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inventors-fair · 2 years ago

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Basic Type Commentary: Discoveries

As I learned, and by that I mean as I sorta figured out without actual consequence, the flavor/mechanics love is hard to balance. Cards like Loam Lion are suave and cool and mysterious to me; you got that mechanical bend but also, like, the lion gets to hide in the woods! That’s really cool! And...there’s also the mechanical ones straight-up, which encourage deckbuilding restrictions, but those are a different kind of fun, and... I think I should’ve asked for more of the former but I’m glad that I got all these good designs regardless.

Like, this week was GOOD. Very few mechanical stumbles. It does kinda suck when you have some cards that are functional but not exciting but still REALLY good, because talking about them is different than evaluating them. Y’know? They can’t be evaluated in the same way because they’re already really awesome, so they end up just being good on their own and that’s about it. Still, the nature of this contest allowed for that open-endedness; what else could I have expected? I’m still quite happy to be talking about the cards I enjoyed and tweaking the things that need tweaking. It’s all fun.

JUDGE PICKS are cards I want to commend for one reason or another, that either had a specific cool aspect or just missed the cutoff.

@0woah — Contracted Excavator

Interesting name and concept you’re working with here. I would definitely caution to make this rare, because, I mean, Ragavan’s a strong little monkey as is (and, like, this isn't even comparable, just so we're clear), and even at this cost the ability to run a mono-red deck with all Mountains and this is incredibly strong. Still, I gotta say: this is a real solid submission. I’m viewing it through a rare lens all the same. The ability to exile-steal your opponents’ best cards or at least prevent them from getting their shenanigans is pretty crazy.

I think I see the flavor, too, but this is one of those utilitarian cards; I’m doing commentary out of order so I think I said something similar below. Regardless! On the flavor front, sure, dwarf mercenaries checks out. Good use of the type with the mechanical synergy. The dwarf mines, and whatever they find is yours. Awesome. In limited, this could be a really strong utility card if not a half-decent attacker, and once you up the rarity we’re pretty good. Notes: It should be “Mountain card” for the activation, and I would word it: “Choose target opponent. Exile the top card of that player’s library and the top card of your library. You may cast those cards this turn, and you may spend mana as though it were mana of any color to cast those spells.” You don’t need “in hand” for this.

@batatafilosofal — Flood Away (JUDGE PICK)

In a mono-blue deck, this thing’s a heck of a slog to get through. I’m a huge fan of big swingy bounce-like cards, but wow... All the same, though, this has a unique way of getting around that by having the big things come in first. It’s a shame that your opponents’ permanents will enter the battlefield before yours—unless they’re all small and your stuff is pretty big. Which, well, speaks for itself. What a strange card. I think I want to veer away from flavor-specific critique here because it’s clearly a general-magic utilitarian card, and that’s totally fine. The art could speak for all of that.

The question is then, with the math and whatnot, if this is a little too headachey for standard, or even for limited, and I love this card but I gotta say, a zillion counters and upkeep triggers and a return to suspend in standard? Not sure how I feel about that optimistically. What I will say, however, is that this card’s definitely great in digital. On Arena, you cast this card, and beep boop everything’s out of the picture. I have a vehement disdain for Arena, but I have a soft spot for places where human error would make things worse. Perhaps this card has a home. Also, you can remove that second “each” from the first ability, I believe.

@bread-into-toast— Peak Performance

I’m curious why this wasn’t an “until end of turn” or “until the end of your next turn” here; Occam’s razor, that was an oversight, but regardless. Quite a strange little thing here. I think the wording that you were going for and the ultimate execution may have, well, needed more words, like those weird milling-recursion cards they’ve been making lately. I think I see what you were going for generally: double-impulse type of common, with an extra land grab. Fine enough! Not egg-in-an-avocado good, but fine enough.

I’ll admit that the flavor text is making me grin. This isn’t a flavor-based contest, so people are probably going for a little more of a natural what-follows kind of vibe, which is totally cool! Silly for the advantage. You know, it’s a shame that this card only gets Mountains. It’s basically unplayable or at least really frustrating in a two-color draft archetype. Perhaps this is suggesting more of a constructed lean or a monocolor format, Pauper-burny, and I feel that. The limited player in me is seeing this as a fifteenth pick almost all of the time. I ain’t about to complain when I get advantage’d out by the 16-mountain burner, y’know?

@deg99 — Llanowar Purist

Is there precedent for two replacement effects like this? I mean, I grok it, but wow. This card can be absolutely bonkers. In a casual mono-green Elf deck, having each basic Forest put a COUNTER on each Elf you control?? Good lord. I wonder if this card would be better served as a core-set or DMU-type staple, because in a type-matters environment where Elves are one of the draftable archetypes, this is pretty strong. Hm, all the same, you have to build around it kinda hard. But in constructed? I dunno, I feel that you can make a strong Elf deck even stronger to the point of it being almost out of control. But maybe not. I think I’m worrying too much about blowouts from my days of Felidar Retreat. And this is kind of a more limited Felidar Retreat.

I’m overthinking it. Powerful? Yes. A staple? Eh. Good in limited? If you can make it work, I suppose. Elves and the rest of ‘em make for hard archetypes but the environment can change that. By itself, this card’s speaking to a more constructed means, I think, but could work for limited. Nothing wrong with cards like that overall. It’s not immediately evident but it’s not asking to be so. Getting even one other Elf out would make things work pretty well, so I’m going to say that, just like DMU, this would be totally fine. Oh, right, and as a grammar check: A basic foRest is a land. A basic foRRest....you know what, there was a joke here, but I'm electing to omit it. Point is, one R.

@halfsilveredmirror — Vantress Waterwheels (JUDGE PICK)

Good news! There’s only one card I could immediately see with which this goes two-card infinite. You, my friend, are tempting fate. What on earth! This is a beast of a card to get down for making blockers and tappers and mana dorks even better. What else?... You know what, it doesn’t have to do anything else. Clock of Omens was broken, and this card is less so, which is genuinely awesome. It’s asking for infinite combos, of course, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles, and there’s no specific archetype around which to build, AND it takes up mana resources, so that’s great.

Maybe this card’s even bad! Hold on. I mean, like, if you’re in limited, and you try to make this card work, and it’s the one you draw when you’re dead on board, it’s gonna feel REALLY bad to draw it. Like, astoundingly bad feeling. I love that. It’s a card that asks a lot of the player to make it work. Simple, powerful, great for looting dorks. I will say that the flavor text is pretty weak here. Waterwheels making kinetic energy isn’t exactly surprising, so the “reveal” you’re going for doesn’t land for me. I dunno, just not feeling the payoff.

@izzet-always-r-versus-u — Scuttle

You know, I’m not sure why this one didn’t wow me. I think the simplicity is fine, and the card plays harder the more Islands you have, which is fine, even though it’s almost always going to be a strictly better Mana Leak in the late game—but, it is an uncommon after all. Limited is gonna be fine with it, as it can vary depending on the environment and there’s nothing wrong with Force Spikes. Maybe that’s it: the most I can say for it is that “there’s nothing wrong with it.” And we do need cards like that, cards that could even be great in scenarios where now we have Mana Leak-but-better in Pioneer and whatnot.

The flavor is a little off. Sirens dashing hopes and dashing ships is a violent act of enforced luring, and perhaps this is the place where the ships (spells) are destroyed, but the flavor text’s description feels...like there should be another party? I don’t know, I think that it’s probably fine—with a different name. Scuttling is the act of making holes to sink the ship, cutting away, sometimes deliberately to your own vessel. It’s a subtle/non-telegraphed act of espionage by two equal parties, which doesn’t come across here for me. Now, I was thinking about crabs, and the flavor text of a possible reprint where crabs eat their way through the bottom of a boat, making a hole to sink it—and that’s the slightly less violent version than the “dashing” here. Verb choice matters.

@just--a--penguin — Garden of the Eidolon

How exactly does the dragon come into play here? Perhaps in the art direction, but who knows. Greek mythology is full of possibilities. First things first: I like the flavor format. Also, how does a land get inspired? Could’ve used a little more substance. I assume the eidolons are the ones tending the gardens. Do the gods need to eat? At least on Theros, I thought they were supplemented by the belief of their people. No matter. Tirezius still has fruit, so maybe I’m talking nonsense. At the end of the day, this card is fine, but I wouldn’t pick it highly in any format. Also, how does a land get inspired?

I guess third things third, this card should be uncommon? It’s a pretty great ramp spell and fixer, but that’s been done at common before. The mana not emptying feels like it’s upping the complexity; maybe this could be a three-mana uncommon? Either way, it’s not a bad card, but it’s lacking a little bit for me. Going back to it, I think the flavor text could’ve used a little more oomph.

EDIT: Something strange happened to the copy-pasting of the commentary here, so I have no idea what else to say beyond this. I think in the end I went with a rant about rarity, mana emptying, questioning myself and how mana works, and then I asked Maro something, and then I made popcorn and drove to catsit. Bottom line as well was that this card is nigh unplayable even in limited at this cost and rarity. Needs other substance and focus.

@misterstingyjack — Stonybrook Tideweaver (JUDGE PICK)

Oh, well that’s weird—but I guess either great minds think alike or great workshops produce cool results. The merfolk Island-love has always been there but I haven’t thought about it much until now! I really like the mechanics of this card. It’s asking a little bit of the board, but it’s an effect that, given the state of the board, I can imagine people trying to make work, and having it work well. Tap a merfolk, then get your High Tide. Wording-wise, I believe “until end of turn” needs to go before all that because most MTG cards like to end on a clean .” at the end of their rules text when applicable.

I don’t think playability would be affected in either limited or constructed. This is a card for Merfolk players to have fun with and to boost their archetypical decks. I like the specificity of it. The flavor text feels good conceptually but reads oddly to me. The second part being its own sentence makes me... Oh, no, nono, dangit, now I REALLY want this to be a rhyming couplet somehow. Look, I’m not going to figure that out, but I’m tasking you with it now. This is your burden to bear. The tl;dr of it is that having that sentence makes it feel stilted after a period and, like the river, it could use smoother flow.

@nine-effing-hells — Ire of Stones

You might want to double-check and hand-enter your reminder text, because “another Mountain” is cute flavorfully but doesn’t need the ‘nother’ up in there. Still, I feel this card and I feel what you’re going for. This one is weird and I really like that drawback for it. For this contest, I feel that this is exactly the kind of card that I was hoping to see at the concept level: it interacts with the card type in a manner that shows a flavorful caress. Did I ask for that specifically? No, but what’re we gonna do at this point, right?

The title “ire” is a little off, but as for the rest of it... What can I say? This card’s cute. It could be fun to get your Goblin Guides in early and then, when they die, you get some untapped lands. I doubt you can go infinite easily with these things, so that’s all fun and fair. Instead, you have a beater, and that’s all we can ask for. Hm, I wonder how this contest would have gone with monocolor cards that care about different land types... In retrospect, that might have even been better, but you know what, I’ll give it another year, assuming I have the time and energy for this, heh. It’s a beater, it’s sensible, it’s fast, it’s not too powerful, I like it. Fair’s fair.

@real-aspen-hours — Slip Under

So yeah, let’s assume a rare here, heh. Mechanically, I think that there’s nothing wrong with either part of this card. The wording on the first ability could be “Creatures you control have ward (2)” for ease of access, so let’s assume that. This card is a limited stranger, an odd duck, because it kind of forces these two colors, but if that’s what works, that’s what works. I would have liked more of a flavorful connection between them, because it’s fine as it stands and I appreciate the multicolor bend, but I want that little glue there.

The real glue that’s missing is what the name represents in terms of an aura. Intangible concepts aren’t easy, and perhaps with cards like Find the Path and Annex I have less ground to stand on, but verbs as aura names rub me the wrong way—or at least I feel that it doesn’t fit as well. Maybe the creatures are slipping under? But then, why would one slipping-under action result in the ward, and then another be phasing out? I would rather have a specific flavor name that referred to the protection granted by the act of enchanting this land that made the sacrifice effect more sensible. Oh, yeah, before I forget: card’s still pretty great! Fun to abuse all your little creatures for a boardwipe.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Seeker of the Thousand Ways

Gah, long names that look awkward, my old nemesis! ... Gah, cool mechanics involved in combat, my other nemesis! Ahem. Anyway, this card’s hella cool. I think that it speaks for itself, and I think that “You may play that card this turn” would be a better way to word it and has appeared before, but that’s a small quibble. Should the exile be a may ability? Eh, no, maybe not. I also really like the idea of scrying both cards to the bottom and then flipping an even more unplayable card off of the top. That would happen to me for sure.

It’s also quite an archetype you’re asking for. Three-color possibilities actually feels...kinda cool? It makes me wonder if they’d reprint the DMU duals—and how many times have I mentioned those now? I don’t even want to count—for those kinds of specific shenanigans. Maybe just a couple, maybe just enemy pairs. Either way, no, yeah, it’s a totally fine card. The name really does leave a bit to be desired, though. Seeker of the Way was certainly a card, and this callback feels almost...funny, or at least an attempt at a joke rather than an uplifting remembrance to me. Still, could just be me.

@spooky-bard — Tarpit Ceratops

Like a fossilized dinosaur skeleton, this card feels cool but a little too sticky. The explore archetype in limited was a strange one to say the least, and in constructed—well, wasn’t there some crazy-ass lifegain deck going around? Am I the only one who remembers that? I might be going crazy. Anyway, this card groks, but the pieces that want to go together don’t quite have that backing for me yet. Referencing cards revealed through another card’s exploration means that this card is kinda dead a lot of the time, no pun intended, and a four-mana 3/3 menace is super cool but not awesome. The archetype could work well by putting THIS into the graveyard, and that’s all cool.

I dunno, I’m just not sold yet. I do grok it, I promise, and I know that it should adhere. There’s nothing specific that I can point to that makes me hesitate. If anything, I’d say that it’s the ambition of it. There is indeed a fair amount of ambition taking place with the question of what gets revealed, and you know what, I want to commend you for trying something new on that front. Small actual note, the “it” on the Swamp clause there? It reads like it’s referring to the Swamp and that’s pretty confusing. And shouldn’t it be “is” revealed?

@stupidstupidratcreatures — Kor Ambusher

This is certainly a Kor. You know what, I’m actually a little surprised that there wasn’t a card named this already, and I could have sworn that there was. Ah well, learn something new every day. So! Mechanically, yep, that’s a warrior, it’s suggesting an RW warriors archetype, it’s a cool white card, and it gets to break a little chunk of a the pie without actually breaking anything. That much is all fine.

For contest terms, this card’s pretty insubstantial? The lack of art direction and flavor text mean that the ‘generally good’ mechanics are all we have from it. This card feels like something in the slot of a set skeleton. And you know what, if you’re building a set, there’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s understandable why this card would exist. It just means that there’s not much to say about it beyond the fact that it’s...good. Perhaps the nature of the contest meant that that was more of the mechanical bend, but all the same. Afraid I don’t have much more to say, cap’n.

@wolkemesser — The Soilsmith

The reasons why Yedora specifies “nontoken” are numerous, but in general, the face-down restriction is the more important one. The Soilsmith retaining name, mana value, and abilities means that going infinite and abusing sac outlets to basically get unkillable lands with static abilities is...rough. It’s rough! I think it’s inadvertent, but you made a magnificently busted card here. In Limited, this is the card you have to build around and win the game with, and in constructed—I’m thinking Commander—you aren’t going to make any friends here. Besides, it counts ITSELF. Which is disgustingly strong.

I know that Obsidian Fireheart is cool, but that reminder text wouldn’t be as useful as just saying that it remains after The Soilsmith isn’t on the battlefield or whatever. “Rotting” implies decay, and this is permanent. There are...quite a few quibbles with this card, and I do still want to say that it’s a cool idea, but wow, no, it’s mechanically broken. Win some, lose some.

One of these cards, IMO, fits next week’s prompt perfectly. Which one?

-@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #commentary #general commentary #basic type contest #inventor's fair

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ficbrish · 2 years ago

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Black Spot (aka Shenko Pirates) Chapter 5

"You dance to it anyway" [AO3]

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Tags: Prompt Fic, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Enemies to Lovers, Pirate Captain Shepard, Navy Admiral Kaidan Alenko, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Renegade Kaidan Alenko, Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Some Plot, POV Alternating, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Oral Sex, Rough Sex

[[TW/CW: Food, sex references, itty bit of suicide ideation]]

[Previous Chapter]

[All Chapters]

The sand was cool when they silently crawled back to their shelter under the moon’s watchful gaze. A feeling more complicated than shame kept their eyes apart, their lips shut, and their bodies side by side. Wrapped in an animal heat that escaped from their skin and found each other, they slept later into the day than intended.

Kaidan rose first, untangled himself from his nemesis, and tended to their long-extinguished campfire.

It was even longer before he heard Shepard stirring, which felt like a nightmare and a dream following him into the daylight.

She sat up, blinked, and looked at him. Her face was the same as it always was.

“I think some sand lodged itself up my asshole,” she said, stretching, “Find any in yours?”

Kaidan let out a deep sigh. Then smiled, “Just a little bit.”

She laughed and it rang through him.

“I have fish,” he offered.

Shepard noticed their breakfast roasting on the fire. Her hands rushed to her knife, “Did you take my—?”

“Didn’t touch it—Well, not since… Now get over here and eat!”

“How did you catch those?”

“I grabbed them.”

Shepard glared at him suspiciously, just like the other mornings here. Kaidan wondered if those expressions of hers he’d learned last night were genuine or just other masks.

She took her usual spot across the campfire and snatched her fish-on-a-stick. Her chewing was grudging, but her mouth was closed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said between bites.

“I didn’t take your knife, Shepard. I wouldn’t touch it unless you let me.”

She finished chewing, “Thanks.”

Kaidan took the other fish off the fire just as it started to burn. He was ravenous, but it was too hot to touch.

“Here, pass it to me.”

He handed her the stick. She sliced his fish down the middle with her knife and passed it back. Bits of meat stuck out, steaming. Kaidan was able to nibble on it as it cooled.

“Thanks.”

She nodded and chewed.

It tasted like burnt rope but had some sweetness to it. It was also hard to eat, full of little bones to navigate. Still, it was breakfast.

“Can’t believe you caught these with just your hands.”

“Well, what do you do? Stab them?”

She looked at him like he was stupid, “Yeah!”

“Under the water? It’s easier to catch them than stab them.”

“No, it’s not. Besides, the blood can always attract a bigger fish.”

“Yeah, and sharks.”

“Like I said, bigger fish.”

“But you can get sick eating shark.”

“Sick is better than starving.”

“We have fish though.”

“Small fish,” she licked her fingers, “I’m still hungry.”

“We should really do something about that, huh?”

Kaidan ate his small, steaming breakfast carefully, “I think I could kill someone for a bit of bread.”

Shepard inspected her pile of bones. She cleaned off whatever was left and put away any that would be useful.

She chuckled, “Spoken like a true man of the Alliance.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know, I’d accept that from you if you were just a mere sailor, but you’re an Admiral, Admiral. You’re not just part of it, you’re responsible for the whole thing.”

“I have my orders and I follow them.”

“Yeah, but you don’t ever question it?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Shepard, but questioning things doesn’t make one an Admiral.”

She laughed, “I think you accidentally just made a joke at your own expense.”

He frowned, “What’s so wrong with the Alliance?”

“What isn’t?” her laughter tapered off into something bitter.

Blood pounded behind his ears. Kaidan needed her to stop talking just as much as he needed her to go on.

Silence took over for a while.

Then Shepard said, “Can’t believe a Navy man, who didn’t even know about coconuts, can catch reef fish without any tools.”

He did know some things about coconuts! Thankfully, he heard how that sounded before saying it out loud.

A dangerous smirk eventually bloomed on her lips, “I guess it does make some sense more I think about it. You are pretty good with your hands.”

He blushed and almost choked.

* * * * * *

There was something very wrong with that beach. It transformed into something sinister when the sun went down. When it cooled off and the stars came out, putrid impulses started to fester.

That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

They were as eager to separate as they were to find more food. Shepard sent Kaidan to the sea after breakfast to fetch more fish while she went into the jungle to find something more substantial.

“Cursed,” she muttered out loud, finally alone. She felt less exposed in the shadows under the trees.

The robust sunlight was unrelenting.

Kaidan introduced his feet to the surf and rinsed off his hands. The cold seawater was a relief for the heat and nothing else.

He sighed and got salt in his eyes as he tried to wipe the memories from them.

When he turned around, he saw impressions in the sand where it happened.

“Oh god…”

The wind hadn’t been particularly strong, and they’d been far enough away from the tides, so their disturbances remained like snow angels. It wouldn’t be obvious to just anyone, but whenever Kaidan looked over, he saw explicit images.

The largest impressions were made by Shepard writhing under him. Every thrust ground her ass further against the sand, until the dry layers peeled back and they felt wet earth. He’d placed his shirt underneath her so the friction wouldn’t scratch up her skin.

“Why do you care if Shepard gets hurt?”

“Because I’m not the monster you think I am, General.”

Udina just laughed at him. Replaying that moment in his head years later still made the hair on his neck stand up.

His memories returned to those two smaller spots under the bigger ones. His knees had taken purchase there to get deeper inside.

The skin on the back of her thighs rubbed against his chest as he pumped into her. She’d screamed his name.

Not Admiral. Not Alenko. Not “Sir”…

“Kaidan!” Shepard cursed it out loud as she walked through the forest, like his name was something bitter stuck on her tongue, something she could spit out.

His affections had been rough, which she liked, but didn’t expect from someone like him.

“Stupid name,” she muttered and stomped.

But he wasn’t just rough. He was attentive and present in a way she’d never—“Who the fuck does that?!”

She felt bow-legged as she moved, but her stride was the same as always. There was a soreness and an ache in her center, like he was stuck there.

“This is bullshit!”

She could still feel his hands traversing her thighs. He’d even kissed and sucked her ankle when it rested near his face. And then he made that sound…

Shepard stopped and flopped back against the nearest tree. Maybe if she slit her own throat right here and now it would stop her from being even more of a fool.

And if she did die right here, would he still deliver her corpse to the Alliance authorities?

She laughed bitterly, “Fucking idiot!”

Kaidan was grateful for the frigidity of the sea as he splashed some into his face, “This is ridiculous.”

The tide was low enough for him to walk out to the reef. The deepest water only came up to about mid-thigh.

He couldn’t get the taste of her out of his head.

Maybe no one would ever find them. That would be—

Nothing good ever happened when he gave into that part of himself.

Kaidan sighed deeply and got into position. He watched his hands under the clear water, jumping around and distorting even though he held them still.

He had big, rough sailor’s hands.

Shepard shivered when they reached her most sensitive spot. His scent sunk into her as her face nestled into his neck. Ghosts of those senses haunted her nerves. Heart skipping, she could feel the wet slip down her thigh as she stood there frozen against the tree.

Just lie, she thought as her hand dipped under her belt, You’re a good liar.

Everything would be fine. It was just an itch, and itches could be scratched. An itch didn’t have to turn the world upside down and ruin your life.

Right?

That’s what this was. Surely, just a scratching.

* * * * * *

Kaidan gave up when he saw Shepard arrive back at their camp. He sighed and walked out of the water.

“What the fuck?! No fish?”

“Great. So you’ve already forgotten about breakfast? Wait, hold on—I don’t see you bringing anything back either!”

She put her hands on her hips in the most irritating way possible, “I guess we both wasted our time then?”

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tight.

The day was almost gone, and they still needed water.

“I’m thirsty, so I came back.”

Hands on his hips, Kaidan agreed, “Yeah.”

Getting away from the beach was its own relief.

Shepard carved markings in the trees on their way to the water. They knew the path, but this would leave no doubt.

“Could’ve done that yesterday, if you’d’ve let me have the knife.”

“I was hunting.”

“Still!”

“And if I recall…” she teased, “I did sort of let you have it last night.”

He had no more criticisms to offer.

They’d carried some coconut shells and bananas in their leaf buckets and set up a temporary camp by the water to boil and drink as much as they could before the sun began to set. The fire they made was large enough to fit four coconut halves on it at once.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake up earlier.”

She chuckled, “Woke up with enough time to fish.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“But you didn’t wake me.”

“I… uh…”

Why was she blushing instead of teasing him? It made Kaidan stutter a little more until they gave up on conversation entirely. Sure, they talked when they needed to, but that was all.

Half the water went into their buckets to take back for the night. The other half they drank hot, as fast as they could tolerate. When the sun suddenly got too low in the sky, they packed up their camp and left.

* * * * * *

Sunset was already turning to shadow when they made it back to the scene of their crime.

Their evening spent by the fire was horrendously long. It was a race against time when they were in the jungle, but now that they were back on the beach, there was just too much of it. They sipped water to avoid talking, like resentful old men at a pub. Both leaf buckets were emptied before they risked lying down in their shelter.

The night promised to be even longer.

Last time had been more comfortable, but tonight they settled far apart. It was only bearable before because whatever was wound tight between them had been released. This morning sprung it back into place, and all the time they spent awake pulled it more and more taut.

They felt pressure on their chests.

Then the night was cut short by sudden, pouring rain. It came in fast and heavy, collapsing the pitiful roof of their shitty shelter almost immediately.

“Fuck!” Kaidan exclaimed.

Shepard just laughed bitterly.

They were quickly soaked through with warm rain that loudly smacked as it crashed to the ground. Their fire was out, and clouds covered the stars.

His damp hands found her slippery leg. They felt their way up until he grasped her wrist. She grabbed his face awkwardly with her other hand as she attempted to orient herself.

“Trees?” she shouted over the rain.

Their breathing was shallow, the water covering their faces. It was like they were swimming in rough currents.

Kaidan nodded, but Shepard couldn’t see, so he just led them further from the beach. They stepped carefully into the trees, holding onto each other’s hands like a lifeline.

There was a break from the downpour under the leaves. It wasn’t completely dry, but there was less to feel and hear.

“Roof’s fucked.”

Her remark was closer to his ear than he thought it would be.

“Told you we needed to do something about that.”

“We got distracted.”

“Yeah.”

“Hungry and thirsty, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know that,” he said, “I know that.”

“Yeah.”

Their breathing was less like gasping and more like panting under the protection of the foliage.

The thrill of the dark, and the rain, and the unseen dangers made their blood course. The moment was so present; there was only life and death.

Her voice was so close, “Try to see me.”

His heart was beating on his tongue. He squeezed her hand and pulled her towards him until he felt the life stirring under her chest.

“I still can’t see you,” his voice was rough, “but I can feel you.”

It was like they were blind-folded. Face to face, the shade consumed them.

Her chest rose up and down four times, pushing and releasing against his.

Four times. Then she said, “We can be anyone in the dark.”

He felt something hot suck the water off his neck.

Kaidan’s hand reached into the darkness until it found the bark of a sturdy tree. He pressed her back against it. She threw her arms around his neck and leapt onto his waist.

“You can have anything you want,” Shepard promised as he pulled down his pants and got into hers.

They shivered from chill and then relief. Their faces hovered close until their mouths almost met.

She whispered into his ear, “Anywhere but there. Remember?”

He nodded, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

The stars came back out before they stopped. Shadow pulled back, and their vision adjusted. Slowly, as the storm passed, their expressions were revealed to each other. Chest to chest, hip to hip, head to head, they stayed against that tree for hours.

[Next Chapter]

[All Chapters]

#shenko #prompt fill #estrella shepard #kaidan alenko #mass effect #mass effect au #full fic #fshenko #kaidan x shepard #shepard x kaidan #shenko pirates fic #BrishFics #smut

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men-and-their-monsters · 10 months ago

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I think the most important understanding of conservative and patriarchal gender is the binary construction of gender and any traits attached to it. If men are one thing then women are the other. If you are one and poses the traits of the other than you are a “failed” [gender]. This is how the binary breaks those people that dare to step outside of this construction, and it’s something that everyone has to consciously work on in order to defeat.

To add to extend @_trickypockets point. The binary means that if one gender is biological and immutable and discrete, then it also stands that all genders in that system are as to explicitly maintain the gender relation. If men to this than women do not this and if women do that then men do not that.

The most important reason to understand this concept is because when we talk about this in queer spaces without dissecting this, we end up with “all men are bad”, because we have internalized patriarchal messaging about gender without successfully neutralizing it. We have to destroy the dichotomy of gender. Men are not defined by anything other than themselves describing that they are men. Women are not defined by anything except what you want it to be.

The other critical reason is that the patriarchy incredibly and increasingly sexist to men and women. Misogyny is a large part of this but it isn’t the only part. Separate from the misogyny there is a hatred of women and womenhood. I don’t understand this concept from experience, but I define this hate as the de-valument of women and women’s labor. I think it’s important that we recognize that so much of women’s ideas thoughts and work are not given the respect, appreciation or attention that they deserve. I’m trying to get into baking and sewing and if people were to by my stuff it would be unaffordable. an experienced seamstress could produce products that cost a months wage even if we are just talking about basics, and all the while many people will offer 70 dollars for this product. I don’t think society while I do think society overvalues men’s labor and input I also think that this has several asterisks. Men of color do not necessarily see this benifit in relation to their white peers even if they do make more that their black counterparts. Likewise labor overall is undervalued. Minimum wage is worth way more than 7.25 and for skilled labor 25 dollars not nearly as much as it used to be. But this isn’t just about labor. This is about what we associate with womenhood and girlhood. It’s about the way we don’t believe emotions matrer or are real. It’s about the way that we don’t think of women as people or the way we group them with children. It’s about the way we believe that women are inexperienced and incapable unless we know for certain that they have an expertise. It’s the way society is eager to strip women’s rights of authority and autonomy.

Why am I discussing this? Because I want to answer the question possed by tricky-pockets. “Why can’t I tell if this is about cis men or trans men” but I can’t do that just yet. I need one more thing.

Misogyny comes from the attributes that society enforces on women of which there are a great deal. But in naming this misogyny we must also recognize that we do the same for men. It would be a disservice to our understanding of the binary to only name the way women are forced into a box without thinking about the implications of the binary. And sure, many people will argue that we don’t need to focus on this because we believe many if not all of men’s traits are good. Hyper-competency, physically and emotionally rugged, ability win bread, protector. These are all good traits under the patriarchy, but are they good traits for humanity?

Now I can finally answer the question, Why do I bring this up? because it doesn’t matter who this post is targeting. If they are talking about cis men then they are telling the men they know that if they are “real” men then they can’t use pronouns. If they are trans me.mn then the same thing is true but with the addition of transphobia and the possible consequences of failing to not consider pronouns in that stealth. If the is just about masculine women then it’s forcing those women to make a choice about gender online and while I think it’s silly that this person said what she said. It has serious ramifications for all people. Under the binary any statement about a specific gendered group is also a statement about every other gendered group. It’s partially why we don’t have a lot of public discourse about what is a man. Because we are already having it about womenhood and that kills every gender with one stone. (Though it is also because society cares about the purity of womenhood for whatever reason).

I think to talk about the trials of trans men inherently means that we have to talk about what it means to be a man. Yes there is a lot of misogyny wrapped up in that. A lot if not most of the violence that trans men experience also contains misogyny and this extents to the lateral violence from inside the community whether they intend to or not. But a critical aspect of this violence and oppression- manhood - is left out of discourse intentionally or not, because in order to have a thoughtful conversation about the violence and oppression trans men experience, you have to think about the way men experience the patriarchy. You have to challenge the notion that trans women don’t experience violence for their connection to patriarchal masculinity. You have to challenge the idea that men are always immune to the effects of the patriarchy.

#hey this is humormehorny #I’m using my side blog because idk if I want this on my main account.

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olinadoeswriting · 2 months ago

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Aula's Meager Mistake

Clockwork Butterflies

Aula makes a series of minor errors, and maybe ends up doing something terrible. Whatever it is that she might've done last.

[AO3 Link]

Aula thinks she’s doing something right, she wants to believe it at least. If mongrel’s wish to be filled with demonic rage, then forcing their hands at the behest of a cannibal can’t be all too bad? As long as she has more free crusaders then morally she’s still in the positive and that can leave room for some more dubious acts. Including cursing so many people to a mindless rage. It’s worse how little she’s getting told off for it, she spoke barely five sentences to Arueshalae with only slight undertones and Hulrun prepared a ten minute verbal thesis for that. People’s only complaints with Aula’s treatment of the mongrel’s is their aesthetic, although she heavily disagrees with that popular take.

The report on the moves of one of the mongrel armies loses its readability before Aula’s eyes. The economic commands, because surely a smith of clockwork and an economist are equivalent, for the new town hasn't even been filled out yet and Aula wants to get out of the room. She visits her wardrobe, but is very much aware that no matter what she wears her very identifiable horns and skin tone will not do much to preserve her identity.

Winter, they leave in a day for the dragon burial ground. It’ll be a little harsh so her chosen companions are hard at work being anywhere but the frozen outside. The tavern seems like a convenient place for people to be, Aula can be one of them, she can maybe even experience the wonders of alcohol. And with how thin a robe she’s got on for dress, she can’t be outside that much longer either. At least for the actual trip Aula will have the wisdom of putting on something actually warm.

Not so packed with people yet, it’s still midday so most are performing their labor. Nenio’s apparently got herself an experiment involving a fuse, a bomb, and a bard that’s got the music going on double speed. For events like that Aula values the fact nobody has ever heard her play or sing, ignoring Arueshalae, and the free crusaders, and all of her companions who were there for when those two heard. And everyone who heard it second hand. But that’s just Aula’s voice, the fiddle still been heard by no one but herself and a devil she got in a duel with once.

Aula sits into what has become her favorite corner. The one she visits often enough to feel subtle changes, such as the warm breath of a succubus just above in the rafters.

“You should come down, I don’t think bread is served so high.”

Arueshalae drops down and sits across from Aula. “I didn’t come here to eat, just to watch them.”

“You can do both, you just have to be ok with them watching back. Or hire Aivu to distract everyone.” Aula imagines exactly where she'd sit Aivu, spotting some blood Wenduag left earlier as her eyes pass over the floorplan. “You should see what they made Aivu. The tailor’s product left me with the preposterous suspicion that they never made winter gear for dragons before.”

“Aivu is showing it off outside.” Arueshalae looks through the very specific corner of the window which allows her to see. “She could barely fit when she came in earlier.”

Aula smiles. “I’m going to need to add that outfit to my model. I’m going to order something, possibly cheese or salami, have you eaten yet?”

“No, it didn’t seem like I should come down. After Wenduag they all seem so on edge, I don’t want to scare them any more.”

“I’ll get you something, no one will even know it was you who wanted it unless they happened to be looking at us.” Aula is very aware that many people are currently looking at them.

“You can get me an omelet, if you like.”

Aula escapes the safety of her impression and wanders over to the counter order. By strange happenstance of fate, Aula hasn’t had alcohol before, and makes sure to get the highest proof grain alcohol so as to not mess anything up. A bard on the stage decides to switch their song into something more thematic, something that will properly praise “the armored armadillo”.

Aula sits back down, a little disappointed. “Normally I’d meet up with Woljiff, or Seelah, or Greybor, or someone. I wonder where they left off to.”

Arueshalae glances out the window. “They have a secret meeting with Aivu. But I’ve never been.”

“That’s the combination of people involved in the secret meetings?”

“Well commander, I’m still here if you need a third.” Finnean says from Aula’s pocket.

“Oh! Forgot you were with us.” Aula flips the Finnean’s primordial form into the air, allowing him to coalesce into a starknife before stabbing him into the table.

“Why has everyone been saying that?” The starknife wiggles a little as Finnean speaks.

Aula contributes to Finnean’s sense of invisibility. “Given it’s a burial mound it’d be unlikely, but I hope there’s a living dragon. We could parlay or fight, maybe take some of its hoard, and It’ll be great to have you next to me for it.” Aula’s next thoughts are of getting herself shrouded in Arueshlae’s wings while her soul falls out. Followed by a wish that alcohol’s as effective at thought suppression as she heard. “And yeah, uh, Finnean! You’ve improved recently, can you be Arueshalae’s bow?”

“I want to contribute however it helps, but won’t that kill me?” The starknife replies.

“Is your soul even here… or, well, I mean protected. Arueshalae, would you test this?” Aula tentatively asks.

Arueshalae reaches out, but the cold metallic starknife shows no reaction. “Is this not hurting you?”

“It didn’t take out my soul but I don’t like getting my hair ruffled by a succubus when everyone’s watching.”

Aula pets Finnean. “Is it ok if I do it?”

“Why did you wait to ask after starting? Regardless, you’re the commander. I’ll allow this treatment, but I’m still uncomfortable with all the people watching.” Finnean complains.

Aula feels like she’s getting judged a little herself. If not for petting the knife, then for being so close to the succubus. Despite whatever the crowd may think, Aula appreciates Arueshalae. “Did you learn anything new tonight?”

Arueshalae’s wings spring as she gets excited. “One person was trying to sell a box full of wooden dwarves. Two others were planning a music battle, they got really violent with the weapons they planned on bringing. Nenio bought the box of dwarves and was using it to coax the battle to…”

Genuine excitement is enchanting to Aula. She sinks further into her seat and lets Arueshalae’s honeyed description of strangely typical events flow over her ears. Aula considers how much warmer her room would be if it had more of Arueshalae over Wenduag. As much as Aula enjoys indulgent self-destruction, it would destroy Arueshalae if she was a part so Aula has to be smart and overcome this superficial desire. “Cute.”

“Huh, what? I think what they’re planning is a little… Are you talking about me?” Arueshalae blushes but renders it away with a soft horror. “You shouldn’t say such things about me, I’m not, I can’t. You shouldn’t.”

Aula may have mixed a wire or two in her head. “I was referring to your rant, it’s just, rants over…” she checks her watch. “Five minutes? Wow. Uh, rants over five minutes long are cute, to me, on their own, no reference to you or to anyone else.” Aula looks to the counter, she really needs something mind destroying to ease this a little.

Eventually, possibly with a few speeches on the nuance of making wheel cranks between the empty moments, Aula’s wish is finally received. The salami doesn’t taste like it did back home, but nobody there could cook for anything so it’s all for the better. Arueshalae has a surprising amount of joy eating the omelet, leaving a smile on Aula. But Aula doesn’t exactly want another five minute talk from Hulrun, or well, maybe she does want it a little. Disappointing the worst values of people she dislikes is satisfying. But, there’s already alcohol here, it can’t hurt to drink it.

Aula wakes up next to Wenduag in her bedroom, with vague memories of several burning buildings. As she rolls up she feels barely scarred over sutures in her back reel in suffering and a lack of beats in her heart. For a moment Aula is terrified, but as she clutches to her chest she realizes her heart hasn’t stopped, her skin has just went numb.

Aula punches at a loose stone in the wall, four knocks, three knocks, seven knocks. The facade falls off along with a potion of heal, which Aula knocks back within the seconds. As it takes effect she realizes her mind took on a terrible fog which the spell’s lifting. That being wealthy has made whatever she went on last night consequence free is something to maybe be considered for a thesis later. Aula really doesn’t want to be back in this room, she dresses and stumbles out with slowly returning motor skills.

“Commander, what has your succubus pal done this time?” Anevia runs up to ask Aula as she leaves.

Aula tries to restore her posture and behavior at the mention of Arueshalae. “Done? Has she done something?”

“So it wasn’t you who ordered her locked up?”

Aula taps her palms, what has her succubus pal done this time?

#pathfinder wrath of the righteous #fanfic #oc: aula #arueshalae #OlinaWrits

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bisluthq · 3 months ago

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Thank you!! And sorry that I ended that message kind of abruptly. I had somewhere to be, but yeah I feel really good about it. She told me to stop looking up stuff because I think she thought it wasn’t helping, but I actually think it helps me. Knowing why I’m the way that I am and how to deal with that makes me feel like I have a bit more control over it. I also know it takes people years to get diagnosed with any type of neurodivergence so I was expecting to be ignored on that front tbh. All in all, not happy about the meds because I wanted to get off the Xanax that my doctor had prescribed, and she agreed that I shouldn’t be taking that, but then she said I will need other meds. I have seen a lot of people get off anxiety meds so I was hoping to start working towards that goal instead of changing to a different set of meds, but they might work better! I feel like Xanax makes me very tired but doesn’t really stop the anxiety, it’s like it slows down every part of my brain except the one it should be. I’m also just not a fan of taking anything, not because I’m against medicine or anything like that, but because I don’t want to take something unless it’s completely necessary. I will of course take whatever I’m prescribed and listen to the psychiatrist but I’m hoping it’s something I will be able/allowed to stop taking at some point, even if it’s in a few years when everything is maybe more under control. But I’m feeling optimistic!

yea look again do what’s best for you and experiment tbh. see what this psychiatrist suggests/prescribes. Again, only you’ll know what’s best for you. I also do think - and this is going to be something only you can answer and only with sufficient experimentation though - that if you need meds then you need meds. I can only confidently speak for me right but I need meds because my brain is just very bad at processing serotonin, right, like it doesn’t want to be happy and when it’s not happy it’s not regular levels of “I guess this sucks” unhappy, it tricks me into thinking all sorts of dark ass rubbish and makes me very fucking dysfunctional. I read a book that I won’t recommend about happiness and it talked about how sadness is a natural emotion/state and modern society is too obsessed with being happy and all sorts of great artists produced their best art while sad and my takeaway was like 1) a bunch of great sad artists have killed themselves so idk if that’s really the flex this moron who wrote the book believes it to be 2) if I could be as productive as those people when I’m in an episode maybe I would indeed sit with my sadness but like when I have a bad episode I… don’t function. My brain needs help to achieve base levels of human functioning when it’s doing its little misery episode. Obviously it needs the right kind of help, and I think I could and perhaps one day will find natural alternatives to SSRIs, and lifestyle changes can and do help, but fundamentally idk how much woo woo shit I would need to do in order for my brain to have regular people’s levels of serotonin without help. That said, I’ve also tried like seven kinds of SSRIs and combos of SSRI + anti anxiety medications + just anti anxiety medication + hormone/thyroid medication combos with it all before I found the combo I’m on now and I AM pairing it with lifestyle right like lots of exercise and sensible dietary choices and meditation but I can’t think how much running and meditation I would need to do in order for the serotonin to like… work lol. And also maybe this stops working again idk that’s why I journal a lot too to like monitor this shit because I don’t like going to the bad place ykwim? I want to stay out of it. Anyway.

I think of it as like if I had T2 diabetes right I’d take medication for it AND ALSO PAIR IT WITH LIFESTYLE CHOICES. I wouldn’t take the meds and drink sugary drinks and eat white bread and be all shocked pickachu face that my insulin is still fucked and my blood sugar levels are doing funny things and I feel like shit but I also wouldn’t stop taking meds because like… if I had T2 diabetes then I’d know my body is bad at producing insulin, just like my real body is bad at producing happy hormones. That said, some people DO manage T2 purely with lifestyle and natural alternatives and again like do what’s best for YOU and what feels right and only you would know that.

Again, best of luck for this and all I can say is tbh you know best. And do your research.

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spectaculardistractions · 2 years ago

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To Ricardo Urgoiti Hollywood, 23 June 1946 Dear Ricardo, I was delighted to get your letter yesterday, although not surprised because my mother had mentioned you were on your way over to this atomic country. I’m intrigued to hear you’re living in Rye and curious to know why you’ve come over. I am also, of course, FURIOUSLY keen to talk to you. We have so many things to discuss! But if you can’t get over here, it will be difficult to fulfil this wish. You know you’re welcome to come and stay here and if you were to come, you would have no living costs, because we can provide a room and a slice of the flavourless bread they make over here. I’ve just got back from a month and a half in Mexico. A successful trip. I’ve taken on a film I’m working on now, with… brace yourself, Negrete, and I’ve also signed up to go to France in November to make a French version of La casa de Bernarda Alba with Synops studios. What are your plans? To go back to Spain? Are you still working in film and radio? I’ve not given up all hope of working with you again, although I don’t know when or where. I have very fond memories of our ‘Filmophonic’ days. Although there is a crisis in film production in Mexico at the moment, I still think you would do very well here. There is a really positive atmosphere and a real desire to produce great work. But as I don’t yet know your plans or why you are here, it may be pointless for me to go on about possibilities for you over there. I’ve discussed you a lot with Carlos Castillo. He is one of your true friends, you can count on him for anything. When he heard you were coming to America, he got very excited about the possibility you might come to Mexico. Idem Ana María Custodio, who is as charming as ever. I had legal documents drawn up in Mexico to allow my brother Alfonso to collect those Filmófono pesetas, should they ever come through. I’d be very grateful to hear your views on this if only briefly. It would be really useful if I could transfer part of that debt over here because, although the work proposals are good, I don’t have a cent in reserve. What are your thoughts on the immediate future for Spain? This question alone we could discuss for hours. I know it’s delicate, especially for you, to comment in a letter. But you could sum up your views in a single sentence without compromising yourself too much, for example: ‘I think you will soon be over there producing films with me’ or, on the contrary, ‘Unless it’s in China, Luis, I don’t see us working together again, not in Spain at least.’ In short, tell me something, even if it’s in Sibylline code. I have no great hopes of returning to Spain any time soon, which is why I’m looking for new avenues in Latin America and France. I’ve changed somewhat in some ways. I’ve removed myself from all political activity, although I’m still true to my old beliefs. I despise the world and this technological society I live in and have a morbid tendency to take refuge in the past. As a last resort, although without much faith in it, I cling to cinema to avoid slipping too deeply into a life of contemplation. Now more than ever I want to do interesting things and take on new adventures like this film with Jorge Negrete, this time in order to succeed at them though, rather than to mock them as I used to from my ivory tower. I hope, Ricardo, that you will write back, if only telegraphically, that is, very briefly, about the various topics in this letter. I am most interested in your plans and whether there is any chance I might interpolate myself among them. My warmest regards, Luis PS I’ll be back in Mexico from the second half of July to October. Then to France. And then back to America again. Although, of course, Buñuel proposes and destiny disposes…

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

#jo evans #breixo viejo #luis bunuel: a life in letters #luis bunuel #ricardo urgoiti

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ffcrazy15 · 1 year ago

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Alright so for reference to those who don’t drink alcohol but want to write fanfiction:

Definitions: 1 shot of hard liquor = 1 beer = 1 glass of wine, approximately.

A “shot” is a little less than a fourth of a cup, and when put into a standard tumbler or drinking glass (like the kind you use at your dinner table) will fill up the glass about the width of a finger high, depending on the size of the glass. That’s why they sometimes call it a “finger.”

“Straight” means you’re not mixing the liquor with anything, so it’s just a shot of whiskey or gin or whatever. “Neat” means roughly the same thing, only it also excludes taking it with ice. “On the rocks” means you want it poured over ice (the “rocks”). “Cocktails” are hard liquor mixed with other things like liqueurs, fruits and herbs, seltzer water, etc.

Wine can be either sweet or dry. Sweet means what you think it does, dry means the opposite (sort of a more sour or bitter taste; once you’re more used to drinking wine most people prefer it “dry” because sweet wine tastes too saccharine). “Tannins” are the stuff that makes the wine taste bitter, and they kind of have a...phantom feeling, I guess?...on your tongue, the same way really bitter chocolate does. Red wines have more tannins than white wines.

“Hard seltzer” is like if someone made La Croix sweeter and alcoholic. I personally hate them, but they’re quite popular. “Hard lemonade” is exactly what it sounds like.

Sake and soju are not the same thing, even if they both come from rice. Sake functions and tastes more like wine; soju is stronger than sake and, IMHO, functions and tastes more like vodka, even though they sell it in individual bottles. (Soju also sometimes comes flavored, like peach-flavored or plum-flavored, but I've never seen flavored sake). Both of them are served (at least in America) with the bottle and ceramic saucers that kind of look like small shot-glasses; you pour them into the ceramic saucers and drink them that way. Bottles of both alcohols are often split between several people.

“Bitters” are a kind of extremely condensed alcohol that’s used for flavoring a cocktail a certain way. It usually only takes a few drops (“dashes”) to influence the flavor of a drink. Unless otherwise specified, “bitters” refers specifically to angostura bitters (which tastes like spices) but there can also be orange bitters (which taste like oranges), etc. You would never drink bitters straight because it would taste horrible. It’s like a spice to your drink.

“Liqueur” is distinct from “liquor” and signifies a very condensed alcohol with an extremely strong and sweet flavor (usually something like orange or coconut) used to make a cocktail. They’re different from bitters because you need much more of them to influence the drink.

A “fruity” drink is something like a margarita or other cocktail that has a lot of other stuff mixed into it (syrups, crushed-up fruit, bitters, liqueurs, etc.).

Taste: This is just my opinion, but: whiskey tastes kind of sweet, like brown sugar, but also burns; vodka tastes the way nail polish remover smells, but its taste almost disappears once you mix it with something, making it a popular cocktail choice; rum is even sweeter than whiskey and can either be dark (brown) or white (clear); beer is kind of bitter, tastes like fermented bread and can either be very tasty or the worst thing you’ve ever drunk; red wine tastes like the dark chocolate or coffee version of grape juice (if that makes any sense); white wine tastes like sour-but-not-unpleasant white grape juice; mezcal (a type of Mexican liquor) tastes like someone somehow turned woodsmoke into hard alcohol; sake tastes like an extremely sweet and light white wine; soju tastes somewhere between sake and vodka. I can’t speak for gin because I’ve never had it, and I can't speak for tequila because I've never had it straight.

Stereotypes in Writing: In general, characters who are out having a good time will order something like cocktails, whereas characters who are having a bad time will drink hard liquor straight. (Beer can be drunk in either circumstance; it's sort of considered the everyman's drink and is available most places there's alcohol, except for at fancy parties and very nice restaurants.)

Subverting this trope, however, can also give an interesting twist to your characters! A character who drinks wine or whiskey while her friends are drinking cocktails will be perceived by the reader as more serious than the rest, while a character who orders a cocktail while depression-drinking alone is showing that they’re looking to get really drunk (this is because cocktails are usually twice as expensive as straight liquor, so that implies the character is the kind of person who usually only drinks for fun and is therefore not going to be able to hold their liquor once they take the dive into depression-drinking).

In terms of gift-giving, a bottle of wine is a nice gift, a bottle of whiskey is a very nice gift, a bottle of cheap vodka is a cheap gift, a bottle of expensive vodka (or mezcal, tequila, etc.) is an exceptionally nice gift.

Cost: In terms of cost, wine costs anywhere from ~$8.00 a bottle to into the hundreds (depending on how nice it is). Hard liquor usually starts around ~$20.00 a bottle and goes up from there. Beer is usually $10.00-25.00 a case (six bottles or cans in a case), depending on whether it’s something cheap like Budweiser or something craft from a local brewery. Sake is similar in costs to wine. Soju comes in green bottles and is about $8.00 in the U.S. (but much cheaper in Korea, like $1.00-2.00).

Hope this helps!

i love when fic writers who have clearly never tried any kind of alcohol in their lives try to write someone drinking bc they're always like

"he ordered a tall glass of hard liquor. after three large glasses he was feeling tipsy" like babygirl i can't be sure but i think u just sent this man to the hospital

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dycefic · 3 years ago

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Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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satanicspinosaurus · 1 year ago

Note

(Reaction below, but go read this! It's a super sweet fic at its core about sharing a meal.)

> honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me

Never apologize for supersizing my fluff order

>“But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating." I am chewing on if this is actually his feelings or like, adjacent to feeling like a servant a la Cazador or like dramatic bastard.exe, or perhaps even I like to think him being concerned that most of the party was recently dead. You know, snark to avoid feelings and all. I do love the idea that Astarion will use the “pets” as an audience. Dramatic efl.

> Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself.

Oh the contrast. :c Give the boy a hug!!!

> “Can you?”

I am reminded having read through Halsin’s voice lines, that his neutral responses are kind of brutal. Like dang.

> Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose.

This is a nightmare to me as a cook.

>He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those. You can’t smell salt unless it’s really badly over-salted. Blood is actually salty (its salter than seawater fwi) so he might also be right fucked up from that.

>He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

Oh no, he’s starting to care. Poor baby.

> It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready. Oh I love dialgoue without tags like this. You got his cadence so well!

> Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep.

I love Gale. You got his hubris right here.

> “Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

You know, in some cultures, that is high praise. (Not too sweet being a high compliment, for example.) I feel like the Gith would be like that. I think the hesitancy is Lae’zel being afraid to offer up such a sincere compliment. :P

> “Did you steal it?”

I love this section of “our himbo cooked something….HOW”. This was my favorite one.

> “Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it. OK, this one might be my favorite. Gale’s hubris is so charming to me, IDK what’s wrong with me.

> “When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. “ Damn. So yeah, I think about Astarion having a charlan background in his official DnD sheet and this is a lovely way to say it. Him being from a family of graspers with back luck makes sense. It’s also tragic because yeah, food is often one of the last memories we lose. It must be horrible to remember you had people you loved this way but can’t remember who they were. Just how much you cared. > Seems like he’s valued after all.

Ah, there’s those insecurity issues!

> “Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

> ““It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it.” As an Ace, I cannot think of a higher expression of love than letting a vampire get to enjoy garlic bread again.

> Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness. Yeah, there is no healthy boundaries in a camp like this, lol.

Seriously though- how did my little ace heart not thinking about garlic bread???

Could you write something about astarion getting to eat a dish with garlic in it for the first time since he became a vampire?

I assume that the tadpole would let him do that and think getting to experience food youre basically allergic to again is an experience.

Maybe it doesnt taste the way he remembers and doesnt compare to memory (based on my experience with milk based products)

Delectable Treats

A/N: honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me XD not quite into crack territory (hopefully) but definitely there with a hefty dose of humor and fluff🥺 hope you enjoy✨

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav | Words: 2,362

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Astarion Being Astarion, Astarion POV, Appropriate Use of Illithid Parasite Powers

Summary:

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic; he has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says, “Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all?"

Or, after a violent altercation that leaves most of the crew dead or incapacitated, Astarion ends up cooking dinner for the newly healed and revivified. It goes as well as you… wouldn't expect, really.

Read on AO3 or under the cut ↓

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic. He has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says,

“Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all? And this is after all the treats I’ve given you! Scratch? Tara?”

Scratch barks at him, circling around himself a few times as he wags his tail. Tara keeps staring at him with a calm, collected expression which Astarion can swear is almost sympathetic. She then allows a gentle, drawn-out meow.

“I mean, it’s like we’re just tools for them, aren’t we?” Astarion goes on, lifting the lid to check on his… experiment. Seems fine, for now at least. “You, Scratch, ever bound to chase that muddied pathetic excuse for a ball—remind me to buy a new one next time we’re out, by the way.”

He focuses once more on the spell he has active, heating the metal contraption further as the time is just about up.

“And you, Tara—are you forever fated to hunt down rare scrolls for Gale and be his comfort object?” Astarion goes on. “Well, I mean, that is what cats are—”

Tara cuts him off with a hiss.

“—I mean, tressyms are for, of course.” Tara’s hiss melds into a threatening growl, which Astarion completely ignores. “But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating."

Scratch barks his agreement. Tara flaps her wings in another half-hearted threat, before sliding closer to Astarion, no doubt asking for apologetic pets.

With another painstaking sigh, Astarion relents, running his hands through her soft fur. Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself.

Astarion supposes it's kind of his own fault for not keeping his mouth shut but he prefers to blame everyone else anyway. Shadowheart for casting her new 'blessing' of a protection spell on them before their party left. Clueless herself that the spell would deal damage to her for every wound the targets suffer, and so she just up and died spontaneously while staying back at camp. Lae’zel up next, killed by a far-too-lucky blast to the head. Gale drained dry of almost all life within him with a necrotic energy so strong that Tav's Counterspell did nothing against it. Karlach and Wyll both trapped by Hold Person and hit by a rock—luckily not quite killed, but very much incapacitated.

The Underdark truly was a place too dark and full to the brim with terrors.

Astarion and Tav managed to avoid most of the damage; Astarion by hiding and Tav with a Globe of Invulnerability that came into effect far too late to protect the others. And so, the both of them ended up dragging dead and disfigured bodies of their friends back to camp, where Halsin, a newly resurrected Shadowheart, and Tav tended to the wounded—and Withers to the dead. The quite gory sight made even Astarion uncomfortable, the spilled blood not inducing any hunger, just crippling anxiety for those he has come to call friends.

“I suppose dinner will have to wait,” Halsin says somewhat grimly, somewhat as a joke as he takes in the gravity of the situation.

“If it’s not anything difficult,” some doubtless evil force prompted Astarion to say, “I can take care of that.”

“Can you?”

“Really?”

And suddenly, Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose. It’s how he finds himself here, now, opening the metal contraption serving as a poor substitute for an oven, kept hot continuously by a Heat Metal spell Tav modified to run past its one-minute time limit. Lying there on the makeshift cooking trays is perfectly cooked, aromatic garlic bread along with a few hefty pieces of beef lathered with the variety of vegetables Astarion had found in the stash. He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those.

This is absolute insanity, Astarion decides. Though he can’t help but feel strangely satisfied with his efforts. He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

It all starts to seem even more like a fever dream as Astarion returns to the campfire to find all of his companions in an adequate state of healed or revivified. Some drinking water, some leaning hard on the booze.

“My painkiller,” Wyll insists, holding tight to his wine bottle.

“Give it back and eat first,” Shadowheart reprimands him, herself still looking more like a walking corpse than a living being.

It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready.

There’s skepticism, at first. Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. Tav smiles as he cuts himself his share, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the look in them a bit apprehensive. Karlach says, well, they’ve gotten through the sheer hell sprung up on them in the Underdark, they can survive food poisoning, right?

Astarion simply lounges with his head on Tav’s lap in their childish-looking circle around the fire, wishing he could drop dead a second time in his increasingly agonizing existence. Preferably right there on the spot.

Though when Tav runs his hands through Astarion’s hair, the touch soft, and warm, and perfect—Astarion thinks that maybe that’s payment enough for enduring all this slander.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, waving in Tav and Halsin’s direction, “that you explicitly asked for this.”

“Wait, listen!” Karlach’s eyes grow wide. “Holy hells, this is actually good!”

“What?” and that’s Gale, “I don’t believe it.”

“Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

“Palatable? The bread is fucking delicious! Astarion, how did you manage it?”

“Is it a flavor illusion?”

“Did you steal it?”

“Did you hire one of your ghouls to do it?”

“No, ghouls wouldn’t know how to cook, Tav, stop acting the idiot. But maybe he has some imprisoned, tortured chef we’re unaware of?”

“Honestly, sweet Shadowheart.” Astarion lifts his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it.

Astarion only grins. “Trade secret.” Mentioning nothing of how he was himself quite concerned about the end result. He hasn’t cooked anything in hundreds of years—what felt like eternity, really.

But there was a time—and the memory of that time is too precious and painful to be lost even to Cazador’s hold. A time when his mother fell ill of a magical ailment that required a most complex and lengthy treatment. When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. And so, Astarion had to learn to cook from scratch, opting for baking and boiling with just the right concoction of spices to make even laughably simple meals tasty nonetheless. Something his mother could stomach even during the most severe fevers and his father would eat cold as he returned from late nights at the office. Astarion barely remembers either of their faces, barely allows himself to utter their names in his mind, but these flashes of memory stay etched too deep into his brain to be forgotten.

“Well, I admit it,” Wyll says then, returning Astarion’s attention to the present. “I owe you an apology for the mistrust, Astarion. But I honestly thought this would taste like ashes in my mouth.”

“It would only taste like that to me,” Astarion says, “don’t you worry.”

“Oh!” Tav throws him a strange look. Astarion still can’t quite get used to the beauty of those eyes, especially as they reflect the firelight, blue and green reflecting the flame’s auburn hue. “I just wanted to offer you to try. I—I forgot, sorry.”

Astarion shrugs. “No need to apologize, darling,” he mutters, “it's my burden to bear.”

“But it’s literally melting in my mouth, it’s that good!” Karlach persists, quite loudly.

“I’d say it might just be because of the…” Shadowheart motions at the entirety of Karlach. “The heat, but I agree.”

And so commences another round of compliments Astarion can’t quite deny are lifting his mood.

Well. Seems like he’s valued after all. He sees Scratch and Tara watching him through half-lidded eyes as they doze by the fire. Envious, no doubt.

“Listen,” Tav says suddenly, putting away his plate, the food just half-finished.

Astarion asks, “Something wrong?” from where he’s still resting on Tav’s lap.

“Not at all.” Tav has that dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he’s describing a new terrifying way he’s bent metamagic to do his (sometimes downright insane) bidding. “I was just thinking.”

“Quite dangerous for us all,” Astarion remarks, lifting himself up to sit facing his lover, “if you’re thinking of doing something… questionable again.”

“When have I ever made a so-called ‘questionable’ choice, love?”

“Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

“Anyway.” Tav averts his eyes. Astarion is glad to see he’s still embarrassed about that particular debacle. “What I was thinking is that… the tadpoles allow us to read each other's thoughts, yes? And use the other’s senses—I mean it worked when I showed you your face, right?”

Astarion’s already slow enough heart skips a drawn-out beat as he remembers. Connected to Tav’s mind, resonant with his soul, seeing through his eyes: a reflection Astarion has all but forgotten. Silver curls framing a face that seemed so new yet painfully familiar. Red eyes staring back at him—a prettier shade than the gory blood-red he’s always imagined.

“I remember,” he says, “how could I forget? You insist on showing it to me every day.”

Tav smiles. “Because it makes you happy.” And Astarion can’t help but smile in turn. It does.

Tav opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it. Chews on his lip, considering. Then finally asks, “Let me in?”

Astarion frowns at the proposition, still unsure of what Tav has on his mind. But he’s long gotten over the initial distrust he harbored. There really is no going back, Astarion supposes, now that he’s shown his cards and revealed just how much he cherishes Tav, relishes his closeness. How thankful he is for Tav's painfully earnest sympathy regarding Astarion’s past interfering with the present. His patience is another precious gift, as Astarion grows used to the simplest touches once more, just now comfortable with all kinds of intimacy that don’t quite lead further, thoroughly enjoying the chastest of kisses.

And so, “All right,” Astarion says. Closes his eyes and opens his mind to Tav’s.

It feels familiar, a rush of warmth that makes him shudder. A foreign presence in his thoughts that’s welcomed, because it comes with peace and no hint of deception.

“Open your eyes,” Tav prompts, then. Astarion does—only to see Tav offering him a piece of the garlic bread from his plate.

“I can’t—”

“Just try it.”

Frowning, quite confused, Astarion still accepts the piece. Takes a tiny bite and—

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “Hells. What the?..”

“It worked?” And Tav is smiling at him, that childlike joy illuminating his face as it so often does. “I supposed that the senses we share through the connection aren't just limited to sight. It could be taste as well. How is it?”

“Erm,” Astarion himself is quite speechless, too focused on the taste buds that are finally working the way they’re supposed to. The bread is sweet-tinged with a slightly salty base, so soft it melts on his tongue, buttery but not overly so. “It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it. ”

“You can.”

“It’s… strange. Such a… unique flavor. I don’t even have a memory to compare it to,” Astarion muses, treating himself to another bite. "It's quite like I'm trying it for the first time." He mirrors Tav’s smile unconsciously, feeling a giddy kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. He can’t quite tell whose it is. Maybe it stems from them both. “But actually—it’s delectable, if I say so myself.”

“See what I mean?” Gale grumbles from someplace too far off to bother Astarion’s reverie. “Thrives on self-glorification.”

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion leans in for a gentle kiss. Draws it out, moving his lips softly against Tav’s, melding their thoughts so that what forms is one unified feeling of contentment. Happiness. Love—the most delightful gift Astarion’s been given. “Still, you make my life all the better,” Astarion whispers as he draws away. “You treat me so kindly and yet ask for no favors in return. I’m feeling increasingly guilty about it, truth be told.”

“Don’t.” Tav shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your happiness is a reward precious enough.”

“And how do I make you happy?” Astarion demands. “Right now, this very moment?”

Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness.

“Let’s get away,” Tav suggests, voice barely above a whisper. “Enjoy dinner in private. If I get a few more of those kisses out of you—I might just be the luckiest person alive.”

“Darling.” Astarion grins at the idea, though Tav must already feel his excitement through their connection. “Nothing would please me more.”

~~~

thank you for the read💙 I'd love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it!🥺

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@spacebarbarianweird, @satanicspinosaurus, @tallymonster, @tragedybunny

#garlic bread #aces love garlic bread #and vampires #the intimacy of opening your mind so someone can eat garlic bread

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ficbrish · 2 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

[17May2023]

This is from chapter 5 of my Shenko pirate AU, Aaarrrrgghh! There be a Black Spot upon yer Soul

5 ("You dance to it anyway.")

Oops! They fucked!

The sand was cool when they silently crawled back to their shelter under the moon’s watchful eye. A feeling more complicated than shame kept their eyes apart, their lips shut, and their bodies side-by-side. It was the first night they didn’t wake up every fifteen minutes or so from the chill. Wrapped in an animal heat that escaped from their skin and found each other, they slept later into the day than intended.

Kaidan rose first, untangled himself from his nemesis, and tended to their long-extinguished campfire.

When he heard Shepard stirring, it felt like a nightmare and a dream following him into the daylight.

She sat up, blinked, and looked at him. Her face was the same as it always was.

“I think some sand lodged itself up my asshole,” she said, stretching, “Find any in yours?”

Kaidan let out a deep sigh. Then smiled, “Just a little bit.”

She laughed and it rang through him.

“I have fish,” he offered.

Shepard noticed their breakfast roasting on the fire. Her hands rushed to her knife, “Did you take my—?”

“Didn’t touch it—Well, not since… Now get over here and eat!”

“How did you catch those?”

“I grabbed them.”

Shepard glared at him suspiciously just like the other mornings. Kaidan wondered if those expressions of hers he’d learned last night were genuine or just other masks.

She took her usual spot across the campfire and snatched her fish-on-a-stick. Her chewing was grudging, but her mouth was closed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said between bites.

“I didn’t take your knife, Shepard. I wouldn’t touch it unless you let me.”

She finished chewing, “Thanks.”

Kaidan took the other fish off the fire just as it started to burn. He was ravenous, but it was too hot to touch.

“Here, pass it to me,” Shepard offered.

He handed her the stick. She sliced his fish down the middle with her knife and then passed it back. Bits of meat stuck out, steaming. Kaidan was able to nibble on it as it cooled.

“Thanks.”

She nodded and chewed.

It tasted like burnt rope but had some sweetness to it. There were also a lot of little bones to navigate. Still, it was breakfast.

“Can’t believe you caught these with just your hands.”

“Well, what do you do? Stab them?”

She looked at him like he was stupid, “Yeah!”

“Under the water? It’s easier to catch them than stab them.”

“No, it’s not. Besides, the blood can always attract a bigger fish.”

“Yeah, and sharks.”

“Like I said, bigger fish.”

“But you can get sick eating shark.”

“Sick is better than starving.”

“We have fish though.”

“Small fish,” she licked her fingers, “I’m still hungry.”

“We should really do something about that, huh?”

Kaidan ate his steaming fish carefully, “I think I could kill someone for a bit of bread.”

Shepard inspected her pile of bones. She cleaned off whatever was left and sorted out any useful ones for making tools.

She chuckled, “Spoken like a true man of the Alliance.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know, I’d accept that from you if you were just a mere sailor, but you’re an Admiral, Admiral. You’re not just part of it, you’re responsible for the whole thing.”

“I have my orders and I follow them.”

“Yeah, but you don’t ever question it?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Shepard, but questioning things doesn’t make one an Admiral.”

She laughed, “I think you accidentally just made a joke at your own expense.”

He frowned, “What’s so wrong with the Alliance?”

“What isn’t?” her laughter tapered off into something bitter.

Blood pounded behind his ears. Kaidan needed her to stop talking just as much as he needed her to go on.

Silence took over for a while.

Then Shepard said, “Can’t believe a Navy man, who didn’t even know about coconuts, can catch reef fish without any tools.”

He did know some things about coconuts! Thankfully he heard how that sounded in his own head before saying it out loud.

That dangerous smirk eventually bloomed on her lips, “I guess it does make some sense more I think about it. You are pretty good with your hands.”

He blushed and almost choked.

#shenko #wip wednesday #mass effect #mass effect au #promt fill #BrishFics #kaidan alenko #shenko pirates fic

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ayybtch · 4 years ago

Text

Bread

Wanda Maximoff x f!Reader, Baker!AU + Friends to Lovers

Chapter 5 of Made With Love

Word Count: 3,292

Chapter Warnings: Our two favorite idiots are so blind it’s not even funny, lots of yearning, some brief mentions of alcohol consumption towards the end

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for being patient with me on getting this posted. School and work have been crazy, but I’m almost done for the semester so hopefully it won't be as long for the next update. Shout out to my Grandma for sending me her paprikash recipe so I would actually know what I was talking about for this chapter. We literally never speak but she did me a real solid on this one and I will be adding paprikash into my regular cooking schedule once fall hits. Full disclosure though, I literally Googled “What wine pairs with chicken paprikash” and the wines mentioned are what it gave me. Please let me know what you think! I love reading your guys’s comments, it really makes my day.

Hey, so everyone is going to be out on a mission tomorrow night except for me. Any chance I can cash in on that raincheck? There’s a Bewitched marathon happening.

You smiled at Wanda’s message, quickly typing out your response. Definitely! Would you like to join me for bread day tomorrow?

She responded almost immediately. YES!

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. She had been wanting to make bread ever since the two of you made snickerdoodles. She brought it up almost constantly, mostly as a joke to get back at you for all of the times you teased her about it.

Up to this point, Wanda refused to accept any of your attempts to say thank you for helping you out through the cupcake debacle, saying that this was the sort of thing that friends were for. It only felt right that this should be the next thing to bake as your own special way of saying thank you.

As excited as you were to spend time with her and teach her how to do this, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly nervous at the same time. Why had Wanda decided to share her sexuality with you after all this time?

Okay, scratch that. You understood why she shared it with you when she did. The real question is what to do with the information now that you had it.

Was it just a general knowledge sort of a deal? Or was this her way of trying to say she was interested?

You groaned and put your head in your hands. This is why you hadn’t dated someone since your last relationship ended. You needed big flashing lights that screamed “I want to date you!” before you’d catch on, and even that didn’t work sometimes. If someone tried to be subtle, you were an absolute lost cause. You did your best to recall every interaction you had with Wanda that could even remotely be considered as her flirting or expressing interest.

She did smile at you a lot, even more than she smiled at Sam and Bucky who she clearly adored. She also certainly didn’t shy away from physical contact and had even initiated it several times. She had also remembered your coffee and bagel order from the one random time it came up weeks ago...

Suddenly, everything started to add up. All of those glances that had left your heart racing, all of those little touches...maybe Wanda was interested in you?

Your heart felt ready to burst out of your chest with joy.

Wanda didn’t arrive at the bakery until almost noon. The majority of the bread had been baked already; the only bread left to make was hers.

The two of you said your hello’s and caught up a bit as she stepped in to put on her apron and began washing her hands. Once the conversation slowed, you started your rundown for today’s bake.

“Bread is actually a lot easier than it looks but there are a couple of points we’re going to need to be careful at. I’ll remind you about them as we go about but I figured it would be good to have them all in your head now.

“We’re going to be very conscientious about temperatures this entire bake in a way we haven’t really needed to before. When we’re dealing with the yeast, we need the milk around 110 to 115o so the yeast activates properly. We also want things to be warm during the rise times, which shouldn’t be too much of an issue given the ovens have been on most of the day. Once it’s in the oven, we aren’t going to mess with it at all until the last couple minutes and that’s only if we need it to brown further.”

Wanda nodded along as you spoke. “I don’t know how much of an actual problem this is because you’re here, but I always hear a lot about overworking or underworking the dough. How do I know if it’s been kneaded enough?”

“Ah, good question! If the dough keeps getting really flat and not holding its shape, it’s underworked. If the dough is overworked, it gets kind of hard and not easy to work with. The good news is that we’re kneading by hand since it’s your first time and it’s a lot less likely to happen that way than in a mixer.”

She looked unconvinced but nodded. “Okay, so where do we begin?”

The first fifteen minutes of the bake flew by quickly. The yeast mixture had been prepared and was almost ready for the rest of the ingredients to be mixed in. Wanda was completely in awe at how the mixture looked.

To be fair to her though, the yeast mixture does look very weird if you’re not used to seeing it.

Once the flour, salt, and eggs were mixed in, the true fun began. Everything was mixed just enough to be combined into a rough, sticky ball of dough before being taken out of the mixer and onto the floured counter. Wanda followed along as you sprinkled some flour on your dough and began to knead, doing her best to mirror your motions.

You watched her out of the corner of your eye as you worked the dough, waiting to see what she would do. It was hard to hold back your giggles as you watched her. She was practically just squeezing the dough in different directions. You gave her a few minutes to see if she would work things out, but eventually, you set your dough down and moved closer to her.

“Here, let me help,” you said. Your hands moved so they were on top of hers, you tried guiding her through the motions, only for things to fail miserably.

“Okay, can I try something that might be a little weird? It’s just that I’m not used to kneading at an angle like that so it’s throwing off my muscle memory.”

She nodded and you adjusted yourself so you were now standing behind her. Your arms slid around either side of her waist and your hands rested on top of hers. This time, your hands knew what they were doing and you were able to help guide her through the motion. Even after she got it, you remained standing behind her, your chin resting against her shoulder.

The feelings that washed over you as you stood there with her were hard to describe. There was nothing necessarily comfortable about the position you were in, but your whole body felt more relaxed than it had all day. At the same time though, everything felt electrifying. You hoped she couldn’t feel the way your heart was thumping against your chest.

It wasn’t until you realized Wanda had paused and turned back slightly to face you slightly that you stepped back. An apology rose up in your throat only to die as you noticed the small smile on her face. You shot a smile back at her before moving back to your spot, turning your attention back to the job at hand.

The rest of the bake went smoothly, despite Wanda’s fretting about if the bread was rising enough. It didn’t take long before you had two perfectly round loaves of bread sitting next to each other on the cooling rack. Wanda had not stopped smiling since they came out of the oven. Even though that was her usual response, this time felt different.

For the second time that day, you were left trying to describe impossible feelings. Was it her eyes that felt different? They were lit beautifully, radiating so much joy it was impossible to not feel just as excited. But how was that any different from usual? Her eyes always captivated you and left you breathless. Maybe it was the new shade of pink lipstick she had on. It was perfectly accentuating the shape of her lips, to the point you couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to feel them pressed against yours.

You may not be able to pinpoint what the look was, all you knew is that you were grateful to be a part of why her smile was so big.

After she finished taking pictures of the loaves, she turned to you. “That was incredible! I had no idea bread could be that simple.”

You nodded along, unable to hold back a smile. “I told you it wasn’t too bad, there are just a couple spots you have to be sure to navigate well. And clearly -” you gestured towards the loaves, “- you did. Maybe I should start worrying about you stealing my job.”

Her laughter filled the kitchen at your teasing.

As her laugher began to die out, her focus turned back on to you. “Okay, so what time were you thinking of coming over? I’m making us dinner and want to try and have it finishing up right around the time you get there.”

You glanced over at the clock and then back to the to-do list written out on the whiteboard above your desk before answering, “I think it’ll probably be close to five if I had to guess. I still have to finish cleaning some stuff here and I promised to go help Charlie work out some menu options for that picnic thing that’s coming up.”

Wanda nodded along, “Are you going to that?”

“I’m working it, so I, unfortunately, don’t have much of a choice.”

She nodded again. “Same here, actually. All of the Avengers are required to be unless there’s some sort of alien invasion again or something…” She trailed off a moment before continuing. “I was planning on making paprikash. Is that okay with you? I don’t know if there’s anything you can’t or don’t like to eat.”

“I’ve actually never had that before so that would be wonderful! I’m pretty easy when it comes to food. The only things I don’t like are mushrooms and zucchini, but I’ll still eat them if I have to.”

Wanda gasped, “You don’t like mushrooms? How do you not like mushrooms?”

You just shrugged, “Okay, I’m actually pretty neutral on mushrooms. I’ll still eat them. I just don’t go out of my way to make them for myself. Zucchini is a firm no, though.”

She gave you a side-eye but relented. “Well, there are no mushrooms or zucchini in this, but just know I’m going to have to keep an eye on you from now on. I don’t know how we’ve made it this far into our friendship without me knowing you’re an anti-mushroom heathen.”

The two of you joked around for a few minutes longer before she left to start preparing for dinner.

Planning the menu with Charlie didn’t take very long, which you were grateful for. He already had a decent idea of what he wanted to do, so the main thing left was to figure out how much food to order to prepare it. The two of you also agreed upon what you needed to make. Most of your responsibilities centered around desserts, specifically pies, though you agreed to make some fresh rolls and soft pretzels as well.

You were thankful for the meeting to end though because it meant the remaining time you had left could be spent getting ready to go see Wanda.

‘Getting ready’ was perhaps a bit dramatic. You were just changing out of your usual work clothes into something a little cuter. It was nothing particularly fancy, but it was an outfit you felt both confident and comfortable in. You had also made sure to pack some toiletries that morning, allowing you to freshen up your deodorant and brush your teeth as well.

As you stepped into the elevator and pressed the button, you couldn’t help but feel a bit jittery. The past few times you’ve made your way to that part of the building you’ve been nervous about the other Avengers not wanting you there. This time though, all of your nerves could be attributed entirely to Wanda. You weren’t sure what to expect of tonight, but you were determined to have a fun night filled with food and good company.

The warm smell of paprika filled the air and made your stomach grumble as soon as you stepped out of the elevator. Once you were inside, you found Wanda in the kitchen, stirring in some additional seasonings.

“This smells incredible,” you said, setting the two loaves of bread down on the counter.

Wanda beamed. “Thanks! This is my great grandmother’s recipe and is one of my favorite things to make.” As she set the spoon down, she walked towards the fridge. “I bought some wine to go along with dinner if you would like some.”

“Yes please, wine sounds amazing right now.”

“I have a chardonnay and a Barolo, which would you prefer?” she asked, turning back towards you.

You shrugged, “Whichever one you want.”

She nodded and pulled out the Barolo. It didn’t take long for the bottle to be opened and to have a glass of wine in your hand.

It wasn’t until you took your first sip that you realized Wanda had also changed. Your breathing hitched as you looked her up and down. Gone were her jeans and old T-shirts, replaced by a pair of cut-off shorts and a stylishly oversized T-shirt. If it weren’t for the fuzzy wool socks on her feet, you’d assume she was camera-ready. Hell, even with the funny socks she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.

You realized you were staring and abruptly began looking around the kitchen, trying to find something to do that would take your mind off of how hot Wanda looked. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Wanda shook her head no. “There’s not really anything to be done, this just needs to simmer for about another five minutes and we’ll be good to go. Why don’t you go have a seat at the table and I’ll be over in just a moment with some bread slices and butter. Once this is ready I’ll bring it in as well.”

You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen and towards the table.

It wasn’t until you were seated that you realized how well the table was set. Both seats had beautiful flatware laid out, with silverware organized neatly to the side. Underneath was a crisp, pure white table cloth. What caught your attention the most though were the two lit candles sitting between your chair and hers. It wasn’t until you noticed the candles that you also noticed the music playing softly in the background.

Everything about the setup screamed ‘fancy first date’.

Before you had much of a chance to dwell on the thought, Wanda arrived with several slices of bread and a small dish of butter. You thanked her before she walked back towards the kitchen. She returned soon after with the pot of paprikash, setting it on the hot pad in the center of the table. She walked around to her seat and soon both of you had your plates filled and began to eat.

It was impossible to hold back a satisfied sigh as you took your first bite. It tasted just as delicious, if not better than it smelled. The chicken was cooked perfectly and all but melted in your mouth. The paprika added a nice rich flavor and added extra depth to the creaminess of the sauce.

“Wanda this is incredible.”

She smiled at you brightly, “If you think it’s good by itself, try dipping the bread with some butter in it.”

You did as she said and this time instead of a satisfied sigh, you let out a satisfied moan. “You are going to have to give me this recipe. This is so good I don’t even know what to say, all I want to do is keep eating.”

Wanda laughed at your enthusiasm. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you how to make it sometime. It’s about time I taught you something in the kitchen.”

Dinner was a blast. The two of you spent more of it laughing and talking than eating. The bottle of Barolo was finished before dinner was done. It didn’t take long before it was replaced by the chardonnay.

Once dinner was over, you fought Wanda to let you help clean up the kitchen. Her argument that guests shouldn’t help was shot down as you pointed out she’s technically a guest in the bakery, yet she always helps clean up after she’s been in there. She grumbled about it but quickly conceded. It didn’t take long for the kitchen to be cleaned up and even less time after that for her to drag you over to the couch.

The first-ever episode of “Bewitched” was halfway finished by the time the two of you had settled into your spots on the couch. Currently, Samantha and Darrin were at his ex-girlfriend's house for a dinner party and the girlfriend was doing everything she could to make Samantha feel inferior. Samantha, of course, wasn’t having it and was willing to fudge her promises of not using magic to level the playing field.

Wanda laughed along perfectly in time with the sitcom track. The more she laughed, the more your attention turned from being on the TV to be on her. This was the most relaxed and happy you had ever seen her. She had a small, almost imperceivable smile that grew as she became more and more emerged into the episode. Each time she laughed, you noticed how her nose would scrunch up in the cutest way and it took everything you had to not lean over and kiss her.

What you wouldn’t give to make her as happy as this show.

It wasn’t until the end credits were about to roll that you forced yourself to look back at the screen, unsure of how she’d respond if she caught you staring.

As the next episode cued up, she reached out and grabbed her glass of wine before turning to face you.“So, what do you think? Could I have been a Samantha in another life?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Definitely, though I can’t see you being willing to hide your powers just because a man wants you to.”

Wanda nearly choked on the sip of wine she had taken. “You got me there.”

She finished the glass and set it back on the table before letting out a loud yawn. “Sorry, I probably should’ve warned you beforehand that wine makes me a little sleepy.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “It also makes me incredibly cuddly…”

A rush of emotions washed over you as you processed her words. Was she asking to come cuddle with you?

The hopeful look in her eye suggested she was.

Pure, unadulterated joy swept over your body and you had to fight the urge to jump up and down from excitement. You did your best to collect yourself before you replied, hoping that the answer was indeed what you were looking for.

“Is that your way of asking if you can come snuggle?”

She smiled at you sheepishly, which made you laugh. You moved over on the couch, moving around some of the throw pillows so you could lay down.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?”

Wanda didn’t hesitate for a moment and soon was laying on top of you, her head resting on your chest. One of your arms wrapped loosely around her back after she settled in.

A comfortable silence fell over you as you laid there together, watching Bewitched until you fell asleep.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff fan fiction

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pettyrevenge-base · 3 years ago

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Insult your head closer instead of give a raise? Yeah, sure, there's no way that'll backfire.

In the late 90's I worked at a Subway restaurant; specifically closing shift. That'll be relevant later. At the time I was paid somewhere between 7 and 8 bucks an hour, a good chunk more than minimum wage, and had me bringing my A game every day. I knew it was "just fast food", but I took pride in my work. I showed up early, always covered when people called in, followed the recipes (even the really anal stuff like two slices of black olive per 6" sub unless the customer specifically requests more, etc.) By all accounts, I was a model employee. Plus since I worked alone I was the de facto shift supervisor. That's gotta be worth something. I figured I'd ask the regional manager for a raise. (Store manager didn't have the authority.) The worst he can do is say no, right?

Wrong.

Turns out the worst he can do is insult me and everyone else that works there. He was in one day and I made my pitch. He just went off on me, raising his voice shy of a full yell and saying something like "If you were worth more, you wouldn't be working here. You're replaceable, now go away and don't ever speak to me again. I'm the regional manager, and I'm actually important, you just make sandwiches and scrub toilets." Again, not the exact words, but he did make those points quite clearly. I remember being shocked into silence at such a cartoonish display of arrogance coming out of a balding middle-aged man. First time I'd ever encountered a .50 caliber douchebag. I didn't even specify an amount, I just asked for a raise. He could've given me a nickel, or even made something up like "I'm sorry wages are set by corporate, I can't do it" and while I'd have been disappointed I'd have accepted it. But no, his response to the very concept of any raise was a pretentious, self-righteous indictment against the value of every Subway employee that wasn't management. Or probably him specifically. I'd genuinely enjoyed working there, right up until that watershed moment.

OK Cheese-Dick, if that's how you want it, fine. I'll get mine, one way or another. I take pride in my work, but 7-something an hour isn't enough to engender any further loyalty after you so flippantly insulted me and everyone working for you.

Up until that point I had been meticulous about everything I did at work. Like I mentioned earlier closing shift was a one-man show, which meant I had no supervision. My effectiveness was judged based on the accuracy of my inventory numbers, counting my till, my clock-out times, and whether everything was in order when the openers arrived in the morning. I knew a few tricks to offset inventory, which allowed me to take home food without it being noticed. (Ring up a small soda as a cheese round since they were both 89 cents, etc.) On a good night I'd take home a dozen or more footlong subs. On a bad night, I'd just make sandwiches with the loaf of bread I brought from home. I'd also bring in a bunch of empty bottles or jugs, and fill them from the fountain after clocking out. I'd dump entire cambros full of meat, veggies and cheese into a bag to take home. Sometimes I'd bake an oven full of cookies with the express purpose of taking them, if I could do so without using up the rest of a box. (Because a box with one raw cookie was counted the same as an unopened box.)

The moment he made it clear what I was worth to him, I started looking for a different job. If he'd given me a token 3% cost of living increase, it'd have amounted to maybe 25 cents per hour. They had me working around 30-35 hours a week, just below "full time", so it would've amounted to under 9 bucks a week. Hell, he could've even offered a sincere apology and no raise and I would've kept on with it. Instead for the last few months I worked there, every single night I took home what probably amounted to a couple hundred dollars worth of potential sales. Every. Single. Night.

At the time my friends and I, being late teens/early 20's, were still in the party phase of our lives. So every night I worked for those last months I'd roll up just as the party was getting wild, with a bunch of sandwiches, cookies, gallons of soda, etc. Those few months doing the bare minimum and sponging off that dead-end job were way more satisfying than giving my all for 7 and change for an insufferable bag of septic slop.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

#pettyrevenge #lol #omg

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asraalnazarlove · 4 years ago

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Hello, I love your content and I was wandering if you were still doing headcannon requests?

If so, could we please get some extremely fluffy the M6 and MC's normal everyday routines please? So like, who wakes up first, what they have for breakfast, where they eat, what they do most of the day, fluffy interactions, dinner time, evening chill session, night time routine, etc.

Thank you and I love your posts! ♥️

ABSOLUTELY. as always, thanks so much for the ask! if i did all that at once this post would be 18 pages long, so i'm gonna split it up.

for now, here's M6 and MC morning routines :]

ASRA - you wake up to him sleeping with his mouth wiiide open, breathing deep and slow, every exhale ruffling your hair. his arms are still wrapped around you; even asleep, he wants to be as close to you as possible. he never wakes up first if he can help it--he sleeps like a rock. - once you're awake, it doesn't take him long to follow, though. every morning he spends a little while looking at you, as if reminding himself you're really his, committing you to memory all over again. - if it's a slow morning, and neither of you have anywhere to be, he'd be happy to lay in bed with you for hours. cuddle, talk, kiss, mornin' lovin'--anything. morning cuddles are his favorite thing. sometimes you both drift back off to sleep and wake up again. it's the most peaceful and happy time of day. - once you're both out of bed (which always takes some convincing) he immediately gets to making tea. sometimes he'll make breakfast with it, sometimes you do the cooking, but most of the time the two of you walk to the market arm in arm with your tea mugs left to cool on the counter at home. you pick out fruit you like, and never leave the market without a warm, fresh loaf of bread. - your day almost always ends up starting in earnest around noon--any earlier than that is dedicated to your roughly 3-4 hour morning routine of cuddles, tea, and breakfast. even nadia knows not to bother sending for you before then unless it's very urgent.

NADIA - most days nadia has to get up relatively early in order to make all of her appointments and tend to duties of the state. on those busy days, she rises quietly, tucking you in and giving you a kiss on the forehead before leaving you to keep sleeping. - once you wake up, the two of you meet for breakfast--sometimes on her balcony, sometimes on the veranda, sometimes in the gardens--and she updates you on court life. she often asks your opinion on city renovations, telling you about her headaches with the court. if she starts to go off on a tangent to things you don't understand much about, she catches your eye and laughs softly, shaking her head and asking why she's speaking of other things when she could be spending time with you. the rest of breakfast is spent talking about your future together, whether that's the wedding or just what you'll do this weekend. - when you finish breakfast you often sit a little longer in each other's company; if you're outside, you'll lay down with your head on her lap while she runs her hands through your hair, the two of you content to lay around in the sun until you're inevitably called to your duties. - on weekends, or if nadia gets an unexpected day off, she orders breakfast brought to the room. you eat and then immediately head out for a date in the city markets.

JULIAN - this man is a disaster in the morning. usually if he has something big to deal with the next day, he'll be up late worrying and you have to drag his ass to bed. when it's morning, he never wants to get up, because he was up so late and didn't get enough sleep. he'll wrap his gangly limbs around you and bury his face in your hair, mumbling something about how lucky he is to have you...and how much he does not want to get up. - he's also the little spoon unless you insist otherwise. he might be tall, but that doesn't stop him. you usually wake up first, and if you try to move he'll latch onto you like a leech. even in his sleep. sometimes he'll wake up first and pretend to still be asleep so that when you wake up he can enjoy the morning snuggles a little longer. - you make breakfast together, more often than not it turning into some sort of food fight, where he flicks water at you and then you chase him around the house with a spoon of oatmeal trying to aim it for his hair. you usually end up bathing together afterward. - once it's time to get dressed, you usually pick out outfits for each other. sometimes j will want to wear something of yours throughout the day to keep your scent with him while he's working. he also loves to see you wearing his shirts. he showers you with complements every chance he gets.

MURIEL - when the two of you started living together the first order of business was a gigantic bed. muriel was fine with trying to squeeze onto his little bed, but it got a bit unrealistic pretty quickly, what with two whole people and a wolf. you managed to convince him to get a nice big one. he and innana and you still squeeze together on about half of it, though, most of the time. - he always, always wakes up first. sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn't go back to sleep, content to look up at the ceiling and pet innana, or to simply watch you breathe. he likes the reminder that you're alive and happy next to him, especially after a nightmare. - the two of you don't talk much once you're both awake--little sentences here and there, sometimes little jokes and sometimes simple "i love you"s, but that's just because you don't hardly need to; you understand each other. you braid his hair out of his face, sitting on the edge of the bed with him the floor, innana's head in his lap. - he likes to make breakfast for you, and often tries to time it so it's ready right when you wake up. sometimes it doesn't work, and he wakes you up to eat it before it gets cold. - every day, you go on a walk together, innana scouting ahead or trailing behind. you check the perimeter and refresh the magic of the protective charms. asra comes to visit sometimes, and the three of you will go exploring together.

PORTIA - ohh, the cuddles. portia loves any and all of them, whether your arms are around her or she's wrapping hers around you; she just loves affection, and will almost always start the morning bright and early with lots and lots of kisses, all over you. what can she say, she's a morning person. - she goes to work at the palace pretty early still. you walk her to work, and the two of you eat breakfast together in the palace kitchens, talking to all of her friends there. they all know you almost as well as she does, and even though you don't reeally work there you're still one of the little crew. you know all of the ins and outs of their lives, all of the inside jokes and passages of the palace and its staff. if you ever miss anything, portia makes sure to update you when you walk home later that evening. the gossip never stops, and you can't be left out of the loop. - once portia starts working in earnest it's hard to get her to stop, but she'll always come see you on her lunch breaks, telling you about whatever funny thing happened with the nobles that day--who spilled wine on whom, whether or not it was really an accident--and what nadia's been up to.

LUCIO - you are quite literally the only person he won't behead for interrupting his 'beauty sleep.' well, maybe not behead, since he doesn't do that (...much) anymore. the two of you sleep in the most luxurious bed money can buy, complete with four posters and a canopy. the dogs, of course, sleep right at your feet. - if he wakes up first, he'll immediately wake you up too so you can help him pick out an outfit for the day. picking out said outfit usually takes an hour. then he dresses you. that takes much less time, since he knows exactly what you look good in. sometimes he'll pick something a little over the top, and you end up (gently) throwing certain offending garments at him in rebuttal. - breakfast is as ornate and gourmet as it can be; you feed him grapes as you lounge together on a chez, you draped over his chest. he only makes you move sometimes so he can get up and act out a story he's telling, to help you picture it better! - once your day actually gets started (if it ever does) he leaves most decisions to you. he trusts your judgement--and he doesn't like decision making much anyways. he's just eager to go back to the rooms with you.

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