s sweet mouth wrapped around his thick cock. He wasn't very long, sitting at a comfortable 5 inches but he was thick. Thick enough that Peter's fingers didn't touch and his mouth was stretched wide and the sight was driving the older man crazy. His own mouth was hanging open and his moans were bouncing off the walls of his lab, reminding him of where they were and how easily they could get caught through the class windows that lined the room but he can't find it in him to give a fuck. Not when Peter is picking up the pace of his head and bobbing faster, saliva begins to pool around the sides of his mouth and threatens to drool over his thighs so a hand comes up and with the back of his hand he wipes the side of his mouth.

Tony's hand catches the boy's wrist as it goes to clean the other side and the grip is tight, “Leave it. Make a mess for me.” He finally lets go of the boy and Peter is flushed red at the demand, of course Tony would like messy blowjobs. He wasn't exactly sure how to make a mess but he's sure he can figure it out, he's a smart boy. Peter goes back to concentrating on bobbing his head and when he feels the spit drip down his chin he leaves it, even when it starts to feel cold against his skin and grows a little annoying. The lab was soon filled with not only Tony’s moans but also the ‘schlick’ from the man's cock being repeatedly sucked and it was a little sloppy, Peter wasn’t an expert and sometimes would take too much into his mouth causing him to pull back with a gag or his teeth would lightly scrape over the skin but Tony only found it so much hotter that way. The slip ups reminded him that Peter was an inexperienced virgin and he was ruining the boy's innocence, it was hot. Not to mention, the scrape of teeth should've turned him off but he was always a masochist so it only served to make heat burn in his stomach.

Peter was putting his all into it now and he could be a pornstar with how good he looked concentrated on a fat cock filling his mouth. He could feel the spit spilling from the sides of his mouth and lubricating the rest of the cock and it dripped down to the man's balls. The boy's empty hand moved up and cupped them, rolling the two between his fingers and he gave them a soft squeeze which earned him a beautiful moan from the older man. Each moan only encouraged the boy to bob his head faster and suction his lips tighter.

Maybe it was the way the boy played with his balls or the way his tiny mouth barely fit around him but Tony could feel his orgasm growing closer and closer. Tony mumbled a small, “Fuck, Pete.” As the rush of pleasure flooded through his veins. He was pushing back his need to cum but it would only last so long, “Gonna cum.” Is the only wanting the man can force out of his mouth as Peter begins to tongue his way into the slit of his dick again. His grip on the curls tightens as he gives in to the want of tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. He fights back to urge to buck his hips up into the tight mouth, Peter probably couldn't handle face fucking just yet. No, not yet. That makes it seem like there will be another time and there won't be. He has to make sure of that.

Peter is doubling his efforts at the warning and the grip in his hair is the encouragement he needed to try and take more of the cock into his mouth. He doesn't make it far before he is trying to pull back with a cough daring to come out but Tony is holding down his head because he's so close. Peter sputters around the cock, a cough getting caught in his throat and it squeezes Tony’s cock just right. The spit is dripping down his chin and all over the man's cock, ballsack, and onto the chair beneath the older man, completely making a sloppy mess of the man's bottom area.

The older man is letting out loud moans into the air and the thought of being a respectable man and not filling the boy's mouth with cum flashes in his mind but before he can even try to pull back, both of Peter's hands are reaching up and grabbing his hips in a tight grip and holding him in place. Tony now realizes he definitely underestimated the boy's strength in fights because he can feel the dig of fingers in his flesh pinning him down to the seat. The idea of Peter having him ass up on a his egyptian sheets and using that strength to hold him in place as he rams his dick into him was filling his brain, he's sure Peter would learn how to fuck him quickly—the boy was always so good at picking up anything new that Tony introduced him to during their shared lab time or sparring that he knows the boy wouldn't be any different in bed. It shows with how quickly Peter had learned to suck dick, the slip ups not happening as much as Tony would want to make his nasty brain remember how innocent Peter was. He can feel the warmth in his stomach growing and his thighs were beginning to shake as he grew closer to the edge. Tony's moans grew louder and louder and Peter knew from all those nights of watching his leaked porn videos that he was getting closer with each bob of his head. There was precum leaking onto the boy’s tongue, so much of it and it was warm and salty–a hint of what his cum would taste like.

Peter feels the spurts of warm cum fill his mouth and a loud moan leaves his throat. His cum is, thankfully, not horrendous tasting and he's more than happy to swallow every bit the man has to offer. It honestly was good to him, well maybe not good but it was definitely a taste Peter wouldn't mind tasting every day of his life. He slowly pulls off of his cock but stops when he gets to the tip and starts to suckle on it like he did at the beginning. He feels the man's thighs tremble beneath him in overstimulation and he hears the pick of soft whines.

“Peter! Fuck!” Tony moans loudly and grips the locks roughly, the feeling of him sucking on his tip was borderline painful but in a good way. His hips try to move up to fuck the boys mouth but he can't move and when Peter feels him trying, the grip tightens even more and he can feel the ache on his hips. It wasn't knew to him that he liked overstimulation, he would fuck himself until he was dumb some nights when he needed to feel something so he's more than open to letting Peter continue until the boy is tired but the boy is pulling off with an over exaggerated ‘pop’ and Tony hears a giggle ringing through the room. He opens his eyes and looks back down to see Peter staring up at him with a big grin on his face, “I knew I could make you cum.”

Tony is panting above him, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. His brain hadn't fully cleared yet and he knows the boy is aching in his pants, “C’mere, Pete.” He ignores the boy's statement and is using his hands to grab the boy by his wrist and dislodges the tight grip on his hips to pull him back up onto his lap. His view is soon blocked by the boy's body straddling his legs and his hand is finding its way to the boy's jeans and undoing the zipper easily. He stuffs his hand into the front and pulls out the cock until it is sticking out hard and leaking between them, “Let me help you.” His hand is pumping the smaller cock up and down but it's dry so he gathers a pool of spit in his mouth and spits directly onto the tip.

Peter moans out loudly at the view of Tony spitting on him, it was so dirty and made his stomach twist. He wasn't going to last long, he realized as Tony's hand resumed the movements. His hands reached up and he gripped the man's shoulders and he felt the man's thumb trail over the slit to gather the precum which earned him a loud whine of, “Mr. Stark~” The name fueled heat in his stomach again but he was an older man, he needed time before going again unless he took the pill. Peter leans forward and smashes his lips against the man's, sloppily kissing him with tongue.

Tony is more than happy to return the kiss, his mouth opening to allow the boy's tongue to trace over his own and it's Peter’s turn to wrap his lips around the muscle and then sucking on it like he did his cock. Tony moans out at the feeling and his hand is picking up the pace on the other dick to which Peter is returning the moan and releasing the man's tongue to resume the wet kiss. The man strokes the boy's cock at a steady pace, using the precum and spit as lube. He’s storing the moans deep in his brain and Peter’s hips begin to fuck up into his fist as he presumably grew closer to his orgasm.

Peter is letting out moans and whines into the older man's mouth as the coil in his stomach grew and grew until his body tensed up and he blew his load all over his mentor's fist. Peter pulls back from the kiss to tilt his head back and moan about loudly in pleasure and Tony is watching intently as Peter’s mouth dropped open and as white painted his hand. The strokes are slowing down as Tony strokes him through his orgasm and eventually it stops the movements and he's giving it a soft squeeze which in turn got him a whine and some squirming.

As Peter comes down from his high, realization of his slip up starts sinking in on Tony. He should not have allowed this to get so far, “Oh fuck.” The words slip past his mouth in worry and that has Peter looking at him in confusion, “I shouldn't have-I mean we shouldn't have done this. I-Shit. I told myself I wouldn't do this. Fucking damnit.” Tony can feel the anxiety gathering in his chest and Peter is frowning deeply at the words.

“It's okay, Mr. Stark! I wanted it.” He was reassuring because the last thing he wanted was for Tony to feel bad for taking him. He was the one who had been chasing after him for months now but he knew it was inevitable that Tony would allow the guilt to rise, he should've taken that into consideration before jumping his bones and now there's dread filling his veins that this might be the last time he sees Tony. The man's could cut off all ties now, fuck! He didn't even think of that.

Tony shakes his head repeatedly, “It is not okay. We can't do this again. Ever.” He is finally finding the boy's eyes and is, for once in his life, stern in his words. All Peter hears is that he is not kicking him out for good and his internship is safe because even though he convinced the man for it only to seduce him, he genuinely enjoyed the position and it would look great on his college applications. He nods repeatedly, “Yes, okay! Whatever you say, Mr. Stark.” And they both know it's a lie, the dam had been opened and there was no way either of them could live without touching each other again.

Peter leaves the lab that night with a bright grin on his face and a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He walks home in the dark and enjoys the cool air against his skin, he'd just sucked Tony Stark's cock. The proof of it was the flavor of cum and cock that sat on his tongue until he brushed his teeth that night before bed. He touches himself with the memory of the weight of his crush’s dick in his mouth and the feel of the big hand over his own until he came for the second time that night. Then he's curling up in his twin size bed and cuddling into his pillow as he dreamily thinks of Tony. There were many nights that he spent thinking of the older man but tonight was different because his plan had actually worked! He had actually been able to break the man down enough until he touched him. If he was being honest, he wasn't expecting it to actually work. The plan was one he’d made up on a whim and to know that Tony saw him the same way he looked at him made a smile frame his sweet face until sleep overtook his body.

Tony on the other hand spends the night on the verge of tears, he did the one thing he had promised himself not to do. He stares at the suit in front of him and the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest and his hands were trembling, he needs to get out of this lab—it only served to remind him of his mistake. He grabs a bottle of overly expensive whiskey and engulfs himself in the smooth liquor, staring at the wall in front of him as he thinks over every move that had led him to this moment in his life. It's not like he didn't enjoy it or something like that, it was just that Peter was completely off limits–or he's supposed to be at least. He doesn't know how he's meant to face his aunt when he needs to ask for permission to go on a mission. God, he still needed to ask permission because he still lived with her, this was so wrong.

Maybe this was payback for all the bad he'd done in the past, maybe it was finally coming back to bite him in the ass. That's the only reason he can think of as to why the universe would make him weak over a teen. He wished he could say that it was only sexual, that he only wanted to have the boy spread open beneath him but he knew it was a lie. He knew that he also wanted to see the boy smile over a present Tony got him and to laugh at his stupid jokes. He wanted to hold the boy's hand as they watched movies together on his large television until they both fell asleep. He wanted to work with him down in the lab every night, tinkering away on their projects and only speaking up to talk about the work until Peter would eventually drag him up to bed to get some much needed rest. It makes him want to throw himself into an abyss, he shouldn't want all this with someone as young as Peter.

The two spend the rest of the night completely different but thinking of each other nonetheless, their minds flooded with the memory of their forbidden act and how they would greet each other the next time they saw one another in person. Tony drowned his entire bottle and half of another one, drunkenly sipping directly from the glass. His mind never stopped racing until drowsiness was filling his body and he laid down to sleep with anxiety eating him up while Peter slept like a baby, not knowing the moral dilemma he’d put the older man in but it wouldn't happen again. It couldn't. It wouldn’t.

(It happens again)

#mason's writing #starker #ironspider #starker fandom #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter #starker nff #starker smut #starker fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

miss-sturn · 3 months ago

Text

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo | Finale.

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 9: Thriller night.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9

Warnings: Death. Bad ending. Cursing.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, the ominous words still echoing in my head:

"Don't answer the door."

But I couldn’t ignore it. We needed help, and this was our way out.

“Matt, don't!” y/n’s voice cut through the tension, her fear palpable. I turned to see her behind me, wide-eyed and trembling. I wanted to tell her to run, but the words caught in my throat as I faced the monster before me.

I glance at y/n one last time. Her face is pale, her eyes silently pleading with me. I push the thought aside. This has to be over. It has to.

With a deep breath, I yank the door open.

And there he is.

Me. But not me.

My doppelganger stands in the doorway, his twisted grin illuminated by the dim hallway light.

His hand clenches a bloody knife, and in his other, a torn candy bag drips with something far darker than chocolate. His eyes lock onto mine, his grin widening.

"Trick or treat, bitch."

The sight of him freezes my blood, and before I can react, he lunges at me, shoving me backward into the apartment.

The door slams shut, trapping us all in this nightmare.

I scramble to my feet, reaching for y/n, but she hesitates, backing away. There's a flicker in her eyes—a trace of fear mixed with something unrecognizable.

She’s pulling away from me.

The doppelgänger laughs, a bone-chilling sound that sends a shiver down my spine.

"You thought you could save her?" he mocks. "You thought this was all just a bad dream?"

I stagger, heart racing. My muscles feel leaden, every move like wading through quicksand.

He advances toward y/n, the knife glinting menacingly, "Get away from her!" I lunge to grab him, but my vision blurs, the room twisting and spinning.

But…the twist.

Y/n's eyes lock onto mine, her lips curling into a small, almost apologetic smile.

And then… she steps forward, toward him.

I freeze, disbelief washing over me as she whispers something under her breath, something I can’t quite make out.

Then she takes his hand.

"Y/n?" My voice cracks, barely audible, the shock too much to process.

She turns to me, her face pale but determined. "I’m sorry, Matt," she says, her voice cold. "But… this was always going to happen."

My breath caught in my chest as the realization hit me: she was no longer just a terrified girl caught in the middle of my nightmare.

And with a swift, brutal motion, she takes the knife from his hand and drives it deep into my chest.

I gasp, the pain exploding through my body. The betrayal stings even more than the blade as I collapse to the floor, blood pooling around me.

“You thought you could save her?” my doppelgänger mocked, glancing back at y/n, who now wore a chilling smile. “She’s mine.”

The last thing I see before darkness overtakes me is their figures—mine and hers—standing over me, smiling as the room around us begins to twist and warp. Like the nightmare isn’t over, like it’s just beginning.

Darkness.

I blink, groggy and disoriented, lying on y/n’s kitchen floor. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, and for a moment, everything feels ordinary, safe.

I sit up slowly, my hand flying to my chest, but there’s no wound, no blood. I glance around, confused but relieved to see y/n sleeping on the couch nearby.

There’s no blood, no knife. Was it all just a nightmare?

I stagger to my feet, my chest aching with a raw, hollow pain that sinks deep. The betrayal is a fresh wound, and my heart twists as I watch her, sitting there with a chilling calm.

Every moment echoes with her words: “It was always going to happen.”

Unable to shake the image of her turning against me, I back away, fury and sorrow boiling up until it’s almost unbearable.

Blinded by betrayal, I stumble into the kitchen, hands trembling as I fumble through the drawer and pull out a cold, gleaming knife.

Each step feels heavier, a weight pressing down as I return to her side, blade clutched tight.

“Why?” I whisper, voice raw, a tear sliding down my cheek. But she only watches, unreadable, offering no answers, no remorse. Just that silent, haunting calm.

In a single, swift motion, I drive the knife into her chest.

She gasps, her eyes widening as they meet mine, and my breath catches as I see, not malice or anger in her gaze, but… innocence.

Her lips part, a flicker of pain flashing across her face, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. A tear rolls down her cheek, glistening in the dim light.

Was this… was this not her?

The silence after the final shudder of her breath hangs heavy, oppressive. My chest tightens, and I stumble back, the knife slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor.

My mind races, confusion blurring with horror as I stare at her still form, trying to make sense of the innocence in her eyes, the tear that glistened there.

But then, the doorbell rings.

And this time, it’s real.

My stomach twists with dread as I stand, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, I approach the door, every instinct screaming at me to stop, to turn back.

But I don’t.

I open the door.

Standing there, just as before, is my doppelgänger, his grin wider than ever, his eyes gleaming with malice. He raises the knife again, dripping with fresh blood.

"I told you," he whispers, stepping forward. "You can't kill what's already dead."

But then, a shadow stirs behind him.

It’s y/n, emerging from the darkened hallway, her movements slow, unnatural, like a puppet on strings. Blood stains her shirt where the knife pierced her, yet her eyes burn with a twisted, malevolent glow.

Her lips pull into a sickly smile, and she steps forward, her gaze locked onto mine with a predatory gleam that sends chills down my spine.

In that moment, a sick jolt of disbelief surged through me, twisting into a horror that clawed at my chest. I thought I’d ended this—I thought she was gone.

“Y/n… how? How can you be with him?” I whispered, my voice raw, barely audible. I backed away, feeling a betrayal so deep it left me hollow.

“Why not, Matt? He understands me,” she replied, her voice dripping with venom. “You were always too scared to embrace the darkness.”

Then, without a word, she ran into the darkness, her figure blurring as the kitchen began to twist and shift around me.

The once familiar space morphed into a chilling corn maze, the walls of towering stalks looming ominously. Shadows danced between the rows, whispering secrets that sent shivers down my spine.

“Y/n!” I called out, my voice echoing in the eerie silence. I felt a strange pull, a desperation driving me forward as I sprinted deeper into the unnatural corn maze.

Each turn brought new terrors: rustling leaves that seemed to mock my every step, distant whispers that tickled the back of my mind.

The air thickened, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister.

But then I saw her—a flash of movement in the distance. “Y/n!” I shouted again, pushing past the creeping vines and twisting paths.

My heart raced as I navigated the maze, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Suddenly, the doppelgänger appeared, but just as quickly as he came, he vanished into the shadows, leaving only the chilling echo of his laughter behind.

My instincts screamed at me to turn back, but I couldn’t abandon her, not now.

The corn stalks whispered around me, their rustling growing louder, and I felt a chilling sense of dread settle in.

Just when I thought I was lost forever, I caught sight of her again, standing still at the end of a narrow path, her back turned to me.

"Y/n." I say softly, my voice barely more than a whisper, my heart aching with a storm of emotions—betrayal, grief, an aching need to understand, and... something else I can’t even name.

As I gaze at her, conflicting emotions wrestle within me. I had just killed her—had felt the warmth of her blood on my hands, the finality of her breath leaving her body.

And yet, here she stood, hauntingly beautiful amidst the corn maze's shadows. I should feel rage, betrayal, but instead, an ache in my chest deepens.

Y/n pauses, and for a heart-stopping moment, everything goes still. She turns, slowly, her movements unnaturally deliberate, like she’s savoring every second. My breath catches as her face finally comes into view.

Her eyes are dark, glistening with a strange light, and her lips curve into a bittersweet, knowing smile. It's a face I almost recognize—but twisted, hollow, like the girl I knew has been swallowed by something else.

Then she speaks, and her eyes soften, but for a moment, it’s like I’m looking at the girl I used to know—the girl who’d laugh at my jokes, who'd smile shyly when I caught her glancing my way.

Her expression shifts, a glimmer of sadness touching her features as she looks at me with those familiar, tender eyes.

"You really think we can escape this, Matt?" she asks, almost pleading. Her lips tremble as though she’s fighting back tears. "This is Halloween... their night."

“Matt…” she breathed, her voice now soft and vulnerable. “Don’t you see? This is our chance. We can be free.”

In that moment, something shifted, and I was drawn to her. The darkness that had enveloped us faded for just an instant, revealing the deep connection we shared.

I stepped forward, our bodies inches apart, the heat between us igniting a fire I thought was lost.

“I’ll save you,” I whispered, my voice laced with determination as I closed the distance between us, my heart racing. I reached out, brushing my fingers against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. “I won’t let him take you.”

I leaned in, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss as I gently cradled her face, her delicate body.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt right—until I tasted something metallic, something warm.

I pulled back, confusion flooding my senses as I realized it was blood, her blood, seeping from her mouth.

The blood poured steadily from her mouth as she stepped back, staring at me with wide eyes, an evil smile gracing her lips as she cocked her head to one side.

Then, she reached out, stroking my face with her fingertips, the softness of her touch contrasting the horror of the moment.

"I've always loved you, Matt,” she said softly, the words hanging heavy in the air.

I felt a rush of emotions, my heart aching with a desperate longing to tell her how much she meant to me, how I would do anything to pull her back from the darkness. But the words caught in my throat, leaving me paralyzed.

Then, with one final look of pity, she spun round, disappearing into the corn maze once again.

My heart pounded in my chest as I touched my bloodstained lips, the metallic taste a grim reminder of what had just transpired. I had to find y/n—I had to save her.

With renewed determination, I bolted down the darkened maze, my feet pounding against the floor as I pushed through the suffocating fear.

“Trick or treat!” she screamed, her laughter echoing eerily in my mind as I dashed deeper into the shadows, her voice haunting me, refusing to let go.

But as I ran, I stumbled and fell hard, the impact jolting me back to reality. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my side.

“Don’t you want to feel the thrill?” her voice echoed through the hall, laced with malicious glee, sending chills down my spine.

I shook my head sharply, fighting against the intoxicating pull of her voice. The shadows morphed around me, twisting into nightmarish shapes, taunting me with glimpses of what I feared I might lose forever.

Then;

“Matt,” she called softly, that deceptively sweet tone wrapping around me like a vice. “Come join us. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I whip my head around, in search of the voice. But a bitter truth dawns on me. Y/n was dead. This was not her. This was her doppelganger.

I turned to escape, ready to find another way out, when suddenly, y/n emerged out of nowhere, her figure gliding between the corn stalks like a wraith. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with an iron grip, her eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity.

"Come join us." She said, her mouth stained with blood, head tilted to the side.

I try to yank myself free, but it's no use. Her eyes turn angry when she sees the look of horror on my face.

"Don't run from me." She snarls, her tone dripping with urgency and something darker. I felt a jolt of panic, confusion twisting in my gut as I tried to pull away, but her hold was unyielding.

"Let go of me!" I yell, my voice echoing into the endless void of the corn maze.

Then her face suddenly drops, devoid of any emotion, transforming into something freakishly calm. A smile played on her lips, but it was devoid of warmth. She stared into the void, her gaze distant and unsettling.

Then she uttered one chilling word: “Run.”

Panic surged through me, and I stumbled, yanking free of her grip. As I turned to flee, I felt a knot of dread tighten in my gut, the shadowy remnants of her presence lingering as I raced away.

Without thinking, I rounded a corner and came face to face with my doppelgänger, who stood there with that twisted grin, his eyes gleaming with malice.

Just as I was about to crash into him, a sudden, surreal sensation enveloped me. I felt myself floating, the world around me blurring and twisting as I was pulled through him, as if I were a mere ghost passing through a wall.

In an instant, everything shifted, and I found myself transported back to the kitchen. The room was eerily quiet, but the suffocating feeling of dread lingered, pressing against my chest like a heavy weight.

Matt stumbled forward, breath heaving as he felt himself cross an invisible threshold, the haunting echoes behind him fading into silence.

For a moment, he thought he’d escaped—that he was free of the nightmare. He took a shaky breath, grounding himself in the stillness of the night.

But then—pain, sharp and unrelenting, bloomed in his back, stealing his breath. His knees buckled as he looked down to see a blade’s edge protruding just below his ribs, blood seeping through his shirt.

His body convulsed, and he fell forward, his mind struggling to process what was happening.

But even as he felt himself slipping away, he could hear her voice echoing in the night, haunting and beautiful. “You wanted the thrill, Matt. Now you’ll live it.”

The world spun as he dropped to his knees, hands instinctively clutching his chest, blood pooling beneath his fingers.

Weakly, he looked up, hoping for one last glimpse of her, of the person he once trusted.

But her face was devoid of warmth, her eyes fixed on him with a twisted satisfaction. She leaned down, close enough that he could feel the coldness radiating from her.

In that moment, I understood the true horror of Halloween.

I was trapped, destined to relive this nightmare over and over again.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing my doppelgänger, now fully formed and grinning widely. “You can’t kill what’s already dead, Matt,” he said, his voice a twisted mockery of my own.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead,” he repeated, stepping closer.

Again. And again.

You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.

"Darkness falls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand. Creatures crawl in search of blood, To terrorize y'all's neighborhood.

And whosoever shall be found, Without the soul for getting down, Must stand and face the hounds of hell, And rot inside a corpse's shell.

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

@bernardsbendystraws for the divider!!

a/n: lowkey rushed this!

21 notes · View notes

najia-cooks · 1 year ago

Text

[ID: Buttermilk being poured from a Moroccan ceramic cup with orange and black geometric designs into a glass. End ID]

لبن نباتي / Lbn nabati (Vegan traditional buttermilk)

Lbn (لْبْنْ or لْبَنْ; also transliterated "lban") is a Moroccan buttermilk drink. It is not to be confused with standard Arabic لَبَن‎ ("laban"), meaning "milk"; with Levantine لَبَن‎ ("laban"), also called لَبَن رَائِب ("laban ra'ib"), which is curdled milk (a.k.a., yoghurt); or with Levantine لَبْنَة‎ ("labna"), which is yoghurt that has been strained and thickened.

Instead, lbn is a traditional buttermilk. It is historically made the same way Western traditional buttermilk is: by leaving raw milk to sit at room temperature while the cream separates and rises to the top, allowing the cream to ferment, and then churning the cream until it separates further into milk solids (cultured butter) and a cultured liquid byproduct (traditional buttermilk). Commercial Western buttermilk, and some Moroccan lbn, is now no longer traditional buttermilk but instead cultured buttermilk, which is produced by fermenting low-fat milk; this produces a thicker, more acidic liquid than traditional buttermilk. Lbn is usually made with goat's milk, though cow's milk is also often used.

Lbn—very sour and tangy, slightly sweet, and about the consistency of milk—is consumed as a refreshing after-dinner drink during the summer. It is also used to soak كُسْكُس ("couscous") (made from durum, barley, or corn flour). Couscous with lbn is called سَيْكُوك ("saykouk") in Darija (Moroccan Arabic), or أزَيْكُوك ("azaykouk") in Tamazight.

Saykouk is a cold dish, commonly eaten in the desert and in rural areas during the summertime; but it is also sold from food carts and by vendors on bicycles year-round in cities. On Fridays, Moroccans often eat couscous dishes with lbn on the side, and may make some on-the-fly saykouk by pouring lbn into their bowls to soak the couscous that remains after the vegetables or meat in the dish have been eaten.

This recipe resembles cultured buttermilk, in that it ferments non-dairy milk with live cultures to achieve a sour taste. However, it more resembles traditional dairy buttermilk in taste and texture. Note that this lbn is intended for drinking and for recipes that call for Moroccan traditional buttermilk, and not for replacing Western cultured buttermilk in pastries or pancakes.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Paypal | Venmo

Ingredients:

2 cups full-fat oat milk

1-3 vegetarian probiotic capsules (containing at least 10 billion cultures total)

A few pinches salt

A few pinches granulated sugar

Make sure your probiotic capsules contain no prebiotics, as they can interfere with the culture. The probiotic may be multi-strain, but should contain some of: Lactobacillus casei, Lactobacillus rhamnosus, Bifidobacterium bifidus, Lactobacillus acidophilus. The number of capsules you need will depend on how many cultures each capsule is guaranteed to contain.

Instead of probiotic capsules, you can use a specialty starter culture pack intended for use in culturing vegan dairy, many of which are available online. Note that starter cultures may be packaged with small amounts of powdered milk for the bacteria to feed on, and may not be truly vegan.

Other types of non-dairy milk may work. My trial with soy milk did not succeed (it never became notably tangy). Soaked and blended cashews will thicken substantially, so be sure to blend cashews with at least twice their volume in (just-boiled, filtered) water if you want to use cashews as your base. I found that oat milk, as well as being more convenient and cheaper than cashews, more closely mimicked the taste of lbn. I have not tested anything else.

Instructions:

1. Boil several cups of water and use the just-boiled water to rinse your measuring cup, the container you will ferment your lbn in, and a wooden spoon or rubber spatula to stir. Your bowl and stirring implement should be in a non-reactive material such as wood, clay, glass, or silicone.

2. Measure oat milk into a container and open probiotic capsules into it. Stir the powder from the capsules in until well combined.

3. Cover the opening of the container with a cheesecloth or tea towel. Ferment for 24 hours: on the countertop in temperate weather, or in an oven with the light on in cold weather.

Taste the lbn with a clean implement (avoid double-dipping!) to see if it is ready. If it still tastes 'oaty,' continue fermenting for another 1-3 days, tasting every 12 hours, until it is notably tangy.

4. Blend lbn with large pinches of salt and sugar; or put lbn, salt, and sugar in a jar with a lid and shake to combine. Taste and adjust salt and sugar.

5. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week. This lbn will continue to culture slowly in the fridge and will eventually (like dairy lbn) become too sour to drink.

Serve chilled.

#I'm really excited about this one guys I have been racking my brain for a way to make vegan lbn forever!!#but that was before I knew about the power of culturing #Moroccan #cultured #fermented #vegan recipes #vegetarian recipes

82 notes · View notes

marshmellowrio · 1 year ago

Text

Flight of the Night | Chapter 3

Word count: 1031

“I asked Rhys if I could take you to dinner with Lyssa, just us girls, and he said you wouldn’t want to. But honestly – would you rather spend time with those two ancient bores, or us?” Mor grips my chin and brings my face next to hers, both of our faces the picture perfect image of innocence.

“For someone who is the same age as me,” Rhys drawls and Mor lets go of my face, “you seem to forget-”

“Everyone wants to talk-talk-talk,” Mor says, giving Cassian a warning glare as he opens his mouth and I snort. “Can’t we eat-eat-eat, and then talk?”

Azriel chuckles from across the table and starts digging into his food. Giving the cue to the rest of us to start eating as well, Mor clinks her glass against Feyre’s. “Don’t let these busybodies boss you around.”

She’s one to talk, I think. Cassian beats me to saying it, “Pot. Kettle. Black.” He frowns at Amren’s plate while I shove another bite into my mouth. “I always forget how bizarre that is.” He takes her plate and dumps half of its contents on his own before passing the rest to Azriel, whose hand is awaiting.

“Cassian.” I scold at the same time Azriel excuses to Amren.

“I keep telling him to ask before he does that.”

Amren gestures absentmindedly towards me, “If you two haven’t been able to train him after all these centuries, boy, I don’t think you’ll make any progress now.”

Cassian doesn’t even look up from his, now again, full plate. I take a sip from my glass of water.

“You don’t---eat?” Feyre questions the ancient being across from her.

“Not this sort of food.”

I smile when Mor cringes next to me. “Cauldron boil me,” she says, taking another gulp from her wine. “Can we not?”

Rhys chuckles, “Remind me to have family dinners more often.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat so I can look at him behind Mor and Feyre as I say, “Last time you said something along the lines of, never again, remember?” I grin as he grimaces.

My plate is almost empty when I hear Azriel start talking and look up to see him holding out his siphons for Feyre to see. “They’re called Siphons. They concentrate and focus our power in battle.”

I look down at my own hands, seeing the two emerald Siphons glittering in the light.

“The power of stronger Illyrians tends toward ‘incinerate now, ask questions later.’ They have little magical gifts beyond that---the killing power.” Rhys clarifies. At times I rather liked the incinerate now, ask questions later part, it kept me alive long enough.

“The gift of a violent, warmongering people,” Amren adds. I furrow my eyebrows at her, seeing Cassian give Azriel a sharp look as he nods.

Rhys goes on, “The Illyrians bred the power to give them advantage in battle, yes. The Siphons filter that raw power and allow Cassian, Azriel and Lyssa to transform it into something more subtle and varied---into shields and weapons, arrows and spears. Imagine the difference between hurling a bucket of paint against the wall and using a brush.” Nice metaphor. “The Siphons allow for the magic to be nimble, precise on the battlefield---when it’s natural state lends itself toward something far messier and unrefined, and potentially dangerous when you’re fighting in tight quarters.”

Cassian flexes his fingers, while staring at his red siphons. “Doesn’t hurt that they also look damn good.”

“Especially in the bedroom.” I counter as Cassian grins at me. Azriel closes his eyes and Mor sucks in a breath beside me.

“Illyrians.” Amren mutters.

Cassian bares his teeth and takes a drink of his wine. I continue eating as Feyre starts fumbling for words, “How did you—I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian—” Cassian spews out his wine across the table, Mor leaping up and me coughing as a piece of food gets lodged in my throat.

I cough harshly as my throat clears, tears having formed in the corners of my eyes, I take my glass and drown the liquid inside. Cassian howling with laughter across the table.

“Cassian,” Rhys drawls, “is not a lord. Though I’m sure he appreciates you thinking he is.” He surveys all of us. “While we’re on the subject, neither is Azriel. Nor Amren. Mor and Lyssa, believe it or not, are the only pure-blooded, titled people in this room.” The muscles in my entire body tighten at his words. “I’m half-Illyrian. As good as a bastard where the thoroughbred High Fae are concerned.”

“So you—you four aren’t High Fae?” Feyre says to us, catching my gaze for a second.

Cassian settles down enough to answer her. “Illyrians are certainly not High Fae. And glad of it.” He hooks his hair behind an ear—showing the round edge. “And we’re not lesser faeries, though some try to call us that. We’re just—Illyrians. Considered expendable aerial cavalry for the Night Court at the best of times, mindless soldier grunts at the worst.”

“Which is most of the time,” Azriel clarifies to her.

“I didn’t see you Under the Mountain.”

I still.

“Because none of us were.” Mor, she speaks up, daring to break the silence that had fallen.

Rhys’s cold voice explains. “Amarantha didn’t know they existed. And when someone tried to tell het, they usually found themselves without the mind to do so.”

“You truly kept this city, and all these people hidden from her for fifty years.” The wonder in her voice almost makes me snarl.

This city was safe, yes, protected. Not all had had that pleasure. My heart beat harshly in my chest, I hadn’t forgiven him, not yet.

Amren says, “We will continue to keep this city and these people from our enemies for a great many more.”

I grit my teeth, this dinner is proving to be more loaded than I expected.

Mor turns slightly away from me, towards Feyre, to explain, “ There is not one person in this city who is unaware of what went on outside these border. Or of the cost.”

A/N: Let me know how you liked it and if you wanted to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

#acotar #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acotar fic #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #flight of the night

51 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 1 year ago

Text

In From the Snow - Chapter 1

Summary: With her sisters missing and her father dead, Nesta is forced to brave the coming winter and the contempt of her fellow villagers on her own. That is, until a mysterious dog appears and refuses to leave her side.

My contribution to @nessianweek Day 4: AU.

This is the Nessian installation to my They Are the Hunters series. While I would recommend reading the Elucien/Feysand stories, I did my best to give this story enough context to stand on its own. I really hope you enjoy!

Also shout out to Mr. LB for letting me borrow his computer to post this!

Read on AO3・Series Masterlist

The first snowfall of the year had always been a terrible omen.

Every year, as it laid siege to their poorly insulated cottage, Nesta’s family would wonder if they would live to see the snow melt in the spring.

This year, Nesta had known before the first snow arrived that their father would not survive the winter. His health had been deteriorating for a long time, and the news of Elain’s disappearance had devastated him, accelerating his decline until he could do little more than sleep beside the fire. She was a wretch for thinking it, but Nesta had long decided the day he didn’t wake up would be a relief. It was one less mouth to feed, especially when that mouth was hardly capable of swallowing for itself.

The firewood was dwindling. Nesta had used up so much of the excess in the days she had refused to leave the house, expecting the authorities to be waiting just beyond the front door, ready to carry Nesta and her father away to certain death. It didn’t matter if Feyre had been the one to steal the traveler’s horse or that Elain had allegedly been the one to murder her own husband. Neither were here to show for their crimes.

But the authorities never came. And her sisters never returned.

Surely, if either of them had been caught, the authorities would have come for the remainder of the Archerons? Nesta hadn’t yet braved the village to confirm, which meant that she and her father were on the brink of starvation, too.

Given that Nesta’s own constitution was rapidly weakening with the cold, it was no surprise at all that when the first snowfall visited in the night, it took their father with it. She didn’t feel relief when he didn’t open his eyes the next morning. She felt… numb.

Like her face when she opened the cottage door to a blast of frozen air. Like her fingers as she gripped the splintering shovel. Like her palms, rubbed raw from the repetitive motion of digging the metal into the cold, solid earth, then depositing it into a pile at her side.

Nesta had never had a good relationship with her father. She had always assumed that when he died, Elain would be there to express whatever sweet sentiment she felt he was owed at his burial. Unlike Elain, Nesta buried him in silence—just as he had been on the day Elain set down on a path to be married to a Lord’s son against her will.

Elain had never blamed him. Had always insisted it was out of his hands, just like their mother’s death. Just like their family’s fall from fortune when they were children. Elain was quick to forgive, always focused on what lay ahead. But Elain had never looked at their father’s ledger. Nesta had.

Not that any of it mattered now. Their father was dead, and Nesta likely wouldn’t be far behind. At least there had been someone to bury him in the ground, which was more than she could say for herself.

That night, she drank a cup of boiled water and fell asleep curled up beneath a thin blanket in front of the hearth. The fire crackled, close enough to coat her face and hair in soot as the snow continued mercilessly falling outside. Nesta knew that if she didn’t go to the village in the morning to find something to eat, soon she would be too weak to make the trip. And she would die.

By the time she fell asleep, she hadn’t decided which she would prefer.

She woke to sunlight filtering through the frosted window pane and the sound of scratching at her door. Nesta stilled, reaching for the fireplace poker as she wondered if this was it. Someone from the village had finally come for her. The authorities? Or was it just someone taking advantage of a lone, defenseless woman?

A creature sniffed at the small gap between the rickety door and the cold cottage floor. Gods, had someone brought their dog to chase her down? Nesta held her breath, watching the shadow pass in front of her door. Once, twice, three times, like it was moving in slow circles. And then it laid down, effectively barricading her in. She listened carefully for any sound of someone commanding the creature. There was only howling wind.

Fine, Nesta thought, creeping carefully into the room she had once shared with her sisters. The bed felt so empty without them—so much colder than sleeping in front of the fire. The room had a single window, just big enough for her to crawl through to make her escape. She pushed the latch open as quietly as she could and pulled herself through the gap.

Her landing was not overly graceful but quiet enough that she thought she wouldn’t be heard over the wind. Yet, when she turned to make her break, there it was. A dog so large she could have mistaken it for a bear. It had come around the house to watch her sneak out the window, and now it sat directly in her path.

It cocked its head, hazel eyes curious. If she didn’t know better—and she did—Nesta would have thought it looked amused with her stunt. Keeping him in her periphery, Nesta turned her head to assess if its owner was nearby, but nobody was around.

He didn’t look vicious. But he also didn’t look like a stray. He looked too well-fed, and his coat was clean. Well-groomed.

“Go home,” she said, making a small, shooing motion. “I don’t have any food to give myself, let alone some overgrown mutt.”

He was blocking the only way to the village. Ang grinning like he knew it. Cautiously, Nesta took a small step forward, then another, weighing the animal’s reaction. His posture remained friendly enough that she kept moving, still giving him a wide berth once she was on the main path.

The dog swiveled to face her as she stepped around him. And when she started down the path towards the village, he followed. The entire shivering trudge there, Nesta tried to convince him to leave. She’d have enough trouble convincing someone to sell her bread on her own, let alone with a gigantic dog following at her heels. Feyre’s cat had been the exact same way, and Nesta wondered why animals seemed to adopt such strange fixations on their family.

“Go,” she tried one last miserable time on the outskirts of the village. When he still refused, she stomped the rest of the way to the baker’s shop, determined to pretend the stupid thing wasn’t there at all.

It was harder to do so when she saw the baker’s face. “Nesta,” he said warily. His attention flickered to the dog at her feet, then back to her face. She didn’t miss the way his nose curled with distaste. “Hello.”

Never mind all the hours she had spent tutoring his daughter, then. Years of fostering goodwill with his family in exchange for a stale loaf of bread, dismissed on rumor that Elain might have murdered her husband. The village acted like the Archerons had the plague, and even if Elain had murdered Graysen, the reaction was certainly overblown. As far as Nesta was concerned, the Nolan men had been insufferable, and Elain had done the village a favor.

“Hi.” She pressed three copper pieces to the counter. “I just need one loaf.”

He stared at the copper pieces, not moving to collect them.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hotly. “My family’s coin was perfectly fine a month ago.”

“I’ve increased the price,” he said stiffly, pushing the coin back with his arm. Like touching the same coin would somehow mark him as the next Archeron victim. “This is not enough.”

“You used to charge me a copper,” she seethed.

He gestured towards the window. “Winter has fallen. Times are growing harder.”

“And if I asked Claire Beddor how much you charged her family this morning, what would she say?”

The baker shrugged, calling her bluff. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Claire Beddor wouldn’t speak to her. No one would. Not since Tomas, and certainly not since Lord Graysen’s murder.

Gritting her teeth, Nesta pushed a copper onto the table. The baker stared blankly at her, until she slammed down another. He shook his head.

“This is all we have,” Nesta said desperately, even though it wasn’t true. Feyre had stolen enough from the passing traveler to feed them for months—or it would have been if the villagers weren’t raising their prices out of contempt.

The baker opened his mouth, and Nesta truly believed he was going to send her onto the street to starve when the dog at her side began growling. The baker took one look at the creature’s bared teeth and turned pale. He quickly grabbed the extortionate amount of money from the counter and tossed a loaf at Nesta with a strained, “Get out of my shop.”

She’d take it, even if her blood was boiling. The loaf would be enough to last her a week, at least. It would buy her time to figure out how to deal with the villagers. What to do with the remaining coin. If she could just find someone willing to sell her passage to Velaris, it would be enough to get to Elain. But no one from this village would be willing to help.

“Here,” Nesta said, pausing outside her cottage door. The dog stopped with her, watching curiously as she tore a piece from the loaf of bread and held it aloft. “You take this, and we’ll be even, okay? You’ll leave me alone. Deal?”

The dog nodded, though she was certain that had more to do with how she bobbed the piece of bread in the air.

“Ready?” She said, raising the piece over her head. He shuffled back, keeping his eyes on the piece of bread. “Go get it!”

Then Nesta launched it as far as she could towards the treeline, watching as the dog launched itself after it, disappearing in the shadow. She used the opportunity to quickly slip back inside the cottage, hoping that when he returned to see the door was closed and that she wasn’t going to let him in, he would move on to harass someone else.

Nesta woke the next morning to a strange, rhythmic thud cleaving through the forest.

She wasn’t certain if it was the sound or the vibrations that trembled through the old wooden floorboards of the cottage that eventually dragged her from sleep. She rose, blearily fixing her eyes on the hearth that had died at some point in the night, the soot now jostling loose with each powerful blow outside.

Her concern was delayed, seeping slowly through the cracks of the frost-fogged window as she slowly steadied herself in the waking world. It didn’t take long, though, for the ice to leak through and grip her chest tightly.

Then, she was crawling toward the window, careful to keep herself obscured as she slowly raised her face to the frozen glass. It wasn’t the villagers finally come to mob her, thankfully. Though she couldn’t say for certain that the strange man standing over her family’s splitting block was any less alarming.

He held a familiar long-handled axe in his large bare hands. Nesta couldn’t count how often Feyre had warned her not to leave the axe outside. Enough times for Nesta to leave it willingly, half in pettiness and half because she couldn’t stand the sight of the thing. And now it was in a stranger’s hand, lifted over his dark head of hair with discomforting ease before he let it fall onto the upright block of wood he’d placed atop the flared stump. A clean, precise cut.

The man didn’t even survey his perfect work before he chucked the two pieces aside into the pile of wood he’d accumulated over what looked to be hours. Or maybe not. He retrieved another block and split it beneath the axe so quickly that Nesta didn’t doubt he’d be able to clear the whole forest by nightfall. He didn’t even stop to wipe a broad hand across his brow before he was chopping the next block, then the next.

Drawing away from the window, Nesta quickly surveyed the kitchen for something—anything—she could use to defend herself against a man with an axe. A knife seemed useless, but… Feyre had left her bow and arrow behind when she’d fled the village. Nesta didn’t know how to use it, not as effectively as Feyre, but he didn’t know that.

Feyre tried to teach her once. A few winters ago, when the harsh conditions had brought Elain looking so close to death that Nesta had felt desperate enough to learn. But she’d barely caught so much as a rabbit mimicking Feyre’s techniques, and by the time spring rolled around, Nesta resigned the skill back to her sister and took to other avenues of ensuring their survival, like making friendly with the woodcutter’s son.

Not that any of it mattered anymore. All that was left of her family was the rotting cottage and Feyre’s abandoned bow. Her youngest sister might have laughed had she been there to witness Nesta kick the door open with the string pulled to the corner of her lip.

The man paused with the axe raised over his head. He looked over at her, blinking as he took in the notched arrow pointed towards him, then her dressing gown, her bare feet. He raised a dark, slitted brow and grinned slowly as he rested the axe casually over his broad shoulder.

“Careful, sweetheart.” A pair of unnervingly clever hazel eyes raked her over. There was an edge to them, a wildness that seemed well suited to the forest at his back. “You’re going to poke someone’s eye out with that thing.”

“Get off my property.” Her breath clouded in front of her face. So did his—steady puffs of air through his wide nose, a sharp contrast to her heavy exhale even though he had been the one chopping wood.

Did he notice her ragged breath, her trembling hands? Hopefully, he was too busy eying her nightgown, how it’d been sewn for a body a few years younger, tight in the chest and hips because they hadn’t been able to afford a replacement in years.

“Or you’ll what,” he said, with infuriating calm, “shoot me?”

She tightened her grip, pulled the string back further like she intended to release.

He laughed. “Go ahead.”

He believed she didn’t have it in her, the bastard. Nesta kept the bow trained on him, entertaining shooting him just for the crime of underestimating her. “Why are you chopping wood here?”

“I thought this house was abandoned.”

Lie. He’d have been able to see the smoke drifting from the chimney in the hatched roof. Though, Nesta had no way of knowing when the fire had died while she slept. She wished she could go back in and feel the stone to gauge how recently it had stopped burning.

“And why would you be chopping wood at an abandoned house?”

He set down the axe. Her axe. And raised his palms as though in surrender. “I was planning to sell it.”

“You’re going to sell the wood,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said proudly.

“At the village?”

“That is typically where one sells wood, is it not?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” Nesta said, examining his clothes. His winter cape, lined with wolf pelts she would have believed he’d hunted himself, had been discarded in the snow, leaving him in a belted fur-lined tunic of simple make. A pair of leather gloves was tucked into his belt, and his dark hair was tied off his face, though pieces of it hung loose at his temples, his neck. Better off than a common woodcutter, but certainly no lord’s son. “We already have a woodcutter in this village.”

“Is there not room for two?”

The Mandrays wouldn’t think so. It wasn’t Nesta’s problem, but it could be. If they knew he had been at this cottage first, chopping his wood here. Thomas was already looking for any excuse to throw her at the village’s mercy and with the rumors surrounding Elain and now Feyre… Nesta didn’t think she would survive whatever retribution Thomas would seek if he thought she had any association with this woodcutter.

“No,” she said, tipping her chin defiantly. Her fingers were growing numb, the string crooked round her finger cutting off whatever circulation was left. She gritted her teeth. “Go terrorize the next village over.”

As if he didn’t hear her, the man unlooped the belt around his waist and began gathering the wood into a pile.

“I said stop,” she hissed.

“What if I offer you a cut of my profits?”

Not good enough. The villagers wouldn’t take her money. They’d sooner accuse her of stealing it and hang her for the crime.

Besides, she didn’t trust a strange man threatened beneath a bow to return with any measure of good intentions. Particularly not once he discovered she was here alone, with no father or sisters or anyone to protect her, to hear her scream. It was better if this man forgot who she was. All she needed was to survive the winter, then she could attempt the journey to Velaris in the spring. And surviving meant keeping her head down, her mouth shut. Her bow unstrung.

“Leave a few pieces of wood,” she said. “And tell no one that you were here. That’s my price.”

There was something very dangerous about how his mouth quirked to the side. He began placing several logs in a new pile as he asked casually, “Afraid of making one of the boys in the village jealous?”

Nesta’s spine straightened. He might be asking out of ordinary interest, like any gentleman might inquire if a lady’s heart was taken. But from the predatory way he watched her, the way those eyes practically begged her to release her fingers on the drawstring, she thought it was more likely that he was probing for information, determining whether someone would come looking for her if he decided this cottage and its sole occupant were ripe for the taking.

“No one will buy from you if they knew where you chopped this wood,” she said, praying that alone would deter him.

His laughter rumbled through his chest. “Is that because you threaten all your guests with a bow?” Nesta thought it sounded oddly like a question and a compliment in one. She kept the arrow trained on him, kept her jaw clenched as he grinned. “Alright, alright. Understood.” He crouched to grab his cape, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder before lifting the stack of wood by the makeshift sling. He offered a nod of farewell as he set down the path towards the village, “See you around, then, sweetheart.”

Nesta waited until the sound of footsteps faded, and his large frame was eclipsed entirely by trees before she lowered the bow. He’d left the axe behind, embedded in the wood, and she cautiously ventured forward to retrieve it, as well as the generous pile of wood he’d left behind.

She hoped he was wrong. She hoped she never saw him again.

But she couldn’t get the sight of his eyes out of her mind. The way he’d watched her with a hunger that she knew intimately. Her heart was racing in fear, she told herself. If she’d learned anything from her sisters, it was that the desire of men was dangerous.

So when she heard something sniffing and scratching outside her door later that evening and peeked through the window to see the dog lying in front of the cottage, she let it inside.

Just in case the man returned and expected to find her alone.

#Nessian #Nessian fic #Nessian fanfic #Nessian fanfiction #Nesta x Cassian #Cassian x Nesta #They Are the Hunters #In From the Snow #Nessianweek2023

98 notes · View notes

loominggaia · 4 months ago

Text

EVANGELITE SLAVE CUISINE

(This article was actually a request from a long time ago. I don't even remember who requested it, but thank you for the idea!)

OVERVIEW

Slavery is the backbone of Evangeline Kingdom’s economy. Without all this unpaid labor, the entire kingdom would crumble, and a big chunk of the world’s food supply would go down with it. Evangelite slaves literally work themselves to death putting food on everyone’s tables but their own, as their masters are often cheap and refuse to feed them properly. These slaves have found crafty ways to supplement their nutrition themselves.

GRUEL

Colloquially known as “slave slop”, gruel is the staple food of Evangelite slaves, which is provided in rations by their masters. This dish is simply a cereal–such as oats or rice–boiled in milk. If the master is especially stingy, the milk is substituted for water. It’s typical for slaves to eat this for every meal. Slave owners choose gruel as their main staple because of its cheap price, but it is lacking in nutrition, so vegetables and chunks of meat may be added on occasion to perk up sickly-looking slaves.

Gruel is not willingly eaten by Evangelite citizens. It is considered exclusively a “slave food”. Only prisoners and those in extremely destitute conditions will resort to eating this bland dish.

BLOODBREAD

This grisly recipe originated in Kelvingyard, the largest slave market on Looming Gaia. Kelvingyard slaves are deliberately underfed so that they will compete for food, leaving only the fittest slaves to survive. This filters out the weak and undesirable slaves without any effort on behalf of staff, leaving them free to do other things. Desperation has driven these slaves to invent bloodbread.

First, a crude flour is formed from crushed weeds, dirt, insects, blood, and bonemeal. The blood and bones may come from vermin or are sometimes harvested from dead slaves before staff comes to collect their bodies. The flour is shaped into biscuits and left out in the sun to “bake”. They must be fiercely guarded from other slaves while they’re baking, so it’s not uncommon for them to be eaten raw.

COURTYARD SALAD

There are two types of slaves in Evangeline Kingdom: Field slaves and house slaves. Field slaves are those which exclusively work outside, and are responsible for chores like crop tending and yard maintenance. This always includes weed-pulling, so slaves pocket all the edible weeds they can throughout the day and make a salad out of them later. Their masters usually prohibit them from taking home crops, but occasionally they find substantial gifts from nature such as wild beetroots, blackberries, and sunchokes encroaching on the crop fields.

The name “courtyard salad” originated from field slaves who tended courtyards of Evangelite nobles. These massive expanses of grass and manicured hedges were a testament to the nobles’ wealth, but they required hours of maintenance each day to keep them looking neat. The slaves who tend these courtyards can reap a large bounty of weeds for themselves during peak growing seasons.

COURTYARD TEA

Courtyard tea was developed under the same conditions as courtyard salad; field slaves pulling weeds from their masters’ gardens and making meals of them. But they didn’t just eat them, they drank them as well. Some weeds, such as dandelion and mint, make healthy, flavorful teas. These teas can also offer health benefits, which is particularly useful to slaves because they receive substandard medical care or none at all.

Evangelite slaves have passed on their knowledge of medicinal herbs to each other for generations. They use mint tea for digestive ailments, willow tea for pain relief, and chamomile tea for soothing anxiety, but those are just a few of the many possible effects these brews can have.

CASTAWAY STEW

Some slave owners do not allow their slaves to eat their table scraps, instead preferring to compost them for their gardens or feed them to their pets. The most miserly of them prefer to keep all but the rotten scraps as leftovers for their own families. But the wealthier ones tend to be more generous with their leftovers and allow their slaves to eat them.

Sometimes these scraps are eaten as-is, but they can also be thrown into a stew to stretch them further. House slaves are responsible for cleaning kitchens, so they typically reap the most benefit. But occasionally they will share their bounty with field slaves, or field slaves will pilfer these scraps themselves from their master’s trash bins. Cooking it in a stew helps to hide unpleasant flavors of any scraps that have begun to rot.

CRUUSTI

Much like castaway stew, cruusti is made from the leftovers that slaves collect from their masters’ dinner tables. However, cruusti is not a stew, it is a bread made from random crumbs that have been swept off counters, as well as bread crusts that the master’s children refused to eat. Crumbs can also be scraped off of baking pans and utensils. Slaves gather these small scraps of dry bread over time, then when they have enough, they rehydrate them in water and make a crude dough. Sometimes they get lucky and a stray chocolate chip or nut makes its way into the mix.

BONE SCRAPS

Cereal-based gruel is not sufficient enough to feed heavyweight slaves such as centaurs and minotaurs long-term, so their diets are supplemented with so-called “bone scraps”. These are the discarded animal bones from butcheries or dinner tables. They are given to slaves raw and they are often eaten raw too, but if slaves have the means, they may boil or bury them to make them softer. The marrow inside is nutritious and the bones themselves become jelly-like with proper cooking. Satyrs, centaurs, and minotaurs have strong jaws that can crush up the bones as-is, but other peoples struggle with this.

BEETROOT SOUP

Beetroot soup is the most famous dish eaten by Evangelite slaves. You can read about it on the main Evangelite Cuisine article.

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

#lgarticle #askcuisine #askslavery #askevangeline

8 notes · View notes

sukunaslilgurl · 1 month ago

Text

Blades of Betrayal

Chapter eight: Sukunas rage

The first light of dawn crept through the darkened halls of Sukuna’s temple, casting fractured rays over the cold stone floors. Shadows clung to every corner, thick and unyielding, as though they were drawn to the man who ruled within its oppressive walls. Sukuna stood in the center of his chambers, his imposing figure illuminated faintly by the weak sunlight filtering through the slats of the high windows.

His broad shoulders were bare, every taut muscle etched with sharp, ink-black tattoos that seemed alive in the flickering light. Each mark told a story of domination, battles won, and enemies crushed beneath his feet. The faint sheen of his skin caught the light, accentuating the raw power that radiated from his frame. His fiery red hair fell loosely over his forehead, unruly and wild, matching the intensity that burned within his eyes. Those eyes—predatory and blood-red—glowed like embers in the dim room, promising both violence and retribution.

On the low wooden table beside him lay a crumpled letter, its edges torn from the force of his grip. Sukuna’s jaw clenched as his gaze fell upon it again. The words were seared into his memory, each one a fresh wound to his pride and patience. A report from Toji, his general, delivered by one of Sukuna’s own falcons:

Nearly a hundred men, gone. Slaughtered. Toji’s once-mighty army had been decimated, reduced to a handful of survivors. And all because of her.

Irene.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a snarl, exposing his sharp teeth as a growl rumbled deep in his throat. The thought of her—so defiant, so unwilling to bend—stoked the fire in his chest. She hadn’t just left him; she had become a force of destruction, cutting through his men with the precision and ruthlessness he had once admired in her. She had been his masterpiece, his greatest warrior, and now she was using everything he had taught her against him.

“She killed them,” Sukuna muttered, his voice low and venomous. His hands balled into fists, the veins along his forearms standing out as he fought to contain his fury. “My men. My army. She slaughtered them without hesitation. She’d rather bathe in their blood than return to me.”

The room seemed to vibrate with the force of his anger, the tension in the air thick and suffocating. Sukuna’s red eyes narrowed, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to regain control of the tempest inside him.

He grabbed the sash of his blood-red kimono, tying it around his waist with deliberate, forceful movements. The fabric clung to his powerful frame, but he left his chest exposed, the black tattoos across his skin rippling as he moved. His movements were methodical, almost ritualistic, as though each action was a step toward channeling his rage into purpose.

The crumpled letter caught his attention again, and he snatched it from the table, glaring at the words as if they might change under his scrutiny. Toji’s description of Irene’s rampage echoed in his mind:

“She didn’t hesitate. She cut through them all.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened, and the letter crumpled further in his hand. His anger boiled over, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep himself from destroying everything around him. The image of her standing amidst the corpses of his men, her eyes cold and unyielding, burned in his mind.

“Ungrateful, brat” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You had everything, Irene. Everything. And this is how you repay me?”

The words felt hollow, even as he said them. Deep down, Sukuna knew why she had left. He had always known this day would come. Irene had been strong, too strong to stay in his shadow forever. She had been his weapon, forged in fire and blood, but weapons could turn on their masters. And Irene, with her unyielding spirit and defiance, had done just that.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

Sukuna moved to his armor stand, his heavy footsteps echoing through the silent chamber. The red lacquer of his armor gleamed faintly in the dim light, its sharp, jagged edges a testament to his brutal nature. He began to arm himself, each piece a reminder of the wars he had fought and the enemies he had crushed.

The breastplate settled over his chest with a satisfying weight, its dark, angular design perfectly complementing his powerful physique. The gauntlets slid over his forearms, their cold metal biting into his skin. The greaves strapped to his legs, their edges sharp enough to cut. Piece by piece, Sukuna transformed from a man into a warlord, his presence growing more fearsome with each addition.

Finally, he reached for his weapon—a massive curved blade that seemed to hum with deadly intent. He tested its weight in his hand, the familiar heft grounding him as he prepared for what lay ahead.

As he stood there, fully armored and brimming with fury, his gaze drifted to the far corner of the room. There, hanging on a wooden stand, was Irene’s armor.

It was a masterpiece: black as night, adorned with intricate dragon motifs that coiled across its surface. The helmet, sharp and angular, sat atop the stand, a silent reminder of the woman who had once worn it with pride. It was a gift from him, a symbol of her strength and loyalty.

Sukuna stared at the armor for a long moment, his jaw tightening. He remembered the day he had given it to her, the way her face had lit up with rare, unguarded joy. She had laughed—a sound so rare and fleeting that even now, it echoed in his mind. That night, she had drunk herself into oblivion, celebrating her promotion as his first and strongest warrior. Even Sukuna had allowed himself a small grin at her antics.

And now, that same armor was nothing more than a relic, left behind as a final insult.

“She left it here,” he muttered, his voice low and bitter. “She left everything behind. Even this.”

The sight of it stirred something deeper within him—a mixture of anger, betrayal, and a pang of something he refused to name. Irene had worked tirelessly for that armor, had spilled blood and sweat to earn it. And yet, she had abandoned it. Abandoned him.

Sukuna turned away from the armor, his rage rekindled. She had taken everything he had given her and used it to defy him, to fight against him. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her completely.

“I should’ve killed you the moment you turned on me,” he growled, his voice thick with frustration. “But I didn’t. I spared you. And this is how you repay me.”

He stormed out of the chamber, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. The temple seemed to tremble beneath his rage, the air thick with his unspoken fury.

“Prepare my horse,” he barked at a nearby servant, his voice sharp enough to cut. “And send word to Toji. We leave at first light.”

The hunt begins

Sukuna rode at the head of his company, the steady rhythm of hooves striking the earth blending with the sound of metal armor shifting as his men followed in perfect formation. The air was sharp and biting, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as they ascended the rugged mountain trail. His dark red horse, a massive, battle-trained beast, snorted heavily, its breath misting in the cold morning air.

Thirty of Sukuna’s best warriors accompanied him, their stoic faces set beneath their helmets. These were not ordinary soldiers; they were his elite—generals, commanders, and the strongest samurais under his command. Each man was handpicked for their loyalty and skill, but even they were wary of the palpable rage radiating from their lord. Sukuna had said little during the ride, but his silence was heavy, a storm brewing behind those blood-red eyes.

They reached the meeting point near the summit, a desolate outcrop overlooking the sprawling valleys below. The wind howled around them, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of blood. Sukuna’s sharp gaze scanned the area, narrowing as he spotted a figure standing amidst a pile of corpses.

Toji awaited them, his dark armor glinting faintly in the weak sunlight. His stance was relaxed, but there was tension in the air, a wariness that even a man as formidable as Toji could not fully suppress when facing Sukuna. Around him lay the bodies of several men—bloody, mutilated, and barely recognizable.

Sukuna dismounted with a fluid grace that belied his size and strength, his armor barely making a sound as he approached. His commanding presence caused even the strongest of his men to hesitate, and Toji straightened as his lord drew near.

The wind whipped around them as Sukuna’s eyes fell on the bodies scattered at Toji’s feet. One of the corpses bore a striking resemblance to Toji himself, his face bloodied and swollen, but Sukuna’s sharp gaze caught the slight discrepancies—a difference in build, in the placement of scars.

“That’s not you,” Sukuna stated coldly, his deep voice cutting through the howl of the wind.

Toji smirked faintly, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. “No, my lord. Just a decoy to confuse any spies. They’ve been following us for weeks now.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint sneer, unimpressed by the theatrics. His piercing gaze fixed on Toji, the weight of his presence enough to make even the hardened warrior falter. “Did you find her?” he demanded, his tone low but laced with fury.

Toji’s smirk faded, and he shook his head. “No, my lord. She’s always moving. Every time we get close, she’s gone. She’s covering her tracks well. Every day, she puts more distance between us.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, the muscles rippling beneath his sharp, angular features. His fists clenched at his sides, and the air around him seemed to grow heavier. The faint glow of his tattoos pulsed with his rising anger, the black markings on his exposed chest and arms shifting like living shadows in the pale light.

“She’s playing a game,” Sukuna growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. “She knows we’re hunting her, and she’s making fools of us.”

Toji hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “She’s not making it easy, that’s for sure. But my lord… the men—”

“Don’t,” Sukuna cut him off, his red eyes flashing with warning. “Don’t tell me about the men.”

Toji fell silent, his expression grim. He didn’t need to remind Sukuna of the losses they had suffered. A dozen of their best soldiers were dead, cut down by Irene’s blade. She had become a ghost, a phantom that slipped through their fingers and left a trail of carnage in her wake.

Sukuna took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Toji. “She’s killed my men,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s spilled their blood, and for what? To prove a point? To run from me?” His lips curled into a snarl, exposing sharp teeth. “She’s willing to kill them—our people—rather than return. What does that say about her?”

Toji met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “It says she’s desperate,” he said after a moment. “Desperate enough to do whatever it takes to stay free.”

Sukuna’s sneer deepened, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Free?” he spat, the word dripping with contempt. “She was free. I gave her everything—power, respect, purpose. And this is how she repays me? By slaughtering my men and running like a coward?”

He turned away, pacing a few steps as he tried to contain the storm raging within him. His hands flexed at his sides, the tension in his muscles visible beneath his skin. “Ungrateful, brat” he muttered, the word barely audible over the wind.

Toji watched him carefully, saying nothing. He knew better than to interrupt Sukuna when he was like this.

“We will find her,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “No matter how far she runs, no matter how many men she kills. She can’t outrun me forever.”

He turned back to Toji, his red eyes burning with intensity. “Double the search parties. I want every village, every forest, every mountain scoured. If anyone has seen her, I want to know. No stone unturned, no witness left unspoken to. Do you understand?”

Toji nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Sukuna mounted his horse again, the massive beast snorting as if sensing its rider’s fury. He looked down at Toji, his expression a mask of cold determination.

“And when we find her,” Sukuna said, his voice a deadly promise, “she’ll regret every step she took away from me.”

Sukuna pulled the reins of his horse, halting for a brief moment. He turned his fiery red gaze back to Toji, his expression hard as stone but twisted with the faintest trace of cruel amusement. “And another thing,” Sukuna began, his deep, commanding voice cutting through the crisp mountain air. “Ask everyone about her. I don’t care if they give you the answers you want, Toji. Kill them anyway. These filthy, insignificant villagers… they don’t deserve to live. Not a single one. Burn their homes, slaughter their livestock, wipe their names from existence.”

Toji smirked darkly, inclining his head with a slight bow of mock respect. “Ah, don’t trouble yourself with such details, my lord,” he replied smoothly. “Most of the villages we passed through are already… gone. Amachi, Kayahatsu, Norimari—all of them are nothing more than ashes and bones now. The men, the women, the children… None were spared.”

Sukuna’s laughter rumbled low in his chest before growing louder, reverberating like a sinister echo across the mountain peaks. It was a sound that carried both mockery and approval, a twisted melody of power. “Very well,” Sukuna said, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. “You are indeed far better than her. Ruthless, efficient, and without hesitation. Perhaps I should have granted you the title of my strongest warrior instead of wasting it on her.”

For a moment, Sukuna’s gaze turned cold, a flicker of disdain crossing his otherwise flawless, predatory features. His jaw tightened as he spat his next words, laced with venom and self-loathing. “I was a fool. We men… we are all fools when we allow women to crawl into our hearts. Their softness, their charm—it’s nothing but a poison. And like a fool, I let myself drink it.”

The wind howled around them, but Sukuna’s voice cut through it with unrelenting clarity. “But she’ll regret it. She will regret every act of defiance, every drop of blood she spilled. She will regret crossing me with every breath she takes… until her last.”

Toji nodded, his smirk widening as he watched his lord’s wrath unfold. “Rest assured, my lord. When the time comes, she will know the depths of her mistake. And when you take her life, it will serve as a reminder to anyone who dares to defy the great Ryomen Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s expression twisted into a cruel grin, his sharp teeth glinting like a beast ready to pounce. “Yes,” he hissed. “Her death will be a monument to my strength and her failure.”

With that, he turned his horse once more, the beast letting out a powerful snort as it trotted forward. His men followed, their faces grim and determined, knowing that they were marching toward a bloody destiny.

In his mind, Sukuna pictured Irene—her defiance, her fire, her betrayal. But more than anything, he imagined the moment he would find her, the moment he would make her pay leaving him. And for the first time in weeks, a twisted satisfaction stirred within him.

The hunt would end with her and Sukuna would ensure it ended with her beautiful head cut it of her shoulders.

3 notes · View notes

movingtothefarm · 5 months ago

Text

Pemmican Comments

You can use meat grinder instead of blender to grind dried meat, nuts, fruit, salt, etc... The sticky berries get ground into the dried meat eliminating that issue. Add a little solid tallow in also to keep the blade and other moving parts lubricated.

If you make it with onion or garlic powder it makes a great soup/stew starter that you can add foraged ingredients to. Use hardtack to thicken the stew.

My family in the northwest are salmon fishermen. They make a version of it with salmon and berries mixed in. I’ve some in a soup and just plain. It was honestly great plain like a powdered jerky. They warned me not to eat too much because it was like it was a concentration and highly nutritious. It gave me lots of energy and it was hard not to eat too much when it tasted so good. I love it!

Roald Amundsen used pemmican on all his expeditions, he was first to reach the geographical South Pole in December 1911 and he sailed the Northwest Passage for the first time in 1903. He used half and half of fat and meat, he added oatmeal and peas. And for the dogs he made dog pemmican with fishmeal and more fat. His description: "Pemmican tastes excellent, takes up little space and can be eaten raw, fried or boiled." Especially as provisions on a sledge expedition, it is invaluable".

The key to longevity is getting all the water you can out of the tallow, meat and fruit. I generally add just 10% by weight dried fruit to the meat and then about 1/2 to 1 teaspoon of salt per pound of the dry mixture, then equal parts by weight dried mixture and rendered tallow. For my last batch I smoked the meat for an hour before I dried it and ground it up and the flavor was absolutely amazing! It's definitely the best trail food ever.

Last time i rendered tallow i saved the crunchies for my dog, she loved that mixed with her kibble!

From the comments though I think there is a misconception about what tallow is. You can just heat any animal fat and filter it but heat it again and get all of the moisture (bubbles) out. Then if you put it in jars and keep moisture away it will last for a very long time.

Moisture is what makes fats go rancid. That is why adding nuts reduces the storage life too. But actual tallow is made from the fat around the kidneys. Even at room temperature or above it is solid rather than liquid. It has more the consistency of wax, basically. But that's why it is good for this. And candles. It isn't affected by water and keeps all of the dry ingredients away from the moisture, which is what makes things go bad. Other fats are fine for short term events like hiking or camping but for true long term shelf stable Pemmican kidney fat tallow is what you want.

The Fat of the Land by Vilhjalmur Stefansson compiles many primary sources from times and places where pemmican was produced in large quantities and served as a staple for months or years.

#pemmican #survival food #how to #tips and suggestions #camping #shelf stable #protein and fat #tallow #rendering fat #dehydrated

3 notes · View notes

tsukivampyr · 3 months ago

Note

Kiwi smut

Male reader pays her, they hate each other but want a good time

They point each other with guns at some point

here you go! this was a bit rushed but i hope it's fine.

hostile heat

(i couldn't resist giving it a title..)

the neon buzz of night city's skyline filtered through the blinds, casting sharp, pink-tinged streaks across kiwi’s stark apartment. you stood just inside the doorway, her unimpressed gaze cutting through you like a monomolecular blade.

her bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, cyberware glowing faintly at her jawline, her lips curled in a sneer. “could’ve sworn i told you not to come back,” she said flatly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall.

you tossed her a cred chip, the weight of it heavy in the palm of her hand. “yeah, well, i’m here anyway. you gonna keep jawing, or are we doing this?”

kiwi scoffed, flipping the chip between her fingers before pocketing it. “you’re lucky i don’t charge double for your personality.” she stepped closer, a sharp, predatory edge to her movements, her eyes raking over you like she was sizing up prey.

you didn’t like her—hell, she didn’t like you—but that only added fuel to the fire sparking between you. whatever this was, it wasn’t about affection. it was need.

she unzipped the front of her suit with an exasperated sigh, exposing the pale stretch of her torso. her cybernetic enhancements gleamed in the dim light, a stark contrast to the soft curves they adorned.

“staring isn’t part of the package,” she said, her tone biting.

“just admiring the craftsmanship,” you shot back, pulling off your jacket and tossing it onto the floor.

her glare could’ve killed a lesser man. “shut up.”

you did—if only because you wanted to feel her mouth on yours instead of wasting more words. when you finally kissed her, it was a clash of teeth and tongue, rough and unyielding. her hands fisted in your hair, yanking hard enough to sting as she pulled you closer.

you pushed her back against the wall, the sharp hiss of her breath like music to your ears. she didn’t falter, though. instead, she ground her hips against yours, her body a challenge you were eager to rise to.

“you think you can handle me?” she snarled, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“i’ll do more than handle you,” you growled, your hands sliding down to her hips and gripping tight.

she let out a low laugh, sharp and humorless. “big talk for someone who doesn’t know when to quit.”

before you could respond, she shoved you backward, sending you sprawling onto the bed. her bodysuit was gone in an instant, discarded carelessly onto the floor, revealing every inch of her pale skin and intricate augmentations.

you couldn’t help but admire her, even as she climbed on top of you, straddling your waist with a confidence that left no room for argument. her lips crashed against yours, her hands roaming your chest, nails scratching at your skin.

every touch was rough, every movement calculated to drive you to the edge. she didn’t just want control—she demanded it, and you weren’t about to let her take it without a fight.

your hands found her waist, gripping tight as you flipped her onto her back. she hissed in annoyance, as she grabbed the gun from the nightstand and pressed it against your temple.

“don’t get cocky,” she warned, her voice dangerously calm.

you froze for a moment, then smirked, sliding your own weapon from its holster and pressing it to her ribs. “right back at you.”

her lips curved into a twisted smile, her chest rising and falling against yours. slowly, she eased the gun away, her hand sliding back to your shoulder. you did the same, tossing your weapon aside as the tension between you reached a boiling point.

the rest was a blur of heat and friction, skin against skin, nails raking down backs, and bruises that would linger long after the night was over. there was no gentleness, no softness—just raw, unfiltered need.

when it was finally over, the two of you lay side by side, the sheets tangled around your legs. kiwi lit a cigarette, the faint glow of the ember casting shadows across her face.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” she muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

you chuckled, running a hand through your hair. “takes one to know one.”

she didn’t respond, but the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.

it wasn’t love—it wasn’t even like—but it was something. and for tonight, that was enough.

#anon request #thanks anon!#kiwi cyberpunk #cyberpunk edgerunners #request #oneshot #slight smut #meow meow #kiwi

4 notes · View notes

littlehen · 4 months ago

Text

Recipe: Italian Wedding Soup (with Pastina)

I actually got round to making this [X] which I reblogged ages ago! This was so delicious that everyone had seconds.

Make the meatballs: put 250g turkey mince in a mixing bowl. Add half a cup of unseasoned breadcrumbs (60g = 1 slice of bread). Add 1 egg, S+P, 1 tsp garlic powder and 1 tsp dried herbs e.g. parsley. Mix it all up with your hands.

Roll the meat into little meatballs the size of cherry tomatoes. Place them on a foiled baking tray. Bake in the oven at Gas 5 for about 25 mins. Take them out and carefully nudge them with a spoon to give them a little roll around the tray before their final 5 mins.

Make the soup while the meatballs are cooking. Prepare 3 carrots sliced, 2 celery stalks diced, 1 medium onion diced, 3-4 garlic cloves minced, handful fresh spinach chopped slightly (optional)

Put 1 or 2 tbsp olive oil in a deep pan over medium heat. Add all the veg except the garlic and spinach. Cook 6-7 mins. Add garlic, cook 2 mins.

Add S+P, 1 tbsp Italian herbs, 2 bay leaves (and I added a sprig of fresh thyme from the garden) and 1.8L chicken stock. Add 1 cup/100g pastina (little pasta shapes e.g. stars, margheritine or broken up spaghetti). Bring the broth to a boil, then simmer 5 mins.

Add the meatballs and continue to simmer 5 mins. Add the spinach for 2 mins.

Serve and top with a handful of finely grated parmesan. (I bought bread too, but it has all that pasta so we didn't need it.)

Picture’s not very pretty but I was in a hurry to eat. The meatballs look raw with this filter, but I promise they weren’t! Turkey mince comes in packs of 500g so I actually used that much and 1 cup of breadcrumbs (all other amounts the same), I put half the meatballs in the soup and the other half I'll use in packed lunches during the week. You could just buy a tray of meatballs for convenience (cut 12 in half to make 24 little ones) but it’s much better value for money to make them.

#food #recipes #dinner ideas

4 notes · View notes

vansickles · 2 years ago

Text

HAIL MARY

Rating - teen & up

Word Count - 537

Fandom - The Wolfman (2010)

Warnings - body horror; werewolf transformation; blood and mild gore; religious references

I’ve been wanting to post this for a little while now and finally remembered to do it omg. a little transformation ficlet I wrote several months ago for Lawrence my beloved; hopefully one day soon I’ll do something a little more fleshed out for him :3

—

Moonlight, weak and pale as it casts its first rays against the treetops and the forest floor below; it filters through holes in the walls of this decrepit crumbling church in trickles, teasing at the edges of Lawrence’s knees where he kneels down between rotted pews with his hands clasped tightly and held before his chest.

He mumbles to himself, eyes screwed tight as if his blindness to the moon would make it so that it wasn’t there at all.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

He’d prepared this time, at least. Followed the ache in his bones and the itch in his teeth out of the city and into the countryside, deep enough into the woods the beast would sooner run upon a herd of deer than a village to satiate its never ending hunger for blood. Not that the preparation or anticipation ever did him any good when the change finally reared its ugly head- nothing like his fathers, so seamless and natural from years of welcoming the wolf in.

The Lord is with thee.

No, his was brutal and raw and never fit quite right, man and beast fighting with bared teeth and iron willpower every step of the way. His tore him into shreds and built him anew; snapped his bones and stretched his sinew and curdled his insides as they rearranged themselves- just as they did now, jolting him forward to curl in on himself with gritted teeth and a groan as his spine crackles and arches.

It aches, and it burns, molten fire eating him up from the inside as coarse hair prickles up through his skin and covers him whole, fingers curl and pop and claws dig up through his skin, splitting the nails in two as they emerge.

Holy Mary, Mother of God.

A scream bubbles up from between his lips, guttural and pained and anything but human- he sucks in a sharp breath, hitching over a convulsion from a muscle in his chest, and cries out again, begging, a plea, but nothing spills from his mouth but an animal roar, gargled from the blood coating his tongue when gleaming fangs begin to break through his gums. Legs snap, reform- skin stretches tight over added mass that doesn’t belong- senses heighten; everything is sharp, pointed, knife-edged, and it hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts-

Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

It’s brought forward onto its palms with a vicious snarl by one last snap of its spine as it settles into its new place, digging it’s talons into the craggy stone floor as it gives its head shake, once, twice, to gather its bearings- newly birthed again by the light of the Goddess of the Hunt. A low growl, and slowly its lips peel back away from glinting fangs with a boiling rage that pumps through its veins like an untamed wildfire, a rage it soon turns to the sky.

Pushing itself back onto its haunches, it throws back its head- no roof left to hide the moon from its gaze- and breaks the silent night air with a long, heavy howl, full of warning.

Amen.

#The Wolfman (2010)#The wolfman #Lawrence Talbot #Benicio Del Toro #Benicio Del Toro fanfic #wolfman fanfic #zima writes #fic

21 notes · View notes

travi3sapsd · 1 year ago

Note

never used photoshop so im curious to see your opinions about photopea vs photoshop

ok things to be known: 1) adobe can suck my cock and balls theyre evil and i wish that the corporate entity that is adobe would go up in flames, a corporation shoud NOT have that much insight in your privacy, files, sensitive info, etc 2) photopea is great and built off a small dev team as a basically a passion project, which is awesomesauce! i'm not knocking them at all, and i think ppl should support them in anyway they can

i've been a graphic designer and photographer for years now, and in hs i became adobe certified. i literally spent four years of my life learning on an industry standard. it becomes muscle memory after a while. beside that i was a roleplayer so i became VERY familiar with edits and gifs and all that. again everything became muscle memory. adobe suites are the industry standard for a reason, and for GOOD reason. i think they have an amazing interface and work hard to update the experience and make shit easier for artists; like i will give them that even if i sound like a bootlicker. i never paid for it tho lol as a student i got it for free and i would use cracks/torrents.

when i got my new computer it wouldn't let me run bootcamp so i couldn't crack the adobe suites like i used to :/ new mac processors or whatever don't rely on intel anymore, so not intel = no bootcamp. most cracks are pc based so i just couldn't find one that worked for me. apple went ham on protecting IP and combating torrents so it's like impossible to crack without an extensive VPN or else adobe will literally send a cease and desist to your internet provider. its sincerely fucked up.

i switched to photopea bc of this. i really liked it, but im autistic so having to relearn my own workflow that ive had for years made me want to hashtag die. the interface is VERY close to photoshop, so it wasn't hard, but it doesn't have the same capabilities i was used to w ps. i do NOT like edited photos in photopea; i think its way too laggy and glitchy to work with giant raw files, which really sucks!!! for making small edits and doing my graphic design tho??? i do really like it. it doesn't have the same capabilities as ps sure, but once i just fucked with the filter galleries and different plug ins and worked my process around what photopea could accomplish, i was good as gold. i've been producing quality work on commission through photopea. it's a learning curve for sure, especially if you have zero experience with an editing interface like that, but the more i use it the more i learn.

all of that being said, i think photopea is fucking awesome for being completely free and open source. it has its issues —— sometimes its way too glitchy for me and pisses me the fuck off, i have to frequently save my psd files and hope that they don't fuck up, and then reopen so it's less laggy and rinse and repeat bc some of my stuff takes hours lmfao —— but i think its pretty darn close to the photoshop i was using like less than a year ago. its glitchy, its laggy, the ads are annoying and clog up the screen, but i simply cannot complain to much when its a smallish dev team working on a shoestring budget (last time i checked) and for FREE. like its open and usable on any browser and computer and i think thats rad.

if i could go back to ps without giving them money i would in a heartbeat. ps is awesome for the work i do, and i like that there's constant improvements and updates. it just boils down to look, feel, and workflow to me; ps is rarely laggy and glitchy, its meant to handle giant projects, there's so many plug ins you can find online, etc. i just wish it wasn't a subscription based software; honestly if i new adobe was less like the elf on the shelf and i could make a one time purchase, i would. but alas.

anyways i'm pro photopea all the way. idk if any of this was helpful its mostly rambly lmfao. but yeah. i don't do much photography anymore, so i don't have to work around the glitches and lags and all of that with photopea; i focus on graphic design for event fliers and social media content + rp resources. it has room for improvement for sure for sure, but it's lovely and helpful in its own way.

#i typed this with a broken hand i deserve a purple heart for this

6 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 2 years ago

Text

"SIDE GOLD"

CHAPTER 3: OOTONO BENJI (PART 1)

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Black market"... an illegal market. In Japan, it mainly refers to a temporary market where transactions were made at exorbitant prices compared to the official price immediately after the defeat of the war. They were crowded together in urban areas and mainly dealt with food and household items. With the revival of distribution and the abolition of price controls, the number gradually declined and, with a few exceptions, was absorbed into the permanent market system.

Ootono Benji slowly raised his head in the mist.

(Again "Musikui".) Note: worm-eaten

At first, he was relieved that it was not coming towards them and it crept in the opposite direction. After doing that, he narrowed his eyes at what it was aiming for.

Beyond the thick fog... where two forces collided.

They fought big and fiercely, dispersing their power.

It was crawling around.

(I have a bad feeling about this.)

Ootono took his time getting up. As he adjusted the position of the accordion he held, a murmur like a sigh filtered through the bandages.

"Wait, let's take a look... I just have a bad feeling..."

Ootono began to walk, with long, thin legs and small steps.

Someone noticed.

"Hey, Ben-san is coming out."

And he called to those around him.

From deep in the mist...

"Oh, my gosh, the pot was boiling."

"Let's all eat right now."

"It's the end of the fire. Hurry up."

"Even if you don't hurry, I'll catch up with Ben-san."

"This backpack will soon wear out."

"Come on."

"Yes."

A buzz and a crowd responded.

Ootono didn't look back and walked forward with long, slender legs and small steps.

Relying on something vague that only he could sense, he stepped into the mist.

"Kagirohigumi" and the "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau" clashed in a desolate wasteland at night.

On one side, fierce faces that showed fighting spirit.

On the other hand, they tried to act cool in a lineup.

In the center, two men advanced as if in a duel. Combining oppression and amazement, no one could get in their way, no one could get close to them.

Before long, as they walked,

Unno Yutaka blew hot enough to burn the night air and asked.

"A former officer?"

He didn't even ask his name.

He didn't even ask him about his current position.

He didn't even ask him about the meaning of his power.

He didn't ask anything unnecessary.

Somei Nazumi understood his intentions, but responded calmly.

"Yes. Before the war, I worked in the general staff office."

"Is that so?"

The heat was changing color.

Red, always red, the color of anger.

"That's you, isn't that?"

As soon as he said that, Unno's entire body burst into flames.

Nazumi didn't stop walking and answered while he hid his gaze under the brim of his hat.

"Not exactly, but I am."

The absurd answer, it was not clear to be delivered to the other party.

The "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau" had already completed an investigation into Unno's background.

In other words, Nazumi had taken over all of the opponent's circumstances. Although he himself never belonged to a department involved in kamikaze operations, it is an indisputable fact that he was a member of the General Staff. But concealment, excuses and silence are not his style.

That's why he responded with absurd words based on the facts.

Besides, he had no intention of giving in to guilt.

He had things to do, so he would never stop walking.

Even now, his footsteps were regular and sharp.

"You're the kind of person who can't speak until you get hit."

"......"

Unno did not understand the reasoning.

Or rather, his reasoning was paralyzed by his overflowing emotions.

He stayed behind, but found someone to hit with all he had.

The answer that brings the man back, the opportunity, the power that he had been seeking for so long...

"Ok, untie the sword at your waist."

It was just a request for the outbreak of war.

He had a low posture like a beast, sneaking up.

As the distance between them narrowed, Nazumi naturally placed his hand on his waist. When he took the saber out of its scabbard and picked it up, a crystalline blue glow engulfed his entire body. Among them,

"It's not like I'm trying to take it easy because I feel a sense of shame or guilt."

An extra word was added that surprised even the person himself.

Unno responded with a kind smile.

"Prey what you want... I'm a fist type."

He closed the remaining distance with one foot.

At the tip of that rush, a fist engulfed in red flames collided with the saber and exploded.

In the explosion that colored the night, Nazumi waved his saber and a blue glow spread, restoring calm to the area.

Unno was not in the blue landscape.

The moment he realized that, Nazumi swung his saber over his head.

In the air, Unno's leg, which was kicking as if he was jumping, collided with the saber again and exploded again. This time, without delay, the saber flashed, but Unno returned it.

At the moment when three explosions occurred in the middle, they faced each other.

A battle that exceeded expectations, with Unno smiling ecstatically.

An expressionless Nazumi hid his eyes under the brim of his hat, perhaps dodging the exploding flames.

The red power and the blue power collided, but they never mixed and burst.

As if regretting the distance that they had taken, they collided again.

Unno scattered red flames, turned them into cannonballs, and threw them at Nazumi.

Nazumi clothed himself in blue crystals, knocked down the cannonballs, and returned to tranquility.

The opposing forces strengthened each other, filled the space and finally saturated.

Red and blue lights spread out in the night, enveloping the "Kagirohigumi" and the "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau" who were watching the battle.

And, the power saturated from him became a spark that split the night sky, revealing it in the blink of an eye.

A show of power with an overwhelming presence.

A manifestation of terror with the tip of his sword stuck in the ground.

Two giant swords, red and blue, with both sides.

In order to avoid a series of explosions, both the "Kagirohigumi" and the "Fourth Legal Affairs Office", who had descended to a corner of the plaza, were engulfed in the light of their respective "King". The surprise passed quickly, replaced by confusion at a sudden surge of energy.

Tamataro Okuma opened and closed his palms to fully enjoy the feeling of power.

"I see."

He took a big step forward and fired a flaming punch at a nearby blue suit.

Iyoda, who had his fist thrown...

"Uhieh?!"

As he raised a pathetic voice, he drew his sword in an instant and received the attack.

He was well below his "King", but it was enough to shake the air.

Both parties, who were thinking of their own changes, came to their senses.

"Idiot! What are you doing?!"

First, Hoizumi yelled and drew his sword.

Then Rokugo and Toneyama attacked.

"Hey!"

"Ha!"

As Okuma jumped back, Nizuka and Hentani came closer.

"Are you safe, Iyoda-san?!"

"I, well, you accepted it, just now."

Hakizawa, unable to draw his sword, helped Iyoda, who was on his buttocks, to his feet.

"Hey, get up~"

"I-Iyoda, unharmed..."

Adding Iyoda, who was muttering out of habit while rolling his eyes, the "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau" formed a line.

On the other hand, the "Kagirohigumi" also gathered around Okuma and showed their overflowing power with their fists and weapons.

His step to join the battle of the "King" that was still going on.

"That's all!"

"Guys, stop!"

The scolding of the two people in front of them stopped them.

Somei Chika stalked out of the center of the formation.

"Now is not the time for such fights!"

Todokoro Suwako pushed through the bastards and stepped forward.

"That guy is really on a rampage, it's not a stage for little people to appear!"

The two women collided in the eyes for a few seconds.

Without even expecting that, a red stray bullet flew out.

Chika immediately hit the ground with the butt of her naginata and screamed.

"Below!"

Regardless of the faction, everyone in the place complied.

A blue barrier developed around the naginata and stopped the stray bullet's explosion.

A few seconds after the flames finally died down, Chika's knees relaxed.

Just one shot, just a few seconds, it was too strong.

Suwako stood up and said:

"Here!"

She purposely yelled so that even the blue clothes could hear her. While she was at it, she grabbed the wobbly Chika's hand and ran.

They all followed her and barely escaped the fierce battle.

"Oh, thank you."

Suwako didn't look at Chika as she thanked her. She cursed the man who made her do it and she just ran.

"That bastard will be terrible later!"

After a few seconds of tightrope walking, they slipped into a barely comfortable spot, behind a bench at the end of the lot. Suwako and Chika exchanged smiles after checking each other's clothes.

"You're doing it, right?"

"No, not yet."

Chika responded with sincere remorse and sat down on the ground. She put the naginata next to her, straightened her back, and saluted again.

"You're Suwako Todokoro from "Kagirohigumi", right? My name is Somei Chika."

"A pleasure."

On the contrary, Suwako carelessly stretched out her long legs and asked pretentiously.

"Are you the lover of the Somei who is fighting with us?"

Chika responded firmly.

"He is my husband."

"Uh, how nice."

"Hey."

Okuma inadvertently rushed towards Suwako, who collapsed without thinking.

Chika ignored him and kept talking.

"As for my work, I serve as an underboss to help him. We are the "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau". It is an organization that cracks down on what you call Ichigeimono."

"Hmm, you cleaned the guys on the rooftop, so that's the suppression."

"What? Is that true?"

Okuma was surprised by Suwako's unexpected testimony and asked.

Chika nodded calmly and honestly without showing off.

"That is also my task. I came here with the intention of fighting you, so the current result is a matter of course."

"Hmm, well, it doesn't change that I was saved, and I'd like to thank you for protecting me at that time. Thank you."

At this point, Suwako didn't show off and thanked her honestly.

Such a personality made Chika feel good and she smiled slightly.

"I'll guess."

Okuma, who was deep in his thought, opened his mouth.

"Is it related to the movements of these guys that you guys came?"

His gaze went to Thomas Colt and "Ebisu no Kunizo" lying at his feet. Realizing that Unno was about to go insane, he brought the gang with him as he fled.

Okuma is quick to act and quick to think. From Colt and Chika's environment, he had a rough idea of the situation.

"These guys said that we should join the Occupation Army. The reason they seemed strangely impatient was because they were competing with you."

"It's going to be a political story, so I can't talk about it carelessly."

Chika's explanation lacked clarity for the first time.

"Honestly, I didn't think the conversation would go this far. I don't know if it was unexpected for Nazumi..."

Suwako didn't answer immediately, but looked over the bench. A glimpse of Unno's expression in the midst of the war, his expression clouded with danger overflowing with joy.

"It's been a long time since he felt like this. It's a dark laugh that seems to be possessed by something when you guys arrived at my house."

After saying that, little, weak...

"Finally, here with everyone..."

She expressed her emotions.

Okuma, who had the same thoughts, asked with a slightly heavy voice.

"Your husband is strong, right?"

"Yes. He won't break easily."

Chika affirmed that.

Beneath the two swords, the two "Kings" collided.

The wait and see was over, and they continued to increase their powers.

This attack was blocked, so let's hit it with a stronger blow.

If he also pushes this defense, then let's defend it even more firmly.

Switching between attack and defense, taking a surprise attack and hitting him head on, as he repeated this, Nazumi realized that his timing was out of step. He noticed it and was very offended.

"I see... I understand why even with the power of the "Blue King", I can't do well, I can't help but slip."

A pleasant voice laughed at the displeased voice.

"What are you talking about?!"

Nazumi explained as he repelled all the fist attacks with his saber.

"There's always the fluctuation that the devil suddenly appears and rages, so it can't be done perfectly."

"If you are going to speak, so that the other party can understand... Say it!"

With more force, he drove his fist.

Several barracks behind the locked fist were torn off in a shock wave accompanied by flames. The area where they were fighting and the adjacent market were already empty. When it became clear that they were going back and forth with the boss, who was also a formidable opponent, they were all gone. It was already customary, it was treated as a disaster, and those who had dispersed to other compartments were only preparing to extinguish the fire while holding their breath. Fortunately, Nazumi's power extinguished all the subsequent flames, so there was no concern about the fire.

As told, Nazumi uttered words that the other party could understand.

"Because there is a person like you..."

He struck with his saber.

"My calculations are going crazy!"

Unno was dragged and pushed back.

"Ha! I'll teach you words that can be said in one word!"

From there, he pushed back, hit it, and proceeded.

"You're in the way!"

Nazumi turned around and prepared for the next attack.

"So, take my word for it... I'd like to say it, but there's a real problem."

"Eh?"

He did not understand the position of the suspicious Unno. He stayed alert for a conversation.

"Finally, I have "this time". After all, we couldn't talk until we'd hit each other."

"You are a bastard who speaks in a tiresome way."

To keep the mood of the blue clothes (he didn't remember his name) in the fight, Unno continued with his words.

"I don't have ears to listen. I don't even want to ask questions."

"What was that?"

The two, who never clicked, crossed paths forever.

"I just took a deep breath... to gain even more power!"

As he said, the flames that engulfed Unno's body gained momentum.

It was misunderstood, Nazumi became more offensive.

"I have no intention of interfering with you. Rather, it is the opposite."

"If you turn into a corpse, I'll listen to you! After crushing me, speak by yourself!"

"You really are annoying."

Nazumi was even confused by Unno's unwavering fighting spirit.

This was his first battle with the "King". He didn't want to admit it. Still, he was optimistic at the start of the accident. Assuming that he was an opponent of the same rank as him, he guessed the skill and saw through the peculiarities of the movement in the crossover. As always, a shogi game that charts the winning streak.

However, this "Red King" completely destroyed his board and his calculations.

Nazumi's guess and insight weren't wrong. Nazumi was far superior in skill, and Unno never changed his movement pattern. His sophisticated martial arts skills which trained from Chika were forced to leave neglected gaps many times.

However, Unno never gave up. He even gained heat and strength with each powerful blow. Like a cauldron from hell leaking enough lava to crack. Nazumi began to push slowly.

Unno approached with a crazy smile, Nazumi recognized him as a serious threat.

"Not yet, not at all!"

"It's not something to carelessly say "so it will be"."

However, he did not believe that he would be defeated. As he fought, he continued to analyze opponents who exceeded his expectations. He was convinced that there was no way that as the "Blue King" he couldn't do it.

This man, Unno Yutaka.

"If it's you, the red that overflows from me will be dyed a single color with blood, flames, and the sun of this day!"

A kamikaze pilot who survived.

Emotional outbursts stemming from suicidal thoughts.

If he were to interpret the phenomenon before his eyes lightly, that would be the case.

(However, there is a sense of incongruity.)

It should be easy to deal with someone who's been dumped.

It's just that he was moving forward without thinking about self-destruction.

Unno was clearly different.

When he jumped, when he was attacked, when he burned with power, none of it had the lazy peace of a death seeker. On the contrary, he felt a strong desire to be inspired.

(Yes, his will is there.)

In the midst of his thoughts, Nazumi took a key.

(His acts aren't based solely on emotion... they are mediated by a strong will.)

At first glance, it appeared to be a runaway race left to the emotions, but deep down there was an unshakable core and strong will. Otherwise, it would be impossible to master the power of the "King" and compete with Nazumi.

Nazumi tried to figure it out.

(Isn't it the other way around? He Aroused intense emotions with a strong will…)

He cut off his thoughts in half.

"......?"

The first thing he noticed was his strength.

There was a hole in the ordered blue space.

"Eh?"

A bit later, Unno also noticed.

There was a distorted dent in the red power that was dispersing like a raging wave.

Both of them involuntarily directed their gazes towards the hole, the dent, at the disgusting sensation they felt for the first time.

Then they stopped.

That direction was none other than the embankment where the "Fourth Legal Affairs Bureau" and "Kagirohigumi" hid behind. It seemed as if it could be confused with the row of houses in the crude barracks, full of holes.

A tall body swaying in the alley, wrapped in a black robe, something like that.

#k #k project #k side gold #unno yutaka #somei nazumi #ootono benji

24 notes · View notes