#slice slice master onion

[parokka]

if it's still open, is it ok if i request Chop Chop Master Onion as E5? if you've already drawn this face, then i'm sorry

no pressure ^^

あ

i gotta catch up with the requests

[doormatty3]

Onions and Orgasms (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] Being in a relationship with Orm is interesting, to say the least—he’s loving, kind, and undoubtedly overwhelmed by human customs. To help him adapt, you often cook together, showing him human traditions through the joy of making delicious food, something you have both grown fond of. Typically, his lack of kitchen knowledge and skills isn’t a big issue, but you soon discover that some food items need more explanation than you initially anticipated. OR: You laugh about Orm’s horrible kitchen skills, and he shows you with what he *is* skilled.

Wordcount: 7,362

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, anal fingering, oral sex

A/N: I don't know what it is about Orm that just doesn't let me go... I had to write another story about him (I know exactly what it is - it's Patrick Wilson)

This is set after my Ocean Eyes story—you don't need to have read it, though. The only thing you need to know is that Orm and Reader-Chan are in a happy relationship, and Orm—well, he isn't that good with surface dweller stuff, but he tries.

You know that Orm doesn't understand much about humans and their customs—you'd been living with the man for quite some time, and his antics are nothing new.

Though he tries and makes an effort for your sake, sometimes he even does it so well that you forget he is the former king of Atlantis. But other times, it is all too obvious that he is still a stranger to this world.

"Why must everything be cut into such small pieces, honey?" Orm asks, his tone filled with genuine curiosity as he concentrates on cutting vegetables. The two of you are cooking together, an activity that has become a cherished routine of your everyday life. It is in these quiet moments that Orm's sincere attempts to integrate into your world were most apparent. And not only did his efforts shine, but so did the love between you.

You look at him, a fond smile playing on your lips.

His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, and his unruly blond hair nearly reaches his nose now. His piercing blue eyes are focused on the small kitchen knife and the bell pepper he is meticulously slicing. The knife seems almost comically small in his large hands, and he grips it with such strength that you are surprised it hasn't broken yet.

It is somewhat amusing, considering how skilled he is with his trident compared to the struggle he faces just holding the knife properly.

"Because we're going to fry it, sweetheart," you explain gently, appreciating his efforts to learn. "Cutting the vegetables into smaller pieces helps them cook more evenly and quickly."

Orm nods slowly, processing the information. He glances at you, his expression a mix of determination and puzzlement. "Fry… that means to cook them in hot oil, right?"

"Exactly," you confirm, guiding him through the process. "It gives them a nice texture and flavour."

As he resumes cutting the bell pepper, pleased with your answer, you can't help but admire his dedication.

Orm, the fierce warrior who once ruled an underwater kingdom, now stands in your modest kitchen, struggling with the simple act of slicing vegetables. It is a testament to how much he cares about adapting to your world - about making a life with you.

You watch as he continues his task, his concentration unwavering.

Despite the awkwardness, there is just something endearing about his efforts. The way he holds the knife, the careful precision with which he makes each cut, and the slight furrow in his brow all speak of a man determined to master even the most mundane aspects of human life for the sake of the one he loves.

"You're doing great," you encourage, stepping closer to him. "Just a little more practice and you'll be a pro."

Orm glances up at you, and a small, sweet, appreciative smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

At that moment, you are once again mesmerised by how much you love him. The depth of your feelings seems to swell within you as if you are seeing him for the first time all over again. The love you feel for him is a constant, ever-growing force that never ceases to amaze you.

"Thank you," he says softly. "For being patient with me."

You reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. "We're in this together, Orm. Every step of the way."

He smiles brightly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and sparkling like the smoothest water in sunlight before he returns his focus to slicing the last few pieces of bell pepper.

When he is done with the paprika, Orm hands you the bowl, his eyes meeting yours with a look of accomplishment. You take it from him with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," you say, putting the bowl away so you can use it for cooking later. "Can you cut the onions, love?" you ask, gesturing towards the small pile of onions on the counter.

His puzzled expression tells you he isn't sure which vegetable you mean, so you point at them and specify. "You have to peel them—the brown skin has to go. Then, dice the white part in small pieces."

Orm nods and grabs an onion, examining it closely before starting to peel. You watch as he works, his large hands moving slowly and carefully. It is kind of cute - the way he approaches this simple task with such determination.

He peels away the first layer, the dry, flaky skin falling away to reveal the smooth white beneath. As he begins to slice, his concentration deepens, his brows furrowing just as they had with the bell pepper.

After a few cuts, however, you hear him mutter a curse under his breath. Glancing over, you see him blinking rapidly, his eyes beginning to water.

Orm wipes his arm over his eyes, confusion etched on his face. "Why do my eyes hurt?" he asks, blinking more frequently now. Before you can warn him, he uses the same hand he had just cut the onion with to rub his eyes.

"Orm, no—" you start, but it is too late.

His eyes widen in pain, and he quickly withdraws his hand, the irritation clearly intensifying. Tears stream down his cheeks, not from emotion but from the sharp sting of the onions.

"Why… why am I crying?" he asks, bewildered, as he tries to blink away the tears. He brings his hand up again, clearly frustrated, and you quickly grab his arm to stop him.

"Sweetheart, you're making it worse," you say, unable to help the laugh that bubbles up. "Let me help you."

You grab a piece of tissue paper and go to the sink to dampen it. Then you dab it over his eyes, gently cleaning his hands as well.

He grumbles, clearly in a bad mood from the sting and the tears, and you can't help but laugh again. "The mighty Orm, taken down by a humble onion," you tease lightly.

Orm's expression darkens slightly, a mix of frustration and embarrassment, his brows knitting together in a grumpy frown. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, his pride clearly stung, but your laughter only intensifies.

Acting a bit condescending, you pat his cheek. "It's okay, sweetie. Onions can be tricky. Maybe next time I'll handle them - we'll find another battle for the fine Atlantean warrior."

His eyes flash with a mix of frustration and something deeper. Before you can react, he roughly presses you against the counter, his grip firm but not painful.

Orm's lips crash down on yours in a heated, possessive kiss. You gasp in surprise but quickly melt into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his broad chest.

When he finally pulls back a bit, his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark with unresolved tension. "Don't mock me," he says, his voice low and husky.

You look up at him, breathless and a little dazed from the unexpected kiss. "I wasn't—" you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

"You think this is funny?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl as he interrupts you. "I may not be skilled in the kitchen, but I'm skilled in getting you off."

Before you can respond or comprehend what he said, he kisses you again roughly, his hands roaming your body with a fervour that makes your heart race. You bury your hands in his blond hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.

It is intense and devouring.

You feel his tongue against yours, the insistent pressure of his lips sending shivers down your spine. Orm's kiss is demanding, almost punishing, and you meet it with equal passion, losing yourself in the moment. The sensation of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body, is intoxicating. You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the world blur around you.

His tongue teases and explores, sending waves of heat coursing through your body. You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by his relentless assault. He growls in response, the vibration travelling through you and making you tremble.

Orm's hands slide down your back, gripping your waist with a possessive strength that leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you against him, the hardness of his body pressing into your softness. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that makes your knees weak, and you moan into the kiss again, your body responding eagerly to his touch as you clench your thighs, feeling yourself growing wet.

When Orm finally pulls back, his eyes are smouldering with renewed intensity. He doesn't move away from you; instead, he tightens his grip on your waist again, pressing you firmly against the counter. The heat of his body radiates through your clothes, and you can feel the raw power in his muscles as he holds you there, trapped between the cool surface of the counter and him.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands roam over your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive hunger. "You laugh at me, but you have no idea what you do to me."

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "Orm…" you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He silences you with another kiss, rough and demanding. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that causes your eyes to flutter closed as you respond eagerly, your hands clutching at his hair, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself in the whirlwind of sensation.

Orm's hands move with a new purpose, sliding under your shirt to caress the bare skin beneath. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explores every inch of you. His fingers trace patterns over your back and sides, each touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

He tugs at your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it aside, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, his hands roaming over your now exposed breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples.

The sensation is almost too much, and you arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you respond in kind, moving your hands from his hair over his broad shoulders and biceps, feeling the strong muscles beneath his clothes.

He lifts you onto the counter with ease, his powerful hands gripping your waist firmly as he keeps his lips connected to yours.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you for a second before his mouth descends on your neck.

He kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. His touch is both tender and demanding, a combination that leaves you aching for more. His breath is hot and tantalising, making you let out a breathy moan as your hands come up to touch his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his skin.

"You drive me wild," he murmurs against your neck, his voice a husky growl.

His hands move to your breasts, teasing them with a touch that sends shivers down your spine.

His fingers expertly trace circles around your nipples, each caress making them harden under his touch. You gasp, arching into him, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations, and you feel your pussy growing wet as arousal pulses through your veins. He growls appreciatively, his mouth moving lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your chest.

"Orm," you breathe, your voice a mixture of frustration and need.

He smiles against your skin, his lips trailing down to your chest. "You think it's funny to laugh at me, don't you?" he murmurs, his mouth closing over one nipple. He sucks gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, drawing a moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

A whimper escapes you as he switches tactics, using his teeth to graze over your flesh with a delicious roughness, sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins and making your clit throb. But then, just as quickly, he soothes the ache with a soothing stroke of his tongue, leaving you trembling with desire.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer, unable to contain the overwhelming need for him. "I'm sorry," you manage to gasp between ragged breaths, though your words are lost in the haze of pleasure.

"I'm not," he growls, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and desire. "You drive me mad."

He switches to the other breast, his mouth and hands working together to drive you wild as he sucks and nibbles on your sensitive nipple and kneads your tit with his hand. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes you tremble. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your need for him growing with each passing second, slick against your underwear.

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that makes your heart race. "All mine."

With that, he captures your lips in another searing kiss, his hands moving down to your waist, leaving your breasts aching as the cool air hits your wet, hard nipples. It's deep and consuming, a mix of hunger and tenderness that leaves you breathless and makes you moan into his mouth again.

You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his blond hair, pulling at the thick strands to drag him even closer as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Orm's fingers trail over your thighs, his touch light and teasing, driving you wild with anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark and predatory and a smirk on his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

"Orm, please," you whisper, your voice a desperate plea.

He smiles, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Patience," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through you. "I want to savour this."

His hands roam over your thighs again, caressing and teasing, driving you to the brink of madness as his long fingers draw intricate patterns through the fabric of your clothes. Each touch is electric, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers dance closer and closer to your cunt, but he never quite touches you where you need him most.

You can't help but whimper, the sound a mix of frustration and desire.

There's a part of you that wishes you hadn't teased him so mercilessly about his lack of knowledge of cutting onions and kitchen skills in general. You know he's going to drag this out, making you suffer and beg instead of just giving you what you want.

Orm spreads your legs further, positioning himself between them. His large, calloused hands cup your face tenderly, guiding your gaze to meet his. You lift your hand to touch his stubbly cheek, running your thumb over it, and gaze into his blue eyes that are now dark and reflecting desire.

He closes his eyes, his impossibly long lashes resting against his cheeks as he lets out a sigh. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The sweet gesture makes your heart flutter in your chest, your love for him threatening to spill out.

"I love you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten with emotion.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your voice trembling with the weight of your feelings.

Orm's hands move from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and coming to rest on your breasts again. He squeezes them gently, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

He kisses you again, deeply and passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matches your own. Every stroke of his tongue, every brush of his lips, is filled with an intense desire that makes your head spin. It's intoxicating, making you dizzy with want.

You feel his hard cock straining against his pants as he presses himself against you, making you whine with need. The pressure against your cunt is maddening, and you're sure you're wet enough to leave a spot on his pants, were you naked.

Orm's hands move with a deliberate slowness, heightening your anticipation.

He chuckles softly at your response, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your body. Pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his hands begin their journey lower, gliding over your stomach until they reach the waistband of your pants.

He pulls them down slowly and with agonising patience, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, your body aching for his touch. Every inch of skin he reveals feels hypersensitive, exposed to the cool air and the heat of his stare.

Orm's smirk deepens as he slides your pants down, leaving you in just your underwear. His fingers continue their torturous teasing over the fabric, pressing and rubbing in just the right way to drive you wild. Your hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more contact, more anything , but he holds you steady, keeping control as you soak your panties even more.

"Do you like this?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Do you like being teased ?"

You shake your head, unable to form words, your body writhing with need.

He finally slips his fingers beneath the fabric, touching your cunt directly, and the sensation is almost too much. You cry out, your back arching as his thumb finds your clit with practised ease and drags the rough pad over it in circles, finding a slow and perfect rhythm.

"You're perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and adoration as he slows his movements even more before halting completely and pulling his hand from under your panties, making you whimper in protest.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, but before you can say anything and protest properly, his hands are on you again, his fingers trailing over your thighs, spreading your legs wider. He leans in, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

He starts to kiss his way up your inner thigh, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you, and you slump back onto the counter, keeping yourself upright by your arms.

His lips are soft and warm, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin. The sensation is exquisite, making you squirm with need.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of mischief. "Patience," he murmurs, his voice a deep, velvety growl. "I want to savour this."

He continues his slow, torturous journey up your thigh, his mouth finally reaching the apex. He pauses there, taking a moment to breathe in your scent, his hot breath ghosting over your panties and sending shivers down your spine.

Then he begins to kiss you through the thin fabric of your underwear, his tongue flicking over the damp cloth, tasting you in the most maddeningly indirect way possible. When his tongue finally presses against your neglected, throbbing clit, even through the fabric, you gasp loudly, your back arching off the counter.

His groan of appreciation reverberates through your pussy, sending vibrations that intensify the pleasure to dizzying heights. You can feel the heat of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue seeping through your panties, creating a delicious friction that has you moaning his name.

Desperate for more, you grip his hair tightly, your fingers tangling in the blond strands as you try to pull him closer and prevent him from stopping. But Orm maintains his torturous pace, teasing you mercilessly.

"Please," you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "I need more."

He grins against you, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body. "As you wish," he says, his voice low and husky.

Orm pulls back slightly, prompting a whine of protest from you as you tighten your grip on his hair, too caught up in the haze of arousal to grasp why he wants to pull back.

"Honey, you need to let me move a bit to take off your underwear," he says, his tone affectionate yet teasing.

Blushing furiously, you release your tight hold on his hair, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and desire flood through you. His gaze meets yours, his eyes dark with need and amusement.

"My needy girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire.

Before you can respond, he leans in quickly, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, his tongue exploring every inch with a fervour that leaves you breathless. The taste of him is intoxicating, filling your senses and leaving you craving more.

When he pulls back and settles between your legs again, you're dazed - by the pleasure he's providing and his closeness. It is as if you can never get enough of him.

With a deft movement, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slowly slides them down your legs. He pauses for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, completely exposed and vulnerable. His gaze is intense, filled with a mix of love and desire that makes your heart race.

Orm leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, moving closer to your now bare cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes locking with yours, as he leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive area.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place. "I'm going to give you something to laugh about," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.

This time, there is no barrier between you.

The first touch of his tongue is like a shock of electricity, making you gasp and clutch at the edge of the counter, your fingers curling around the edge as you brace yourself for the onslaught of sensation.

He licks a long, slow path up your slit, savouring your taste with a low, appreciative groan. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking and teasing with a skill that has you moaning. He alternates between gentle licks and firm strokes, driving you to the brink of madness.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer and try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body.

His mouth works in perfect harmony with his hands, his fingers parting your slick cunt to give him better access to your most sensitive spots.

He plunges his tongue inside you, tasting and exploring your pussy with a fervour that makes you moan loudly. He moves with a rhythm that is both precise and unpredictable, keeping you on edge, never knowing what to expect next. Each movement, each flick of his tongue, brings you closer and closer.

Just as you feel the orgasm building, he pulls back, denying you the release you crave. The sensation is exquisite torture, leaving you gasping and trembling with need. He watches you, his blue eyes dark and intense, enjoying the sight of you teetering on the edge.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea. "I need to cum."

He lifts his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal and his blue eyes dark. "Not yet," he says, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you beg some more."

With that, he slips two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. The dual sensation is almost too much to bear. You writhe against him, your body on fire with need. Every nerve ending is alive, screaming for release.

But he isn't done.

His free hand trails down, his finger thick and calloused, pressing gently against the tight ring of your ass, the sensation foreign and electrifying.

You tense instinctively, unsure of what to expect, but the gentle pressure of his touch is surprisingly comforting as he explores your puckered hole for the first time.

He circles the entrance slowly, teasingly, his movements deliberate and controlled. Each touch sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, the unfamiliar sensation stirring something deep inside you.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs, his voice husky with need.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of anticipation and excitement flooding your senses. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you surrender to the pleasure of his touch.

Orm's fingers press against the tight entrance, the sensation foreign yet undeniably arousing. He moves slowly, carefully, easing his finger past the resistance with a gentleness that belies the intensity of his desire, making you gasp as a mixture of pleasure and discomfort floods your senses.

"Relax, honey," he whispers, his breath hot against your cunt. "I'll take care of you."

You nod, your body trembling with anticipation as he continues to explore you, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "Orm," you gasp, unable to form coherent words as pleasure washes over you in waves.

Orm eases his finger deeper inside you. The stretch is intense, the feeling of being filled in a way you've never experienced before, both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's it, honey," he murmurs, his voice filled with dark amusement. "Let go, and let me take care of you."

You moan in response as you adjust to the feeling.

You can feel every ridge and contour of his finger within you, the sensation, unlike anything you've ever felt before. As he begins to move his finger in and out, the feeling builds, pleasure mingling with the slight sting of discomfort until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is overwhelming, desire flooding your senses as he sets a rhythm that drives you wild with need.

Orm's voice is a husky growl as he speaks, his words sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You like feeling my fingers in your tight little ass."

You whimper in response, your mind clouded by desire and undeniably overwhelmed by everything he's doing to you. His fingers move within you, stretching and filling you in a way that leaves you gasping for breath.

Orm's touch is possessive, almost primal, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. "You're so fucking tight," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "Someday, I'll take you there too."

His words send a jolt of heat straight to your cunt, the idea of him taking you in your ass sending waves of desire crashing over you as you clench around his fingers.

"You enjoy that?" he growls, his voice low and guttural. "You enjoy being filled up like this, don't you, honey? Having both your holes stuffed?"

His dirty talk only serves to heighten your arousal, the words sending flashes of pure, hot want through your body as he works you with his fingers and mouth. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you ride the wave of sensation, your body writhing with need.

Orm is relentless, his fingers moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless. You can feel the tension building inside you, a coil wound so tightly it's about to snap.

The combination is almost unbearable. Your body feels like it's on fire, each touch and movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"Please, Orm," you whimper, your voice breaking. "I can't take it."

He grins against you, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh as he pulls back slightly, his fingers still working in and out of you, the sound of your wet pussy loud and obvious. "Not yet, sweetheart," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can, and you will take it,"

His fingers in your cunt curl just right , pressing against your G-spot while his thumb continues its torturous circles over your clit, causing you to clench and whimper.

Meanwhile, the finger in your ass moves in and out, the tightness around it making Orm groan with satisfaction. "You're so tight here," he mutters, his voice filled with dark pleasure. "I love feeling you like this…And I think you need more to clench on."

Orm adds a second finger to your ass, stretching you slightly, the sensation both foreign and thrilling and even more intense than before.

He pumps his fingers in and out of both your ass and pussy, curling them to hit just the right spots while his tongue flicks over your clit with maddening precision. The pressure builds inside you, each touch bringing you closer to the edge, but he pulls back just before you can tumble over, denying you the release you crave driving you wild with frustration.

Your entire body is a tight coil of tension, every nerve ending on fire as he denies you your release again and again. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you cling to him, your nails digging into his scalp as you try to pull him closer, but he keeps control, maintaining that perfect, maddening rhythm.

"Please, Orm," you sob, tears of frustration pricking at your eyes, your clit throbs almost painfully, and you feel your cunt twitching around him - you feel ready to snap.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg for it," he commands, his voice a rough whisper.

"I beg you," you cry, your voice hoarse with need. "Please, let me cum. I need it. I need you ."

Orm's expression softens just a fraction, and he increases the pressure, his mouth and fingers working together to bring you to the brink once more, driving you higher and higher until you finally explode.

This time, he doesn't pull back.

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, and you scream his name as you finally find your release, your voice raw and hoarse with need. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening as the orgasm rips through you.

But Orm doesn't stop, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, prolonging your orgasm until you're shaking and breathless. He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit while curling his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again.

The pleasure is almost too intense, your body shuddering as another orgasm builds, crashing over you in powerful waves before you've come down from your previous high.

Your vision blurs, your mind slipping into a haze of ecstasy as your senses are overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

Your legs tremble, and you clutch desperately at the counter, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your release.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it's over.

You collapse against the counter, your body spent and trembling with the aftershocks of your earth-shattering climax. The world swims hazily before your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

The overwhelming intensity of your orgasm leaves you disoriented, and before you can fully comprehend the moment, everything goes dark, and you black out.

When you come back to your senses, you find yourself cradled in Orm's arms, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes, filled with love and concern, lock onto yours. He kisses your forehead softly, the warmth of his lips soothing and tender. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice low and full of adoration.

"I love you too," you whisper back tiredly, still shaking from what happened. Your body still tingles with the aftershocks of your intense release, and you feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and love.

Orm cups your face with his large, warm hand, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he looks into your eyes. Through the haze in your mind, you can't help but appreciate how his blue eyes sparkle with emotion and how wet his chin, cheeks, and neck are from pleasuring you.

"You okay, honey?" he asks, his voice low and gentle, filled with genuine concern as he checks in with you.

You nod and bite your lip, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice breathless and shaky.

Orm's thumb slides over your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the sensation causing you to clench around nothing and whine into the kiss.

The feeling of his residual wetness on your skin and the hardness of his cock pressing against your bare cunt only heightens your desire.

The fire in you, which had dimmed to a soft glimmer, now flares back with full fervour, threatening to consume you whole. Every touch, every breath, feels like it's adding fuel to the inferno raging within you.

When the kiss breaks, your hands move frantically to Orm's shirt. You tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your core and obliges you by pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

Your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him, his muscular chest and chiselled abs glistening slightly from the exertion. The light catches on his body, highlighting the hard lines and contours that speak of strength and power.

The prominent vein running down his biceps stands out starkly against his skin, leading your eyes down to the rest of his strong arm. You trace its path with your gaze, marvelling at the sheer strength contained within.

His pecs are firm and inviting, his nipples hardening slightly in the cool air, a contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His chest, broad and sculpted, rises and falls with his heavy breathing, the rhythm hypnotic and alluring.

Your eyes travel down to his abs, each ridge and valley inviting your touch, a landscape of desire that begs to be explored. The lines of them lead your gaze downward to where his hard dick strains against his pants, the sight making your pulse quicken and your mouth go dry with longing.

You can't help but run your hands over his firm muscles. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, a reminder of just how much you want him. His skin is warm and smooth under your touch, and you can feel the tension coiled in his body, ready to be unleashed.

"God, you're so hot," you murmur, your voice filled with awe and desire, your mind still hazy from the orgasm he gave you as the words slip out without thought.

He chuckles lowly at both your words and behaviour.

"You find this amusing?" you ask, breathless, as you trace the lines of his body with your fingers.

Orm's eyes darken with a mix of amusement and desire. "I find it amusing how needy you are," he says, his voice a low growl. "But I can't deny that I enjoy it. Don't think I have forgotten how you laughed at me with those onions."

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the waistband of his pants. With a fluid motion, he pulls them down, followed by his underwear. His hard cock springs free, standing tall and proud and glistening with precum. The sight of him, fully naked and aroused, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

You reach out, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Orm groans, his head falling back as you stroke him, his muscles tensing and rippling under your touch as you pump him a few times.

He opens his eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing through you. "I need you," he murmurs his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

He leans in to kiss you again, his hands roaming over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip.

His hands trail down from your face, caressing your neck and shoulders, before moving to your breasts. He teases your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arch your back, pushing your breasts into his hands, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

"Orm," you murmur, your voice filled with need. "I want you."

He steps closer, positioning himself between your legs once more. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. "Then you shall have me," he says, his voice rough with desire.

As he presses against you, you feel his thick, hard cock sliding against your cunt, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you. He doesn't enter you yet; he just teases you, making you gasp and moan with each movement.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he growls into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

You whimper in response, the anticipation driving you to the edge again. "Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea.

He chuckles darkly, a possessive gleam in his eyes. "I know, honey," he murmurs. He continues to tease you, his tip brushing against your slick folds, the sensation almost too much to bear. You moan, your hips bucking in response, desperate for more.

Finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, he positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours.

With a gentle yet firm push, he slides into you, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, and your body arches into his, a mixture of pleasure and relief as he buries himself to the hilt, the fullness making you feel complete.

Orm pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, his eyes never leaving yours. "God, you feel amazing," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

He moves slowly at first, savouring the feel of you around him, each thrust measured and controlled.

His hands roam over your body, caressing your breasts, your waist, your thighs. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, making you arch and writhe against him. His fingers find your nipples, pinching and rolling them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt, making you moan wantonly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to move faster, his thrusts deep and powerful. The rhythm is intoxicating, a dance of passion and desire that leaves you breathless. His cock fills you completely, hitting all the right spots with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same fervour as his hips.

"You feel so good," he groans, his voice rough with pleasure, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "So tight, so perfect." His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

He smiles against your skin, his movements growing more urgent. "Not yet," he growls, his voice still carrying a hint of grumpiness.

He slows his thrusts, pulling back almost entirely so only his tip is inside your pussy before pushing back in with agonising slowness. The deliberate pace keeps you on the edge, your body begging for release. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make you whimper.

"Sweetheart, please," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I can't take it."

Your body trembles with the intensity of the sensations, each stroke of his cock pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every vein, every ridge, and it's driving you wild. His touch is everywhere, his hands roaming over your body, caressing, squeezing, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

"Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your need. "Please, let me cum."

His eyes lock onto yours, and he sees the desperation there.

His expression softens, and he increases the pressure, his thumb circling your clit more firmly while his other hand grips your hip, pulling you even closer. His thrusts become deeper, more powerful, each one sparking that fire inside you. The tension builds, a tight coil of need that threatens to fracture at any moment.

His hips start to snap against yours with a rhythm that is both demanding and precise, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. He leans down to kiss you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his broad, muscular back as you meet each thrust with equal intensity. The feel of his bare skin against yours, the play of his defined muscles under your fingertips, adds to the intoxicating pleasure. His chest, hard and chiselled, presses against your breasts, the friction against your sensitive nipples like adding fuel to the fire in your veins.

You moan in response, your hips bucking against his as the pleasure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable crescendo. The slick friction of his cock inside you, the pressure of his pelvis and thumb against your clit with every thrust, drives you mad with desire.

His movements grow more urgent, his thrusts faster and harder. The sound of your bodies coming together, the slick heat of your arousal, fills the room.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you, needing him closer. "Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea.

"Do it," he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic, the control slipping as he nears his peak. "Cum for me, honey. Let me feel you." His words are a command and a plea, the urgency in his voice pushing you over the edge.

You scream his name as you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless once more. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening around him, your cunt gripping his cock in a vice-like hold that draws a guttural moan from deep within him.

Orm continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm and driving you to the edge of madness.

His movements become frantic, his rhythm breaking as he succumbs to his own release. He thrusts into you one last time, deep and hard, and you feel the hot, pulsating rush of his cum filling you. His body shudders, and he holds you close, his breath ragged and his heart pounding against yours, his head buried in your shoulder.

As the last tremors of pleasure fade, Orm pulls back slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. He looks utterly spent, his body drenched in sweat that glistens in the light, and his hair plastered to his forehead. You reach out to brush it from his eyes and cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his breath on your face. He smiles at you, a sweet, loving smile that makes your heart flutter, before leaning forward and pressing a long, tender kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and lifts you from the counter, cradling you in his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, carrying you to the bathroom with a tenderness that makes your heart swell with love.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Azul Ashengrotto - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Azul Version ～Let's Make Rice Croquette 1～

Ghost Chef: Alright, today we'll have you make "rice croquettes."

Azul: Rice croquettes, hm. The ristorante my mother manages serves them, so I have tasted them before.

Azul: If I recall, the crisp shell on the outside and the soft risotto on the inside, as well as the different possible combinations of ingredients within it, make for a fantastic dish.

Ghost Chef: Your family runs a ristorante? Then you must be very knowledgeable in the kitchen. This course may be too easy for you.

Azul: Oh no, not at all. I appreciate all the guidance and encouragement you can give me.

Ghost Chef: Come now～ Don't be so modest! Alright, time to start cooking.

Ghost Chef: First, you'll make the risotto. Mince the onion and fry it in the pan.

Azul: Mince the onion, right. …Just in case, I will go over the proper procedure once. Could I ask you to confirm if what I say is correct?

Ghost Chef: Absolutely. It's good that you don't try to breeze past the basics.

Azul: After cutting the onion in half lengthwise, place the cross-section face down on the board. While leaving the root intact, make cuts at even intervals from the edge to the center.

Azul: Then, turn that onion 90 degrees and cut perpendicular to the previously made cuts… Does that sound correct?

Ghost Chef: Yep, that's perfect. Make sure to cut them in 3 to 4mm intervals so they're big enough to taste and use for forming the balls.

Azul: Understood. Now then, I hold the knife in my dominant hand, hold the onion with my other hand, and slice with the knife vertically…

[slip! roll…]

Azul: …Pardon me. It seems I didn't have a tight grip on it.

Azul: …Now then, I'll try that once more―

[slip! roll…]

Ghost Chef/Azul: …

Ghost Chef: Uhhh… Azul-kun, by any chance… Do you not have much experience in cooking?

Azul: That's correct. I am hoping to improve myself in this regard slightly through this Master Chef curriculum.

Ghost Chef: So, when you said you'd appreciate my guidance and encouragement, you really meant it!?

Azul: Indeed. Is something the matter?

Ghost Chef: You were carrying yourself with the confidence of a seasoned chef… So I completely assumed you were already skilled in the art of cooking.

Azul: I am able to discern the difference between something tasting good or bad, but cooking is outside of my wheelhouse.

Azul: And thus, I enrolled in Master Chef, as I believed that since this course is geared towards those unfamiliar with cooking, it would be a perfect way to start gaining experience.

Ghost Chef: I see… I find your approach commendable, Azul-kun. You're completely different from the owner of the restaurant I worked at back when I was alive!

Azul: The owner of the restaurant from when you were alive? …Could you perhaps elaborate a little more on them?

Ghost Chef: That owner couldn't cook anything at all, but would always find something to complain about my dishes.

Ghost Chef: Every time they tried to lecture me, I'd fume and think, "They're all talk, they don't know a thing about the amount of effort I had to put into this!"

Azul: …I think I understand. Just the other day, one of the staff members of the Mostro Lounge said something similar to me.

Azul: Something along the lines of… "MAAAN, AZUL, ALL YOU DO IS YAP YAP YAP EVEN THOUGH YOU DON'T KNOW SQUAT 'BOUT COOKING～"

Ghost Chef: Is that so? Then… Is that the reason why you decided to try to gain cooking experience?

Azul: Indeed. Although, I wouldn't say I'm quite so immature as to take such an emotional outburst that seriously…

Azul: But I find it vexing to even be told such a thing, so if someone believes I lack experience, then I should work at it to mitigate that. Thus, I've come here.

Ghost Chef: Good for you, Azul-kun, listening to what your staff has to say and putting yourself in their shoes.

Ghost Chef: Hearing that situation, I'll make sure to do my best and explain everything to you from a chef's point of view.

Azul: I can't possibly imagine that there would be any similarities in the point of view between the temperamental guy from my dorm and a chef that worked at a five-star restaurant…

Azul: But this should surely be a good experience. I am fully open to your instruction.

Ghost Chef: Sure! If you ever have any questions, you're always free to ask me anything.

Azul: Thank you.

[sizzle, sizzle…]

Ghost Chef: Looks like the onions are cooked. Time to add the rice into the frying pan.

Azul: Understood.

[rice pours into the pan]

Ghost Chef: If you stir too much, you can damage the rice. The key here is to gently cook it over low heat.

Azul: Chef, what constitutes low heat?

Ghost Chef: You'll want to set it to about where the tips of the flames aren't touching the bottom of the pan.

Azul: I see. I'll lower the heat slightly, then.

[click…]

Azul: Perfect. Now I just need to stir the wooden spatula slowly so the rice doesn’t get dama… HUH!?

[cracking sounds]

Azul: In the short amount of time that I took to adjust the heat, the rice started sticking to the pan…!

Azul: If I were to try to forcibly peel it off, the rice could be damaged and there is a risk that the quality of the dish would be lowered.

Azul: However, if I were to factor in the cost of the ingredients and the time until judging, I won't be able to remake this from scratch…

Azul: Chef, is there a way to recover my progress when the rice has stuck to the frying pan?

Ghost Chef: Yep. Just add a bit of the bouillon we were going to add later, and slowly peel it with your spatula.

[sizzle!]

Azul: It came off so cleanly…! Even in the face of a mistake, you can quickly turn things around… As expected of a pro chef.

Ghost Chef: Ahaha, you must be exaggerating! Although I can't say I dislike your compliment.

Azul: Not at all, this was very eye-opening for me. Please, let us continue.

[Kitchen]

Master Chef―Azul Version ～Let's Make Rice Croquette 2～

Ghost Chef: ―While the risotto cools, why don't you select what you want to put inside the croquettes?

Ghost Chef: Just like you said earlier, part of this dish's fun is the different combinations of texture and flavor that can be made from the chosen ingredients.

Azul: I can absolutely do that. Fufu… I should be more capable of this process.

Azul: For this dish, there will be 3 croquettes on 1 plate. …With that in mind, I would want to create some kind of theme to bring them together.

Azul: My chosen theme will be… "A Subtle Surprise."

Azul: The risotto has a simple tomato-based flavor… Therefore, with these standard ingredients, the results could go either way.

Azul: I'll have to weave everything together and consider good texture, how fulfilling it is, and that hint of surprise― All while not deviating from the recipe…

Azul: …Alright, I'LL GO WITH THESE!

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Silver: …Something smells good.

Silver: I do hope I can live up to what's expected of a Master Chef judge…

Azul: Pardon me. I have brought your dish... Oh, I see, so the person who ordered this was Silver-san.

Silver: So, you're the chef, Azul? I'm looking forward to tasting it.

Azul: I, too, look forward to your tasting it. Here are the rice croquettes that you've ordered.

Azul: These have just finished cooking, so the insides will be hot. Please take caution when eating them.

Silver: Got it. Then… I'll try them now.

Silver: [blows on croquette]

[bite, chew, chew…]

Silver: Oh… There's cheese inside of this one. Delicious.

Silver: This one… There's shrimp. This is also delicious.

Silver: Finally, the third one… I see it has quail egg inside. Right, all three were delicious.

Azul: …Huh, are those your only thoughts?

Silver: Yes. It's was very good.

Azul: Please think a little harder. Isn't there anything else, like comments on specific ingredients you liked, or certain surprising flavors?

Silver: Specific ingredients I liked…? That would be the quail egg.

Silver: It was nice to see the meal I chose was not only filling, but filled with highly nutritional eggs.

Azul: YOUR MAIN TAKEAWAY WAS HOW FILLING IT WAS!? …Ahem, pardon.

Azul: Perhaps I should ask this differently. How did it taste?

Azul: The first one you tried was filled with cheese. I mixed basil into it to help its compatibility with the tomato-based risotto.

Azul: For the shrimp one, I added fried garlic chips to it to give it a little flavorful kick.

Azul: Finally, the boiled quail eggs. I flavored it with a tad bit of ketchup to add a bit of extra favor.

Azul: With that added moisture, it should have softened the flakiness egg yolk slightly, and make for a more enjoyable flavor…

Silver: I see, you put a lot of thought into it.

Silver: Even after your explanation, I still don't really get it at all, but everything truly was delicious.

Azul: YOU DIDN'T GET IT AT ALL!? That's absurd…

Azul: If the judge himself doesn't understand, then all of the extra efforts and ingredients that I put forth into it will have all been for naught!

Ghost Chef: Come now, Silver-kun is saying it's delicious, so I don't think it was all for naught at all.

Azul: However, if my efforts truly couldn't be conveyed… Did I not use enough basil, garlic, or ketchup?

Ghost Chef: I feel like you wouldn't want to put too much in it, either… It can be difficult because everyone's tastes are different.

Silver: My apologies. Perhaps if your judge had been anyone else, they would have been able to fully taste the efforts you put into it the flavor.

Ghost Chef: But you thought it was delicious, right, Silver-kun? That means that Azul-kun's flavoring was still spot on.

Azul: Right… That's right. Putting aside any improvements needed for the cost in time and ingredients, I was able to actually put together a dish that someone considered delicious.

Azul: If I can keep improving my cooking skills little by little, then I won't ever have to hear someone say I'm just "yapping" ever again!

Ghost Chef: Ahaha… Even though you said you wouldn't take something like that seriously… Looks like those words really did have a hold on you.

Requested by Anonymous.

[dadvans]

Imagine Buck and Tommy cooking together tho. Cupping their hand under the spoon to let the other taste, gigglingly bouncing carrot coins at each other, pauses to dance when a song they like comes on the radio, attempts to wipe sauce smudges off their cheek and accidentally making it worse, things like that!

I like to imagine Buck goes kind of Clipboard Buck in the kitchen, but Tommy is totally into it. It’s not like Tommy is a slouch when it comes to cooking, but no one ever taught him much and he hasn’t leaned into his own curiosity beyond knowing how to make 3 or 4 things well enough as a means to survive. There are a lot of bagged salads in Tommy’s fridge, is what I’m saying. And after the first time they try cooking together, Tommy asking “where do you want me?” and Buck asking him to dice some onion, he lasts maybe 15 seconds before Buck is coming over and smacking the knife out of his hand, like, no, no, no, not like that! And he gives Tommy other tasks but eventually Buck is like, I love you, I don’t trust you to stir this sauce in a way it doesn’t burn, please sit down and enjoy a beer while I finish this.

Tommy remains steadfastly patient and lets Buck sit him down and they watch 8 Most Common Ways To Cut Potatoes videos on YouTube, Buck saying shit like, “See how he tucks his thumb like that? Look at his grip,” and Tommy gamely nods every time. They watch How to Tell Your Meat is Done and Buck has Tommy hold his hand and press into different pockets of his palm to feel the firmness. “Rare,” he says, “medium, well,” until Tommy grabs his whole hand and pulls him in for a kiss.

(Tommy maybe goes home and practices some knife skills. He makes a lot of veggie stir fry.)

A few weeks later they’re standing shoulder to shoulder in Buck’s kitchen, Buck attempting to roll out fresh pasta so it takes a second for him to notice Tommy slicing up the bell peppers and onions right, crushing the garlic under the heel of the knife.

“Hey,” Buck says, “look at you, master chef.”

Tommy smiles and leans in for a kiss. Says, “Seems you taught me something this time,” and revels in the way Buck shivers against his mouth, doughy hands kneading the air, wanting to touch

[inoreuct]

What if, in some circumstances which I cannot even think of, Sanji cannot cook himself and has to tell Zoro what to do.

And Zoro's sword skills are NOT equal to his knife skills 😭

Sanji also would use fancy chef vocabulary to give commands like "now sauté those onions until they're godlen-brown" or something and Zoro's like da fuck's a co-lander. why would you need like 5 different pans.

BADABING BADABOOM HERE YOU GO REG MY DEAR technically pre-rs but they act like they’ve been married decades. ANYWAYS enjoy 🤭🤭

Zoro swore as the knife slipped again, skidding flat against the chopping board with a dull scrape that made him wince. 

In hindsight, this was all the stupid cook’s fault. Bastard just had to go and break his arm; Sanji had tried to do things one-handed for a while before he’d evidently gotten fed up and stuck his head out the galley door to scream for Zoro to help with lunch at top volume, apparently under the assumption that since Zoro was a master swordsman he’d be able to handle knives.

And by all rights, he should. He was the demon pirate hunter. He carried his best friend’s dream like a talisman in his pocket. He wasn’t going to let himself be bested by a fucking vegetables and a knife.

But Zoro was quite certain that barring his sense of direction, he had never been quite this bad at anything in his entire existence. 

The garlic had been miniscule, the celery had been too fucking slippery, the onions had made his eyes burn, and now this stupid carrot kept trying to run away from him. He could handle rough chops, sure; but when Sanji was being all picky about— 

“I said medium dice, marimo, not mutilate.”

“I don’t know what that fucking means, shithead,” Zoro gritted, not even bothering to turn around where Sanji was sitting at the dining table. He re-aligned the knife and felt inexplicably betrayed when it slipped again, slicing diagonally into the carrot. It was a miracle he hadn’t taken off a finger yet. 

He felt stupid. Awkward and useless and out of his element, it was just cooking, for fuck’s sake—

“Marimo.” 

“What,” he snapped, fingers tightening around a wooden handle. Sanji’s tone had gone soft around the edges and it rankled him, made him feel irrationally angry like a tiger pacing around in its cage, trapped and seething—

“This one’s on me,” Sanji murmured, coming around to hover by his side, something Zoro couldn’t identify in the set of his face. “Shouldn’t have assumed that you’d be good with knives just because you’re good with swords.”

The words sent a wave of panic through Zoro, stomach dropping fast enough that he ran his mouth. A need to please he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Desperation not to disappoint. “Shut the fuck up, I am, I just—” He snapped his jaw shut, pressing his teeth together hard. “Just… Give me a minute to figure it out.”

“You’re already doing better than I was, when I started,” Sanji said lightly, hair falling across his face as he tipped his head. 

“You were a child,” he ground out. The knife clattered as he put it down to shake out his hands. “S’not saying much.” 

The cook hummed, strangely gentle. “Still. It’s alright—”

“I don’t want your pity.”

And, oh. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Pity. Zoro felt like a dumb kid again, and it was so much worse because it was Sanji. And he didn’t want to think about the implications of that, so he sneered, “Don’t look down on me, shitty cook. You and your fancy-ass cooking terms and your hundred and one pans and—”

Sanji cut him off with a bark of a laugh, tossing his head back. His left arm was immobilised in a sling, tucked close to his body as he moved behind Zoro and reached around him to pick the knife up again. “Your brains must really be full of moss if you think I’m looking down on you. Come on.” He offered Zoro the handle, and the swordsman didn’t need to look to know that Sanji was smiling over his shoulder. “One last try.”

He worked his jaw for a second, and huffed through his nose. “I fucking swear, curly, if I get cut—”

“You won’t,” Sanji replied, resolute as he watched Zoro take the knife. 

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not stupid and I’m not careless, especially not with you.” 

The last part had been a little quieter, riding on a rushed breath, and Zoro eyed the cook pensively as slender fingers wrapped around his hand.

“Here. Like this.” 

With Sanji’s help, he cut the carrot into lengthwise sticks and then neat cubes, chopping up a few more before dumping the whole lot into a bowl with most of what he’d already cut. Sanji shifted away, poking a chopstick into the oil he’d left to heat.

“See the bubbles?” he murmured, peering down into the pot. “That’s how you check if it’s hot enough.” He twisted one of the knobs down before grabbing the vegetables and dumping them in, shifting the pieces around with a wooden spatula as they sizzled gently. “This is a mirepoix,” he said, pronouncing it meer-pwah. “It forms the flavour base of a lot of dishes. The aim is to use low heat, cook it down really slow— so that it doesn’t burn and you bring out the sweetness.” 

He was speaking softly enough that it could have been to himself, but the commentary was obviously for Zoro’s benefit, and Zoro. Did not like how that was making him feel at all. 

They were quiet for a while as Sanji did his thing, and the swordsman crossed his arms as he leaned his hip against the counter. The sun filtering in through the window was lighting Sanji’s hair up gold, washing his features in a subtle glow that emphasised the softness of his expression, relaxed and so entirely in his element that it made Zoro’s chest ache. Made something press up beneath his lungs, made it hard to breathe, and it ached.

Impervious to his inner turmoil, Sanji continued, stirring frequently as the galley started to smell really good. “When the onion turns translucent, that’s the sweet spot—” The chopped (more mushed, if Zoro was inclined to be honest) garlic from earlier went in with a vicious sizzle, then a few dashes of different sauces and a good pour of chicken stock. “Could you get the black pepper?” 

Zoro grunted, grabbing the grinder from the corner and putting a few good cracks into the pot as Sanji added salt, stirred one last time, and propped the lid on partway. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it,” Sanji confirmed, smirking, but not unkindly. “Once that simmers down it’ll be our soup, and I’ll just have to cook some noodles. I was planning for mussels in a garlic butter white wine reduction and seared scallops with this delicious spiced pomegranate and herb glaze, but— I think that might have killed you.” Something must have shown on Zoro’s face, because the cook laughed, bright and easy. “You did good, marimo, all things considered. I’d probably be horrid at sword fighting. We’re even.”

Zoro scowled, fighting back against the spark that flared in the depths of his chest at that thought. Sparring with Sanji, in his element, giving the cook shit for it but also helping. Teaching. “Hurry up and get better, and we’ll see.” 

Sanji groaned, rolling his eyes even as he chuckled. “You’re gonna kick my ass, aren’t you.”

Maybe. But even more than that… He thought about how Sanji had held his hand over the knife, patient but not condescending even though he could have been, the skin of his wrist cool against Zoro’s forearm. The look on his he face as he did what he loved and the way it had made something warm bloom behind Zoro’s sternum. The swordsman let his teeth peek in a lazy grin as his chin tipped up; an entire challenge. Half of the bite. “We’ll see.”

fin.

[concretevampire]

Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes. 

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight. 

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight. 

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky. 

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily. 

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat. 

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions. 

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet. 

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin. 

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name. 

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it. 

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal. 

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind. 

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that. 

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child. 

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith. 

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly. 

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass. 

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago. 

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women. 

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure. 

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse. 

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm. 

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?” 

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste. 

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.” 

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots. 

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.” 

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning. 

His smile widens. 

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?” 

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.” 

“So that’s how I get you to talk.” 

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive. 

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel. 

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue. 

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.” 

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?” 

“Jealous she ain’t with you.” 

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air. 

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you. 

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads. 

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth. 

It’s quiet again. 

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember. 

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work. 

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily. 

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss. 

Abigail’s raised him well. 

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.” 

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.” 

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?” 

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.” 

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.” 

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile. 

“So you are worried.” 

“Whatd’ya mean?” 

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.” 

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose. 

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.” 

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.” 

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile. 

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles. 

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking. 

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted. 

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals. 

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers. 

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling. 

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp  looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart. 

You help Tilly with the laundry. 

Karen and you care for spare guns. 

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love. 

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.  

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it. 

You don’t blame her. You used to too. 

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning. 

Javier and Bill from a home robbery. 

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis. 

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand. 

But no Arthur. 

It’s a bit disheartening.  Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then? 

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave. 

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet. 

You thank him with a glance. 

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week. 

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide. 

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out. 

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for. 

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return. 

“Yer mutterin’.” 

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore. 

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.” 

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you. 

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most. 

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing. 

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now. 

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning. 

“Yer mad.” 

“I am not mad.” 

“Sure ya are.” 

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct. 

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you. 

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello.  Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike. 

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning. 

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message. 

For a second, you think he doesn’t. 

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry. 

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants. 

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze. 

You’re sure he wishes. 

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines. 

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. 

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.” 

You look up, raising a brow. 

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words. 

The only way he failed Hosea. 

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again. 

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.” 

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better. 

And you look up, less angry this time. 

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills. 

Finally, you acquiesce. 

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat. 

“Your hair’s gotten long.” 

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does. 

“Want me to cut it?” 

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles. 

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?” 

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.” 

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly. 

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too. 

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks. 

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained. 

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like. 

But you don’t. You never would. 

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. 

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another. 

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours. 

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out. 

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return. 

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you. 

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead. 

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other. 

That was you. 

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people. 

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together. 

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie. 

“You’re not gonna ride?” 

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you. 

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.” 

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?” 

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking. 

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.” 

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.” 

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang. 

They make Arthur laugh. 

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.” 

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

“You would if there was money in it.” 

“Is there?” 

“I’ll say no for my own sake.” 

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch. 

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame. 

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge. 

“You gotta get out more.” 

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.” 

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.” 

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.” 

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh. 

“What do you mean I’m not?” 

“You hate Saint Denis.” 

“I know but-“ 

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.” 

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.” 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder. 

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do. 

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way. 

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room. 

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself: 

Talk to Dutch. 

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen. 

Help with any last minute chores. 

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too. 

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard. 

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization. 

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched. 

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times. 

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper. 

It’s strange when he gets like this. 

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head. 

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse. 

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan. 

“Are you serious?”  But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees. 

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there. 

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again. 

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar. 

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything. 

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.” 

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it. 

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly. 

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.” 

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.” 

“Sure.” 

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“ 

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.” 

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated. 

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul. 

But you let go, and turn away. 

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten. 

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before. 

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair. 

He’ll need a wash tomorrow. 

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade. 

Obviously, you wake before him. 

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams. 

His soft snores ensue. You drift away. 

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted. 

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee. 

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze. 

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard. 

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it. 

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back. 

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically. 

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue. 

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once. 

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all. 

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always. 

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?” 

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him. 

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been. 

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family. 

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron. 

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?” 

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other. 

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery. 

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts. 

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.” 

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power. 

In hatred. In violence. 

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. 

It had confused you. Hurt you even. 

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die? 

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you: 

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.” 

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too. 

You stare at Dutch. 

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth. 

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch. 

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked. 

“Read it.” 

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?” 

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense. 

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.” 

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?” 

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking. 

“And how often is that?” 

“More than I’d like.” 

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up. 

“Isn’t that the truth.” 

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains. 

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye. 

And it’s all very domestic. 

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary. 

When dreams rule the plain of existence. 

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months. 

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret. 

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it. 

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have. 

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay. 

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile. 

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.” 

“He does, doesn’t he?” 

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?” 

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.” 

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!” 

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket. 

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.” 

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.” 

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.” 

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.” 

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?” 

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.” 

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt. 

Little brown capped soldiers. 

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?” 

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.” 

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?” 

“It was before you were born.” You add gently. 

“Ohhh. Was it scary?” 

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?” 

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.” 

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is. 

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says, 

“There she is.” 

Micah’s back. 

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside. 

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated. 

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?” 

A sock is hung up, next a union suit. 

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?” 

You’re running short on clothespins. 

“You gettin’ tired of him?” 

There’s still enough for now. 

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?” 

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung. 

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.” 

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins. 

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.” 

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly. 

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean. 

Washed away of filth and stress. 

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over. 

“Good afternoon,” you say. 

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers. 

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?” 

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.” 

“We could rent a room.” 

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide. 

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.” 

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate. 

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly. 

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page. 

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words. 

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what. 

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more. 

Not until night falls. 

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night. 

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out. 

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave. 

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped. 

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?” 

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.” 

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose. 

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.” 

“Was he angry?” 

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.” 

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars. 

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight. 

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves. 

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out. 

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.” 

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts. 

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?” 

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together. 

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him. 

Only him. 

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something. 

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light. 

He’s struck gold. 

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche. 

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers. 

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers. 

The gift of walls. 

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets. 

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties. 

Not since Mary. 

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered. 

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent. 

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to. 

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name. 

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too. 

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started. 

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. 

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts. 

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second. 

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache. 

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily. 

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good. 

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop. 

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress. 

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does. 

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea. 

You’re a woman, of course you have. 

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer. 

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint. 

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch. 

It’s intoxicating.  

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple. 

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier. 

You all but melt. 

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly. 

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated. 

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance. 

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants. 

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.” 

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant. 

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper. 

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do. 

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off. 

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm. 

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset. 

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further. 

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him. 

And finally, you slide onto his length. 

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely. 

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist. 

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again. 

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you. 

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being). 

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder. 

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else. 

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck. 

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach. 

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown. 

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him. 

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out. 

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful. 

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress. 

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves. 

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does. 

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress. 

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Please, what?” 

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours. 

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum. 

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set. 

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen. 

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy. 

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot. 

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation. 

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would. 

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant. 

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly. 

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck. 

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself. 

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over. 

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock. 

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties. 

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated. 

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders. 

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is. 

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name. 

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss. 

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like. 

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.” 

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say. 

“No it ain’t.” 

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.” 

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created. 

“Okay.” 

[kitthepurplepotato]

MWRMI Part 3

Week 1 - The Art of All Might 🎨

~•🥦•~

Summary: Y/N works on an All Might art. Midoriya becomes an art critic.

Warnings: Some swear words, mentions of blood

First Part Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Midoriya wasn’t lying when he said he won’t be home too much. It has been 4 days since the pool-accident and you haven’t seen the guy at all since. Sometimes, you wake up to some rustle in the middle of the night when he gets home, or to the annoying ringing noise of his fancy ass bracelet, but that’s it. He leaves before you wake up and comes back when you’re already asleep, and sometimes, he doesn’t come home at all.

You are a little bit concerned for the hero’s general health so you decide to start preparing some food for the poor fella; there is always a new cup noodle box in the bin in the morning even though there is freshly made rice in the rice cooker. He probably just mixes some rice into his noodles and thinks that’s “good enough”.

Well, it is NOT. Mama Y/N will make sure the boy eats his vegetables before he runs away to fight the evil.

With that said, you wake up at the humble hour of 11AM and make your way to the kitchen with your sketchbook and your pencil case; you want to get a start on your commissions while the food is cooking.

You want to make something without rice today; he’s been eating rice with cup noodles for at least 4 days in a row so you decide to make a pasta dish full of veggies and some chicken salad in case he wants to snack on something when he’s in a hurry.

You went out for grocery shopping the day before; you used your own card to buy them, thank you very much; and bought a bunch of veggies and tomato sauce. You put some water on the hob to boil, you slice up your veggies for the sauce: some eggplants, paprika, tomatoes, garlic and onion; after the veggies are in the pot with the tomato sauce, you put some chickpeas in it as well for some protein.

Yes, this will do. The amount might be a bit over the top, but Midoriya is a big guy and he probably needs to eat way more than a normal person.

Oh fuck, you hope he doesn’t have any allergies.

Gluten is definitely fine as the cup noodles he ate had gluten in them, so you should stop freaking out. This is pro hero Deku you are talking about. Allergies have nothing on him. He’s too PLUS ULTRA for that shit.

After you are done with the salad; the chicken is also getting ready on the hob; you sit down on the massive table to start to sketch out your commission. It’s All Might Texas smashing a nomu into the concrete in his young age costume.

You start sketching while the food cooks, concentrating mainly on All Might right now; the background can wait until the last minute even though you already have a rough idea for it; a city next to the sea, the sea rumbling aggressively from the tremors of All Might’s smash in the background. Ahh, epic.

The food is done way before you are, so you quickly box up the most of it and continue working on your drawing. You end up drawing until late, not even realizing how dark it is outside already. This is the thing with you; once you start, it’s really hard for you to stop until you finish the rough sketch and All Might is a complicated character anyway; it’s hard to describe why but you feel like his body is somehow more detailed than anyone else’s.

You end up falling asleep on the table around 2AM; you only wake up when you hear the main door open but you are still half asleep and so-so tired, you don’t have it in you to move. There is no reason to move, really; there is food on the table for the hero to eat, the table is big enough for him to have enough space to eat even with half of your body being splayed out on it. You might have a slight back ache already from the pose you are sleeping in, but honestly… whatever.

“Ahh, silly you.” You hear a mumble really close to you, but you decide to ignore it for the sake of your beauty sleep. You can hear Deku microwaving the food you left out for him and saying thank you while sniffling aggressively. Is he crying? Fuck, he’s so precious. He’s still just a shy boy deep inside, isn’t he? You can hear him moving your sketchbook from under you; if you wouldn’t be half asleep you definitely would NOT let him do that.

“Hm.” He mumbles and stands up from his seat then sits down again; by the sound of it he’s writing something down on a piece of paper. Probably a thank you message. After a while the clink of the fork stops and you can feel Deku’s warmth around you.

Why is he so close?!

Oh… you are being carried, bride style.

Pro hero Deku, your favorite person in the world is carrying you to your fucking bed at whatever AM and he smells fresh and nice, even though he just came home from work. He probably showered before coming back.

Okay, this is a stupid fanfiction, isn’t it? What a fucking cliché thing to do, like honestly, can’t this person come up with something more creative? No kudos for this one. No kudos.

Midoriya moves the sheets out of the way and puts you down; he makes sure you are properly tugged in like a little child. You are waiting for the kiss on your forehead but it never comes; apparently the greenette realized you are indeed not a child and it would be creepy as fuck to do something like that after knowing each other for only a few days. He sighs and leaves your room; you can hear a slight rustling and the buzzing of the microwave before you pass out completely.

~•🥦•~

The next day comes sooner than you expected it to; the sun beams into the room with full force thanks to the blinds not being closed the night prior. You take a look at your clock; it’s 8AM.

Well, at least you were able to sleep 6 hours and to be fair, you don’t do much during the day anyway, so this will do. The flat is quiet, the only sound you can hear is All Meowt doing his business in the bathroom. Not the best sound to wake up to but you’ll take it.

Speaking of All Meowt, that cat hates your guts. Every time you leave your room he scrambles into Deku’s through the little pet door; of course there is a fucking pet door on every single door. This cat is the most spoiled creature the world has ever seen.

You really hope he just needs some time to adjust to your existence in his home, otherwise it will be really hard for you to take care of his needs in the a future. You really don’t want to barge into the pro hero’s room without a permission from Midoriya, and you are also not sure if your fanatic little heart would be able to take the sight of Midoriya’s personal little room with all his beloved kick-knacks and stuff. It’s too much information. Like damn, you’ve been wondering about how his bed looks like (and feels like… Khm.) for years.

You shake your head to clear it up and make your way to the kitchen; as you move closer to your impromptu work space you find two notes and a newspaper cutout of All Might attached to your drawing.

Okay, that definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep.

You take the All Might themed sticky tags in your hand to read them;

One says “Thank you for the food! It was awesome! You are the best! Plus Ultra!” The note ended with Pro Hero Deku’s fancy signature which you always wanted to get but never had the chance to. Midoriya probably knew that, hence why he signed it like that instead of writing his name on it. What a legend!

The other note is a bit more messy and contains feedback on your sketch.

“Too many muscles! This is golden age All Might in his Young Age costume! Not realistic! Use the attached picture for reference, it’s the best one I could find! Please take care of it and give it back when you’re done! Thank you!”

You can’t help but giggle. Deku, Number 1 hero of Japan just left All Might themed sticky notes on your silly little sketch.

“Izu-Izu, your twin is weird, but I kinda like him. Don’t be too jealous though!” You mumble to your favorite cardboard cutout who looks really happy next to Midoriya’s massive All Might one; you can see them both perfectly from the kitchen through the massive archway. They are almost holding hands.

You take the little notes into your room and put them on the side of your dresser; you really hope this isn’t a one time thing and you can fill the whole side with Midoriya’s notes and be the only person in the whole world who owns hundreds of sticky notes written by pro Hero Deku. You might even end up in the Guinness Records. That would be super cool!

… okay, let’s focus. You really need to stop fangirling over the guy you live with, it’s creepy as fudge. It may also ruin your chances to form a bond with the greenette and you might end up on the streets then. It’s time to grow up.

With that said, you make your way back to the kitchen to eat something and continue your sketch - well, thanks to Midoriya’s feedback you kinda need to start it all over again but that’s fine.

As you open the fridge door you get a little bit confused; the leftover food from yesterday is completely gone. Not like that’s a bad thing or anything, but the truth is, that food was supposed to be enough for a week. A week. How the heck is it gone already?!

Oh, there is another note on the empty shelf.

“I’m so sorry, the food was too good and I accidentally ate most of it… then I woke up thinking about it and decided to bring the rest of it to work with me…

I’m so selfish, I’m sorry! (*_ _)/\ Please order some takeaway with my card today! Also, sorry about all the notes! Midoriya”

You burst out laughing at this point, scaring poor All Meowt to death when he tries to sneak out from Midoriya’s room to nibble on his food.

Honest to God, this guy can’t be real.

Needless to say, you are NOT going to use that forbidden card you hid away in your night stand, but instead, you’ll make more home cooked food for the hero to enjoy after a hard day of work; you really love cooking, especially when your efforts are appreciated, so this whole shenanigan only makes you happy, to be honest.

You put another meal together and sit down to fix your sketch; you also have enough time to do a rough sketch of the background! And if that’s not enough of an achievement for the day, the food tastes amazing and you actually make it to bed this time, even though you kinda wanted to be taken to your bed like a motherfucking princess by the guy of your dreams (again), but you really don’t want to spoil yourself too much or use the poor, tired hero to fulfill your stupid fantasies.

As you wake up to the lovely morning sun the next day, you are already excited to get some new notes to add to your collection; and just as you expected, there is a new batch of “collectibles” attached to your drawing, but this one…

This one is fucking long.

“Texas smash makes a bigger impact! All Might wouldn’t be able to use Texas smash so close to the sea, the vibrations would cause an earthquake which would cause a tsunami. It’s really dangerous, Y/N!!! Texas smash can also change the weather! Keep that in mind!”

“… well, shit. So basically, my whole idea is trash, thank you very much, Midoriya Izuku.” You sigh into the distance, talking to no one in particular and click your mechanical pencil to the table to ground yourself.

How can you use your idea but be realistic without changing the whole thing up?

Oh, right! 💡

Instead of one picture you decide to make a comic out of this; the main picture stays the same and can be used as a poster but you’ll add a comic strip as an extra, where All Might mumbles “fuck” in an American accent while the massive waves devour the area around him.

Yeah, that will do.

This is how the first week of living with pro Hero Deku goes. You draw, he comments, you fix your shit just so he can find another flaw the next day. When you don’t get a nasty comment on the base, you move on to the colors, naively thinking that nothing can go wrong from here because you are literally staring at a picture of All Might while doing the shading, but apparently you used the wrong shade of yellow on All Might’s hair; shit you not, All Might’s hair had a light shine to it when he was Young, which means that using a darker shade of yellow with a muted, lighter one isn’t “realistic” because you need to use a light pastel yellow for highlights to get the right shade.

You MIGHT HAVE put a bit too much chilli into the chili con carne that day as a silent and respectful “fuck you.”

On the last day before his first day off, you finally finish your masterpiece; you might have been a little bit annoyed with him for all the feedback but honestly, this is your best work yet, so eventually, all the nagging has payed off.

As per usual, you leave the art out on the table, opposite of his freshly made dinner. (Which you safely hid under a massive food cover, because All Meowt is a fucking menace…) You are just about to go to the bathroom to clean yourself up before bed when the main door opens with a loud bang; and by loud bang, you mean “was that a fucking earthquake” kinda bang. You are ready to defend yourself from the intruder with the fucking mop you grabbed with your shaky little hands (it’s 3AM and you are fucking tired, okay?!), when a green fluff of hair comes into your view. Deku stands by the door for a few seconds, takes a deep breath and slides down the door to sit on the floor, leaving a lovely trail of blood on the poor thing, making the hallway look like a murder scene in the process.

“Fuck.” He screams silently to not wake you up; you didn’t think silently screaming is an actual thing but apparently it is; then takes a deep breath to calm down. This guy can’t even swear without looking cute, what the fuck.

“So, am I supposed to scream and call the hospital, or is this an every day thing? I’m not sure how to react, to be honest.” You deadpan, absolutely confused. Midoriya looks up at you then laughs, his smile reaching his eyes in the most adorable way. This guy will be the death of you, bloody or not.

“Sorry, I usually shower before I come back but I was on the field for 9 days, I just couldn’t keep it up anymore. I just wanted to to be home.” That last sentence broke your heart. This poor guy went back into his office to use the shower every single day just for you. He’s such a precious guy.

“You are allowed to come home dirty.” With a random burst of confidence, you sit down next to the injured hero. He looks at you with teary eyes but he still gives you a cheeky smile, clearly appreciating your efforts to make him feel less awkward about the situation. “Midoriya, this is your safe place. Use it. I won’t run away because of some blood.” To make your statement even more credible, you stroke his blood soaked hair gently and his eyes widen at the sudden affection, but he doesn’t move away from it. His eyes fill with more tears, slowly trailing down on his freckled face as he hides his face in your chest in embarrassment; he doesn’t say anything, he just stays there and trembles from the exhaustion and the pent up stress. You try to calm down your racing heart, slowly stroking the hero’s back too soothe him and he melts completely into you; in only a few minutes the trembling stops and his breath evens out to a normal level.

“Y/N?” He mutters into your chest and you can’t believe this whole situation right now. This is way too personal, way too intimate, way too… domestic. The worst part is that it feels so normal; it feels like he belongs here, like he was made to be cuddled by you in the middle of the hallway at 3AM. It just feels… right.

“Hm?” You answer in a whisper; you don’t want to ruin the peaceful atmosphere around you.

“Let’s buy some plants tomorrow. And a bench. And stuff… for the garden.” He mumbles, half asleep. “I want to go shopping. Yeah. I want it.” He murmurs, saying the word ‘want’ like it’s something he’s never done before in his life.

“We CAN do that. We can do anything you want. But if you don’t mind me asking; go have a shower. Please.” You giggle, your hands playing with his curls absentmindedly. He chooses this moment to look up from your chest, right into your eyes; you can’t help the blush spreading on your face from the closeness. By the look of it, Midoriya is not affected by it at all; he just smiles gratefully and goes to his room while your heart does a weird backflip in your chest.

“Can you heat up the food?” He shouts from his room, and that’s when you decide to talk back a bit just to keep the guy in check.

“I ain’t your servant, cheeky young man!” You try your best to sound offended but your laugh betrays you. Midoriya pops his head out of the door, half naked with a mischievous smile on his lips; your heart will definitely give out one day if he keeps doing shit like that.

“Please?” He looks at you with his biggest puppy eyes, his smile not fading for a single second.

Fuck, he could probably ask you to bring the sun over for him and you would happily burn to death while doing so.

“Fuck’s sake, Izu-Izu!” You whine and Midoriya bursts out laughing; it takes you a few seconds to realize what’s so funny, but when you do, your soul leaves your body for a second.

“Did you just call me by your husband’s name? I’m breaking up with you.” Midoriya does a perfect job in acting like a jealous mistress, and while you can’t help but laugh, you are dead inside.

You just called Pro Hero Deku by a pet name; a pet name that belongs to your cardboard cutout of him. And he remembers. Of course, he fucking remembers. Who would be able to forget that awkward conversation?

Ahh, you want to leave the Earth and start a new life on Mars. The language barrier might come in handy; you can’t ruin your life by blabbing bullshit if they can’t understand you, right? Even though, knowing your luck you might be able to ruin everything just with your pure existence.

You really hope the Earth swallows you by the morning. Or like… now.

~•🥦•~

You: I called Midoriya Izu-Izu.

Jirou: I’m not disappointed.

You: I hope you choke on a guitar pick.

Jirou: Rude.

… Next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🥦

Taglist: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Another Unexpected Outing

Got a text from an old friend from Austin that she was at her dad's in Pleasanton for a visit, and they wanted to drive over one day while they're here and go to dinner, and today was that day.

Perfect day for it, gorgeous cool breeze off The Bay. Ended up going to the Thai place down at Central & Webster that I'd found a few years back. It's about the only real Thai place on the Island...of all the Asian restaurants, Thai is severely under-represented here.

They make a really good Larb, my go-to dish I order when i wanna see if I'll eat some Thai place again. It's so unbelievably close to a Mexican-ish tasting dish, with cilantro and lime and red onion. It's technically classified as a "salad", and while the chicken is hot and fresh, it's served with cabbage wedges, cucumber slices, and sometimes comes on a big cabbage leaf, depending on how they do it.

These guys do it right. The chicken is ground, and tossed with roasted rice powder, which gives it a great crunch. It's spicy, and sometimes you can ask for spicier, depending on the place.

Also had what we called "spring rolls" at the Thai place in Austin, but here they're "fresh rolls", and "spring rolls" are fried like eggrolls. Go figure. These guys do exceptional fresh rolls with shrimp, they come with a great peanut sauce to dip them in.

Dinner was great, good to see her and her daughter again, and her dad is 85 now...I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, and the change in him is substantial. My friend had her daughter take a picture of the two of us as we were getting in the car, and I forgot, really.

She brought me Manna from Heaven, otherwise known as 2 pounds of Fresh-Roasted Coffee Beans from Anderson's. Organic Fair-Trade Sumatra. Jamie Anderson mentored with Alfred Peet himself...and Jamie is a master coffee roaster. I bought my beans from him for 34 years, and when I still had my money I had them shipped out here.

If y'all appreciate truly amazing coffee, guaranteed fresh (they roast every Monday and Thursday), there is none finer. Even though it's 9:20 or so right now, I wanna go make a cup so bad...it's been over six years since I could afford to get 'em shipped, and it's a special treat, for sure.

Just got a text from my friend, it was the photo her daughter took. I looked at that picture and first thing i'll say is it hit hard. I just fired back "Who are those OLD people? What are they doing in our picture?" (she's 2 years younger than me, we went to Baylor together, so we've known each other since fall of '78)...she just said "Riiiiight?"

Yup.

Here's to old friends and heavenly coffee.

[turtle-with-vodka]

Cooking Up Chemistry

Lycawise fic 500 words

Summary: Lycaon and Wise cook "together"

Lycaon and Wise stood side by side in their cozy kitchen, sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the countertops. It was their first attempt at cooking dinner together—a special evening they had been looking forward to for days. Lycaon, the more experienced of the two, had everything ready: the recipe, the ingredients, and a well-practiced plan. Wise, on the other hand, was enthusiastic but hopelessly clumsy in the kitchen.

“So, first, we dice the onions into one-fourth inch pieces,” Lycaon said, handing Wise a knife.

Wise nodded eagerly, grabbing the knife and attacking the onion with the intensity of someone who had watched too many cooking shows. The pieces flew in all directions—some were almost paper-thin, while others were thick enough to be mistaken for whole onion halves.

Lycaon stifled a laugh, his uncovered eye crinkling with affection. “Master, maybe a little more... even?"

Wise paused, staring at the mangled onion. “I don’t get it. It looked so easy when you did it!”

“That’s because I’ve had lots of practice. It’s all about the wrist movement—like this.”

Lycaon gently took Wise’s hand, guiding him through a smooth, even chop. “See? It’s not about speed.”

Wise bit his lip, concentrating hard. “Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it.”

But as soon as Lycaon stepped away, Wise reverted to his chaotic slicing technique, determined to master it his own way. The onions looked worse this time. Despite this, Lycaon stayed calm.

“We’re making soup, so... the uneven bits will just add texture,” he said with a playful grin. “It'll be different.”

Wise laughed, shaking his head. “You’re too nice. This is a disaster.”

“No, you’re learning. Besides, cooking together isn’t about perfection,” Lycaon reassured him, walking over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s about spending time together. We’ll make it work.”

Next up were the tomatoes, which Wise immediately butchered beyond recognition. What was once a juicy tomato is now just juicy mush.

“Maybe I should just... supervise,” he muttered, looking about as defeated as the mush probably felt.

“Can't believe a tomato died for this.” Wise stared at it in offense.

Lycaon laughed softly, pulling Wise into a hug. His tail softly hitting the floor. “Or you could stir the soup once we get it in the pot? Low-stakes, but a crucial step in the process.”

Wise beamed. “I can definitely stir.”

As Lycaon prepped the remaining ingredients, he couldn’t help but smile at Wise’s determination to contribute, even if it wasn’t exactly going as planned.

Finally, the soup came together, with Wise expertly stirring, just as promised; thankfully not somehow spilling everything over the edge.

“See? We did it,” Lycaon said as he ladled the soup into bowls. “And it looks pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

Wise grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, but only because you saved it.”

“No, we saved it,” Lycaon corrected, handing him a spoon. “Team effort.”

Wise huffed. “Is it really a team effort if you had to do everything for me?”

Wise took a bite, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, this is actually amazing. You’re kind of a genius.”

Lycaon smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “Only because I’ve got the best partner by my side.”

Wise playfully shoved him away.

“Oh please, I'm certainly not the best partner in the kitchen.”

And well, after today no one could really say disagree could they?

Hello! Working on a slightly longer fic rn but I just suddenly had this idea hit me like a truck. So here is a short. Vodka finally saw this account and suggested it's probably smarter to just make this account the main account and honestly, yeah it is so Vodka is gonna(hopefully, please)change the layout when he posts this.

-Turtle

i edited the format a lil before posting. hopefully she gets into the habit of writing the ship and a summary just below the title granted, it's not like I do much anyway. Am writing something tho so there is that, will probably only be posted to Ao3 account tho idk yet

-Vodka

[j-nope-not-today]

OKAY SO I HAVE THE BEST IDEA EVER, SO LIKE WHAT IF YOU WROTE JUST LIKE QUOTES WITH LIL ITTY BITTY SCENARIOS FOR THE BAY!BOYS JUST FUNNY AND CUTE LIL ONES IN THE SAME WAY PPL WRITE HEAD CANNONS BUT INSTEAD, ITS QUOTES?!

TMNT quotes!!

A/N: Love this!! Thanks for requesting! I hope you like it!!

These are all quotes I'm sure the guys would say (But it's just my opinion). All credit to the original people who said the quotes btw.

Raphael

"One day..I'm gonna make the onions cry." Raph mutters while cooking.

"Some things are better left unsaid. Which I generally realize right after I've said them." -Raph after an argument

"Hi I don't care, thanks." Glares at Leo

"I never said most of the things I said." Raph after every argument with Leonardo.

"If you haven't got anything nice to say to anybody come sit next to me."

"Were all born mad. Some remain so." "Take back what you said."

"Well if I called the wrong number then why did you answer the phone?" "Because I thought you needed something!"

"I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it." Looks at his arguing brothers.

Leonardo

"Friends are god's way of apologizing to us for our families." Leo sighs lovingly looking at his brothers.

"When we ask for advice we're usually looking for an accomplice." Motions to Mikey and Raph sneaking out.

"Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement." Leo announces to Master Splinter as they all sneak back into the lair.

"There cannot be a crisis next week my schedule is full." "Leo their still gonna rob the bank Friday!"

"I'm sorry, if you were right I would agree with you." "But I am right!"

"Don't talk about yourself. It will be done when you leave." Glares at Raph

"It's always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's just hilarious." "Just help me up.."

Donatello

"Sometimes I wonder if this is all happening, because I didn't forward that email to ten people.." Donnie mutters to himself as he looks at his brothers.

"Before you marry a person you should make them use a computer with slow internet first to see who they really are." Donnie smiled at Mikey. Patting his shoulder.

"I just asked if you wanted to go to the arcade.."

"It's okay if you don't like me..not everyone has good taste." Cue Donnie flipping imaginary hair, striking a pose.

"People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do." Glares at everyone in his vicinity.

"The problem with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." Donnie anytime his brothers suggest something to him.

Michelangelo

"I never make the same mistake twice..I make it three or four times just to be sure!"

"This is why we can't have nice things!"

"Some days I have it together and other days I find toast I made three days ago still sitting in the toaster oven." "That was you?!"

"All right everybody line up alphabetically according to your height!" "I swear I didn't push him that hard!"

"Laugh and the world laughs with you..snore and you sleep alone." Glares at his brothers.

"The weather forecast for the night: dark." "Why did we leave him in charge of the flashlights?"

"Never fight an inanimate object." Looks down at the broken vase

"Food is an important part of a balanced diet." Proceeds to eat another slice of pizza.

[tastesoftamriel]

What are your favorite egg-based meals?

Eggs! Whether they're from chickens, ducks, geese, quail, and more, there are many dishes around Tamriel that feature this simple ingredient.

Altmer

In Summerset, a popular starter dish is a savoury steamed seafood egg custard known as chawanmushi. Served either chilled or hot enough to melt your face, this little dish is packed with prawns and shellfish and mushrooms, and topped with a slice of chewy fishcake.

Argonians

Crocodile eggs are a delicacy in Black Marsh, and the local Saxhleel have many ways of preparing them. My personal favourite is a flavourful scrambled omelette with scallions and oysters, cooked until the oysters are juicy to the point of bursting and the eggs are fluffy yet crisp. Known as or luak, this omelette is served with a healthy serving of chili sauce.

Bosmer

While people tend to hyperfixate on the meat aspect of the Bosmeri diet, they forget that eggs are just as important a food source. Poached giant snake eggs with cream sauce and smoked salmon atop cricket bread are the perfect brunch delight, especially when paired with a bit of jagga-and-honey.

Bretons

If there's one race in Tamriel who's mastered the soufflé, it's the Bretons. Whether savoury or sweet and set aflame with liquor, you can't deny that this tricky dish is worth every delicious mouthful. I'm personally a big fan of (surprise) four-cheese soufflé, where the egg is whipped with a clever blend of local High Rock cheeses to enhance the stiffening and therefore prevent an immediate collapse upon leaving the oven.

Dunmer

You'll never guess what this Dunmeri dish involves. Kwama eggs? Volcanic ash? Yes. Whole kwama eggs are buried beneath a mixture of lime and ash, and left to ferment for a few weeks until they have achieved a jelly-like texture on the exterior, and a creamy yet firm yolk. The eggs are served sliced and chilled, with pickled ginger on the side. Also great atop savoury saltrice congee.

Imperials

Like their penchant for eating pecorino-stuffed dormice, this dish will have you wondering what's wrong with Imperials. Balut is simply a raw duck egg, containing the lovely surprise of a two week-old foetus. Crack open the egg and sip up the whites, then season that foetus with salt and a splash of vinegar and slurp it up whole. This is, to some, unimaginably cruel, but Imperials in the Blackwood region insist that it's good for the health, and that it's delicious. I'll take their word for it, as this is one of the very few dishes I can't bring myself to try.

Khajiit

If there's a quintessential dish native to southern Elsweyr, it's probably telur balado, or twice-cooked eggs with chili sauce. Eggs are first boiled, then briefly deep fried to give them a delightfully crisp exterior while maintaining a rich yolk. It's then slathered in a rather spicy tomato-based sauce, and served with steamed rice. Also rather nice with a pinch of moon sugar.

Nords

While eggs from just about every bird are commonly used in Nord cuisine, chicken's eggs are by far the most popular and easily accessible. A signature egg dish in Skyrim is a thick omelette studded with bacon, served with sliced spring onions and rye bread. Simple, delicious, and downright good (except for its traditional, apparently Atmoran name, flæskeæggekage).

Orcs

Not everyone enjoys chub loon eggs, but Wrothgarian Orcs can't get enough of their rich, slightly fishy flavour. One popular egg dish is a seafood soup with egg drops, horker meatballs, and mudcrab meat. The egg drops are formed by whisking beaten eggs into the boiling soup, allowing the tendrils to cook on contact. It's served with seaweed noodles and a dash of strong black vinegar.

Redguards

Seagull eggs are a popular ingredient in coastal Hammerfell, and also act as a control measure against too many seagulls. This has happened numerous times in Stros M'kai, where shakshouka hails from. This famous dish is comprised of seagull eggs poached in an iron skillet with a spicy, flavourful tomato sauce, onions, and charred peppers. Usually eaten at breakfast with flatbread to mop up the sauce.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Ortho Shroud - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Master Chef ― Ortho Version ～Let’s Make Loco Moco 1～

―A short while before cooking begins

Ortho: ―Energy inspection complete. All functions, including the cooking and processing units, are operating normally.

Ortho: Everything activates without a hitch, great. I tried to make my exterior look similar to my brother's outfit when he took the class, does it look weird at all?

Azul: It looks fantastic on you, Ortho-san. However, I never expected to see you take an interest in cooking… I'm a little taken aback.

Ortho: It's only recently piqued my interest. Sometimes I hear my classmates swapping kitchen horror stories, you see.

Ortho: When someone said, "cooking is way too high level for newbies," it suddenly made me want to try to win against it… Which resulted in this gear being developed.

Azul: I see. And if you are to do a trial run of that gear here, the Master Chef course would be the best opportunity to do so.

Ortho: Exactly! I knew you'd get it, Azul-san.

Ortho: Not only can this gear cook food, but it's built with many other functions to manage proper nutrition or count calories and the like.

Ortho: I plan on getting the expert chef to check out my functions and test out what all would be useful for cooking!

Azul: I can see you're raring to go. Then, I'll wish us both luck.

Ortho: Yeah!

[Kitchen]

Ghost Chef: We'll have you make the "Loco Moco" dish for us today, Ortho-kun.

Ghost Chef: First, we'll have to prep the onions that'll be mixed into the hamburger meat. Do you know how to mince?

Ortho: Okay, I got this!

Ortho: ―Begining cooking procedures. Activating the Cooking Gear's Food Slicer Unit.

[whirrr… fsshhh…!]

Ghost Chef: H-HUUUUUUUUUUH!? HE TRANSFORMED!!?

Ortho: First, I need to adjust the shape so it will be easier to prepare. I need to swing vertically over the onion and… slice it in half!

Ortho: Great, looks like my knife is sharp enough! Umm, since this is for mixing in with hamburger meat…

Ortho: ―Executing command: "Target ingredient: Onion / Processing Method: Mince / Configuration: 3mm Squares"

Ghost Chef: W-Wow… The onion was finely chopped up in no time flat…!

Ortho: …Whew, I've finished with the onion. Will these be sufficient?

Ghost Chef: Y-Yeah, it's cut expertly, but… What exactly is that round blade that came out of your glove…?

Ortho: I took an industrial-grade cutter and downsized it so it could be used in cooking.

Ortho: It releases water as it cuts. This removes the necessity to clean both the blade and the ingredient.

Ghost Chef: You've sure come up with something interesting. But this is just too far removed from traditional cooking methods… Hmm.

Ortho: Different tools shouldn't cause any deviation from the recipe, though… Or should I have used a knife?

Ghost Chef: Well, I guess for your case, you have to cook like that… So I'll make an exception this time.

Ortho: Yay～! Okay then, I'm ready for the next part of the class!

Ortho: ―Activating Heat Sensor Camera. Calculating the temperature of the stir-fried onions… 38.2°C. Current temperature is 41°C lower than last measurement.

Ortho: According to my database, the best temperature range to continue cooking at after letting the dish simmer down is between 38～44°C. Chef, can we continue with the next step?

Ghost Chef: Sure, that's fine. So, next, take the ground meat, onions, and spices to form your hamburgers.

Ortho: Understood! ―Executing Command: Deploy Hand-Coating Gloves.

Ghost Chef: Woah! And now suddenly there are gloves attached to your hands. Is this another one of your technological applications?

Ortho: I'm using something similar to shrink wrap for this. It'd be pretty tough to do maintenance if my joints got dirtied.

Ghost Chef: Ah, that I can understand. It's just like how it's troublesome to have to wash everything that climbed up inside of an eggbeater.

Ortho: I thought as much. In the future, I'd like to equip some functions that would handle this effectively, but… This time, I want to try to knead it by hand

Ghost Chef: And why is that?

Ortho: It sounds like when my brother took this course, he didn't like this specific task.

Ortho: So I thought it'd be good to know the source of his stress, so I could factor that into the eventual kneading function…

[squish…]

Ortho: Hmm, maybe he didn't like how it felt when he touched it? Probably means if I can automate this task, everything'll be solved!

Ghost Chef: Sounds like you've figured out your answer, Ortho-kun.

Ghost Chef: By the way, your brother is Idia-kun, right? Has he changed at all since taking the course?

Ortho: Hmm, I don't think anything changed. He still doesn't really care about food at all…

Ortho: …Oh yeah! Maybe I can use this Cooking Gear to help improve his eating habits.

Ghost Chef: Eh!? You made all these functions without actually knowing what you'd use it for in the first place?

Ortho: Ehehe, so actually… I just made this because I wanted to "win at cooking!" So I didn't really have a particular use for it in mind.

Ghost Chef: Well, I guess that's a good enough reason to start. Also, even if it is an afterthought, I'm glad that you have a goal to strive for now.

Ortho: Yeah. Alright… Now I have to start improving this gear so I can make food that my brother'll want to eat!

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Ortho Version ～Let’s Make Loco Moco 2～

Ghost Chef: While we wait for the hamburger to cook, you can prepare the toppings. We'll garnish with cabbage and mini tomatoes for this dish.

Ghost Chef: The cabbage needs to be shredded, so… Are you able to adjust your cutting size in 0.1mm increments?

Ortho: By design, I should be able to. I would like to test it for myself, so could you tell me the specific size you're looking for?

Ghost Chef: Then, if you can, slice at 1.6mm.

Ortho: Got it!

Ortho: ―Executing command: "Target ingredient: Cabbage / Processing Method: Slice / Thickness Configuration: 1.6mm"

Ghost Chef: Woooah, very good! It was surprising when I first saw all this, but now it's really nice to see how quick and accurately you can cut.

Ortho: Simple tasks like these are a machine's strong point, after all! …Okay, I'm done! I wonder how the hamburger is coming along?

Ortho: ―Activating Heat Sensor Camera. Frying pan is holding steady at 16°C. Hamburger internal temperature: 34.5°C.

Ghost Chef: That's a pretty handy function, too. You don't need to take the lid off the frying pan to check how it's cooking, so there's no drop in temperature.

Ghost Chef: …Ah, oops. I let myself get a little too distracted watching your really neat functions.

Ghost Chef: Normally, it would take more time to prepare the toppings, but you're moving along smoothly.

Ortho: Ah! Then, while we wait for the hamburger to cook, can you explain to me more about the toppings?

Ortho: Cause toppings are kind of like power-ups from a video game, right? You don't really need them but it's better to have them.

Ortho: That's why I bet if I could know which toppings are the most filling, I could make my cooking even more efficient.

Ghost Chef: Hmm, that's a difficult question. It can vary depending on what you have on hand, and what you feel like using.

Ghost Chef: For example, I wanted to make sure there was nutritional balance, so this dish uses vegetables as a topping.

Ortho: If we were to remove the vegetables from this recipe… The vitamin intake would be reduced by 75%. It really would lose that nutritional balance.

Ghost Chef: In the past, I would serve it as a salad on the side, but there were so many kids who wouldn't even touch it, because they didn't want veggies.

Ortho: I get it, you revised the process fundamentally to help resolve your problem. I think that's a very reasonable method.

Ghost Chef: Haha, thank you. Yes, I'm glad I changed it up like this.

Ortho: Changes, hm… If I want to be able to add that as a possible function to the Cooking Gear, I'll have to gather a lot more data.

Ortho: If I can learn to swap out ingredients, it might help in dealing with my brother's bad eating habits.

Ortho: The more I learn about cooking, the more I can see all sorts of possible challenges, just like in a video game.

Ortho: ―And finally, I set the egg on top… Done! It's made to look like the dish I saw as the top hit in an image search.

Ghost Chef: Nice, you've plated it so beautifully and deliciously. I guess it's time for you to take it to the judging venue, then.

Ortho: Okay! I can't wait to see how the judge will react～

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Leona: Ughh… What a pain. Why do I need to be a judge for this Master Chef thing…?

Ortho: Sorry to keep you waiting! Oh, I see you were the one to order this dish, then.

Ortho: Here you go, this is the Loco Moco you requested! Please, enjoy!

Ortho: I want to use your assessment of the dish to help improve my Cooking Gear, so please be as candid as possible.

Leona: …Hey. Why're there vegetables in this loco moco? There wasn't any last time I ordered it.

Ortho: I heard this was a change made to help people eat their veggies. Great, right?

Leona: …Tch, way to do something completely unnecessary.

[bite, chew, chew, chew…]

Ortho: I followed the recipe exactly as it was written, so there shouldn't be any issues with the flavor… What do you think?

Leona: The hamburger and the gravy sauce taste fine. But because of all the veggies you threw in there, it shouldn't even get a single point.

Ortho: Ehhh, why!? I made sure to follow the recipe and throw in the right amount, size, and cooking time for all the ingredients!

Leona: Why should I care? All that matters is the judge's opinion, yeah? The recipe means nothin' if it don't suit my taste.

Ortho: …So without considering any of the general judging criteria, this dish "doesn't taste good" to you?

Leona: Basically. But hey, maybe you coulda gotten high marks if you'd just left the veg out like it's always been made.

Ortho: By adding the vegetables, it gave the dish a better nutritional balance. But Leona-san would have preferred no vegetables…

Leona: Geez, can't believe you'd just ruin a good meal like that. Since the judging's over, I'm outta here.

Ortho: Ah, he left…  I can't really understand how someone could say a dish that satisfies nutritional needs "doesn't taste good."

Ghost Chef: Leona-kun must really hate vegetables, if he couldn't get past even this small addition.

Ortho: Ah, I should have asked why he hates vegetables to help me with figuring out how to change up recipes!

Ghost Chef: Ortho-kun… Are you actually happy with that result?

Ortho: Yes! The more data I can gather on any issues, the better I can improve my Cooking Gear!

Ghost Chef: Well, I guess I'm glad you're not sad after hearing that, but… Why does that make you that excited?

Ortho: Leona-san was already unhappy with the dish even before tasting it. That means he had already decided it wouldn't taste good just from looking at it.

Ortho: The challenge rating just shot up, now that I have to keep an eye on visual aesthetics, taste and nutrition… Of course that gets me super pumped up!

Ortho: I might be a long way away from being able to tackle my brother's bad eating habits, but… I'll definitely do my best to make my Cooking Gear even better!

Requested by Anonymous.

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 439 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

God, I was looking forward to doing this chapter review today but then my day really started off not as good as I hope for. But it’s ok. I just hope that this review will be uplifting for me while it’s being made. Anyways, CH. 439 EVERYBODY!! WOOOOOOOO!!! I LOVED READING THIS CHAPTER. SO, LET’S GET INTO IT.

Um... Jichang? Try him. 😀

UMMM... SORRY JICHANG, WHAT WAS THAT? CAN'T HEAR YOU FROM THE SOUNDS OF GETTING YOUR ASS BEAT... 🙄

Wow. So it really has come to this, huh? I didn't wanna do a Master vs. Student comparison because Daniel was trained by Gun, not James. Although James didn't personally train him, Daniel did get some of his moves from him so he's clearly a beast... Damn.

Daniel Park, a model? 👀 I can't believe I made a clothing brand flyer out of these panels. 💀💀💀

Tbh the Allied shirt that Daniel is wearing looks so fucking dope. 🔥 If PTJ ever drops the actual merch for Allied, I really wanna purchase one so badly. The design is so sick, and you already know Imma stunt on them hoes if I ever get my hands on a shirt. 🤪

He's really just playing around with them, huh? Especially Daniel. 😭

I swear, Hudson and Jay are only in this chapter to provide reactions to the fight. They really do be representing the crowd. 🔥 THE CROWD SAYS :O

This shot of Jichang is so cool ngl... and hot. 💀💀

Bruh he really do be thinking this.

JESUS CHRIST- DANIEL IS GETTING SLICED AND DICED LIKE HE'S A STALK OF VEGETABLES. PEPPERS? OK! ONIONS? YOU GOT IT! GARLIC? I GOT YA COVERED!!! 😜🌶🧄🧅

Jichang looking all sinister, like he about to end Daniel with the most deadliest Karate chop of the century. BUT OH GOD, DANIEL NOOOOOOOOO!!! 😭😭😭😭

*inhales* Bro... you guys had no idea how much I was jumping at that first panel right here. Jumping and running around and shit. My reaction was literally, "No... Noooo wayyyy... Nooooo FUCKING WAAAAYYYYYYYYY... PTJ, YOU'RE LYING!!!!!! IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING????? OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! UI DANIEL IS BAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!!" 😤😤😤😤😤😤😤

And not me anticipating a Gun Park memory because it always happens whenever Daniel is in UI... (or at least, Gun is mentioned whenever he's in the zone... Auto Zone. 😩 If you get the reference, ily.)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT'S GUNNNNNNN!!!! I KNEW IT, WE'RE GONNA GET ANOTHER SCENE WITH THIS HOT ASS MESS OF A MAN. 😩😩🔥🔥🔥🔥 UGGGHHHH IMMA CREAM ON HIM I SWEEEAAAARRRRRRRRR. HE CAN EAT ME UPPPPP AND BEAT THIS COOCH UP ANYDAY. GOT ME QUIVERING SHIIIIIII 😩😩😩💢💢💢💢💢 Also, is he NAKED??? 😳 Bruh. He's naked around Daniel, but he isn't naked around his previous successors. Hmmm... do I sense... favoritism? And why is Daniel kneeling down in front of him. Don't tell me they "fought". 👁👁 Or he gave Gun a good suck. Pero come on Daniel, tell us that his dick is huge. GINORMOUS. MASSIVE. LENGTHY. THICK. HEAVY??? LMFAAAOOOOOOOO OK, I'LL STOP.

Hehehe, if you aren't familiar with this by now-

*N S F W M E M E W A R N I N G*

(If you're not comfortable with inappropriate memes, then just scroll past them.)

This really is my mind 24/7. You should know me by now and how I want this man soooooooo badlyyyyyy. God, I want this man to ram me so goddamn good. Legs shaking, loud moaning, ass smacking, hair pulling, back blowing... AEUUUUGGGGHHHHH. 😩😩😩💗💗💗💗 I just wanna keep it real. I'm not ashamed or sorry. 🤷🏽‍♀️ If you don't want me to simp so badly, then you shouldn't have followed a Gun simp in the first place. 😤

OH MY GOD- OF COURSE HE'S INTO CHOKING. 😩😩 PTJ, YOU'RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE. MAKING ME EVEN MORE NEEDY FOR HIM, FUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.

"Leave your body to Lady Death." God, that gave me chills. 🥴HNNNNNNGGGGHHHH EVEN THAT SMIRK TOO. GOD, I'M GOING FERALLLLLLLL. HE'S SO SEXY!!! CHOKE ME, DADDY GUN. 😭😭😭 HE REALLY GOT ME IN A MENTAL CHOKEHOLD, I'M JUST SAYINGGGGGG.

CALL ME DELUSIONAL. IDC AND IDGAF. I WANT GUN TO CHOKE ME. 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

Ok I'm done. *sighs*

*E N D O F N S F W M E M E S*

Man... I love psychotic men. Men who go crazy insane with power. Men who are overpowered. Men who can silence anyone. Men who can dominate others. Men who can beat the shit out of anything and anyone. MEN WHO CAN RUIN OTHER PEOPLE'S SELF-ESTEEM. MEN WHO CAN TAKE AWAY THEIR WILL TO FIGHT. MEN WHO CAN SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEIR ENEMIES ONE BY ONE WITHOUT CARING. MEN WHO- ok I'll shut up about my taste in men.

Oh my lord, look at UI Daniel fight so diligently and so swiftly too. AND DAAAANNNGGG DUDE, LOOK AT THE IMPACT HE HAD ON JICHANG'S BACK!!! He for sure is a menace, no doubt about it.

I love how hyped their fight was. LOOK AT JICHANG'S FACIAL EXPRESSION TOO!! HE REMINDS ME OF SAMUEL IN SOME OF HIS FIGHTS HAHAHAHAHAHA INSAAAAAAANE

BRUH, ISN'T THAT THE OLD MAN ON THAT TRACTOR??? 👀

I KNEW ITTTTT BRO. IT'S THE SEOUL GRANDPA. Also, I'd like to point out how interesting it is that UI Daniel suddenly faded away as if he doesn't exist anymore, when Daniel suddenly retreated from subconsciousness. I almost forgot that it took UI Daniel a while to cease due to the drugs that Daniel's other body was on in that room full of shrooms, back in that arc with Vivi's Club.

YEAH BRO, YOU BETTER RESPECT DANIEL NOW. And how did Jichang not notice that he looked like Jinyoung Park? Like... everybody did except for him. Come on sir, get with the program. 🧍🏽‍♀️

OMG...??? GAPRYONG KIM'S DRIVER??? 🤭🤭🤭 DAMN, EVERYONE WHO WAS A PART OF GAPRYONG'S FIST CAN BEAT ANYONE UP. EVEN HIS DRIVER CAN KICK ASS. 😧 Also... bro. Wtf. Does that mean that they fought for no reason? They got THEIR ASSES BEAT FOR NO REASON??? MAAAAAANNNN WHAT DID I FUCKIN TELL YOU, JICHANG AND DANIEL??? IN THE PREV REVIEW, I SAID THAT YOU COULD'VE SETTLED THIS THE CIVILIZED WAY, BUT WHAT DID Y'ALL DO? Y'ALL THREW HANDS. And poor Jay and Hudson. They fought their asses off against some people of Chungcheong and FOR WHAT??? 😭😭😭 WELL, I GET IT. IT'S FOR DANIEL. BUT COME ON MAN, THEY BEEN THROUGH SOME TRASH-TALKING AND SOME INJURIES FOR NOTHINGGGGG. Idk, that just pissed me off. But, the purpose of those fights was to show how much they improved. I admit though, they did improve A LOT and I'm proud of the both of them. Even Daniel too, who just fought with a First Generation King to the point that Jichang had to get into serious FIGHTING MODE. Here kings, your crowns. 👑👑👑 I keep saying this repeatedly, but we better get the full explanation of Jinyoung's backstory or else. Imma go over to PTJ, grab him by the collar, and- 😤😤👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽 /j

Not kidding. Oops-

[polutrope]

35. Bittersweet memories // for curufin and finrod because i NEED to know about their drama in this universe

Thanks for the prompt! Here's ~800 words of roommates (and cousins-by-adoption) Curufin and Finrod bickering and remembering. Rated T because Curufin has a potty mouth. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list (prompts closed). Beleria Cast of Characters

RESUME

Finrod F. Noldoran, MA nomnom13@gmail.com

WORK EXPERIENCE

Barista Cuppa Joy Café, Beleria November 2022 to Present Develop and deliver quality product and friendly service to build positive community relationships.

Global Relations Specialist Self-employed February to October 2022 Built community partnerships through immersive cultural experiences in the Hither Lands—

“Bullshit,” Curufin muttered to himself, and threw the paper down on the coffee table. “Finrod!” he called. “What the fuck is this?”

“Oh hey you’re home! What’s what?” his roommate called back from the bathroom. A moment later he emerged in his bathrobe and slippers, a towel wrapped around his head.

“Did you just wake up?” Curufin sneered.

“No, actually,” Finrod replied, then said briskly, “I was working on that resume you’ve just tossed aside all morning.”

Curufin huffed. “Global Relations Specialist? Backpacking around the Hither Lands isn’t a job, Fin.”

“Sure it is! Anyway, the resume is only a formality.” Finrod brightened and plopped himself down in the hideous antique armchair he refused to get rid of. “Mayor Singh-Goel — Elu — came by the coffee shop yesterday while I was working. We chatted a bit and got to talking about a new project the City is getting off the ground, to help low-income immigrants get situated in the community. I told Elu about my time in Dorthon with the refugee communities and about my Master’s thesis on the immigrants from east Endor. So!” Finrod slapped the armrests triumphantly. “He thinks I’d be perfect for the Project Coordinator role.”

“You’re kidding?” said Curufin. “You have no professional experience.”

“I have a Master’s degree!”

“In geography. And a Master’s degree doesn’t mean shit in the real world,” Curufin said. The audacity of this guy, he thought. “Also: you can’t lie on your resume.”

Finrod frowned. “It’s not a lie.” He picked up the paper. “I do build positive community relationships. With the community at Cuppa Joy.”

“You make oatmilk vanilla lattés for hipsters.”

“Same difference,” Finrod insisted. “It’s not lying, it’s just… creatively telling the truth. Anyway, I said: it doesn’t matter. The Mayor himself is going to recommend me for the position.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. Of course. Finrod always got what he wanted. Never had to work for a thing in his life, just smiled and asked for it and had the world handed to him on a platter. Meanwhile, Curufin had busted his ass to get where he was, owner of his own brewery at twenty-nine, raising a kid on his own. He was his big brother’s boss for chrissakes! Much to his ongoing annoyance…

“You don’t deserve it,” Curufin said. “Even Celegorm has more work experience than you.”

“Well!” Finrod said, heat rising in his tone. “Why don’t you tell Celegorm to apply!”

“Maybe I will.” Curufin smirked. It was always deeply satisfying to get his mild-mannered roommate riled up.

Rising from the chair, Finrod threw up his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He shut the door to his bedroom a little more soundly than usual.

*

“You know,” said Finrod, sitting at the table later that day while Curufin was prepping dinner for Celebrimbor. Curufin had to work tonight so his son would be on his own. Well, with Finrod, but it’s not like Curufin was going to ask Finrod to feed him.

“We used to be friends in Valin,” Finrod finished.

“Not really,” Curufin said, and sliced through an onion.

“Yes, we did. In fact, I was just remembering that Yule when you and Alwen finally broke up. You remember? I came over and we watched stupid holiday movies and laughed at the terrible writing.”

Curufin did remember. It was Yule Eve and Celegorm wasn’t answering his texts. But he’d read them, because Aredhel told Turgon who told Finrod… who was the only person who texted him to ask how he was. And he’d abandoned his family’s festivities to come hang out with his sad sack cousin he barely knew.

“Yeah. I remember,” Curufin said, and sniffed.

“Are you crying?” said Finrod

“No.” Curufin brushed his eyes. “It’s the onion.”

“Right. Hey, why don’t you leave that? I’ll make something for Celebrimbor tonight. We could cook together!”

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” said Curufin.

“Why not? I have nothing better to do.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not your responsibility, and—”

“You don’t want to be in my debt,” Finrod supplied.

Curufin didn’t answer.

“Tell you what,” Finrod said cheerfully. “I’ll make dinner with Tyelpë tonight and you can help me with the resume, how about that?”

Curufin chuckled. “So I help you get a job you don’t deserve?”

“Yep!”

“Fine,” said Curufin, and scraped the chopped onion into a bowl. “You should start by getting a new email address. I can’t believe you’re still using nomnom13.”

[my-miniature-universe]

Freestyle Remix with some leftovers!

Miniverse Foods:

strawberries, banana slices, blueberries, raspberries, pineapple, lemon, lime, mushroom, lettuce, tomato, and whipped cream with a cherry

Zuru Master Chef:

Cherries

DIY Minis:

Carrots, chocolate mini cake, block of cheese (air dry clay); red onion slices (hot glue sticks)

[exhausted-archivist]

Dishes, Sauces, Soups, and Sides

Updated: 2023/12

As of now this list is updated with everything found in media released as of Oct 2023.

Like the original, this contains all canonical breads, desserts, dishes, sauces, soups, and sides. If known to a specific region it is marked next to the item in parenthasis, if it is not it is either unknown or universally eaten.

For Other Food Posts

Drinks

Raw Ingredients

Prepared Ingredients

Canonically Possible Foods and Drinks

Food and Drink Master Post

Disclaimer

Though real life plants may be listed here as edible it is for fictional use only. This is not intended to be used as a reference nor guide for what plants are edible or safe to eat. Please do not use it as such.

Breads

Bark Bread

Biscuit

Whole Grain Biscuit - Commonly made in Chantry cloisters. A staple in their simple diets.

Black Bread

Braided Honey and Date Bread (Anderfels)

Brown Bread

Buns

Butter Puff - Bread made by folding butter into the dough allowing it to become puffy and softer than usual bread. (Orlais)

Crumpet

Dark Bread

Dried Bread

Flat Bread - A no-rise bread. Served with dip, brushed in oil, and/or as a side. (Nevarra)

Honey Loaf

Lichen Bread - Bread that is made using lichen. (Orzammar)

Black Lichen Bread

Peasant Bread - Comprised of wheat, grease, and salt in equal measure, made by Dalish and city elves in Orlais. They top it with butter, jam, and sometimes sugar. (Elves - Orlais)

Pumpkin bread - A favorite of Dorian Pavus (Tevinter)

Raider Queen’s Bread of Many Tongues - Created by the Raider Queen, this bread calls for flour, baking powder, salt, butter, brown sugar, molasses, eggs, bananas. The creator calls for Par Vollen bananas but another version of the recipe says Rivaini bananas are an acceptable replacement. (Rivain)

Rolls

Bread Roll

Sweet Rolls

Ryott Bread - Made of a protein rich grain called ryott. (Ferelden, Chasind)

Sweet Bread

Thin Bread - A thin bread used to make wraps in Seheron.

Whole Grain Bread - Another staple made in Chantry cloisters.

Wraps - Described as "soft" bread.

Appetizers, Starters, and Refreshments

Blood Orange Salad - a salad of bitter greens with blood orange slices served on top. (Nevarra)

Canapé - a type of hors d'œuvre.

Couscous Salad - A salad comprised of couscous with many varieties, one such variety includes red bell peppers and mint. (Rivain)

Crab Cakes - a classic dish in Kirkwall. (Kirkwall)

Dried Bread and Fruit

Eggs à la Val Foret - An egg dish served with a cream sauce. (Orlais)

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding - Celery, pepper, mackerel, diced onion, mustard, salt, Antivan pepper, ground mace, cardamom seed, eggs. Also known as Feast Day Fish (Ferelden)

Fried Crab Legs - A subsitute for the Orzammar dish of fried young giant spiders.

Fried young giant spiders - A common food in Orzammar, usually served with an alcohol-based sauce that varies with every establishment. (Orzammar)

Roasted Cave Beetles - Roasted whole and eaten out of the shell. (Orzammar)

Roasted Prawns - A substitute to cave beetles, said to have the same taste and texture.

Shredded Dried Meat and Cheese - A dish that is commonly used as a spread by the dwarves and used for lunches. (Orzammar)

Snails Dressed in Butter and Oil (Avvar)

Snails and Watercress Salad - A non-traditional dish inspired by Avvar cuisine featuring snails and watercress to appeal to lowlander pallets.

Stuffed Deep Mushrooms - A dish derived from various Orzammar deep mushroom delicacy. This Fereldan creation is stuffed with cheese and spinach. (Ferelden)

Rations, Tavern Fare, and Travel Food

Beer Nuts (Kirkwall)

Bread and Cheese

Chicken Wings - Sold in The Rusted Horn as ‘Wyvern Wings.’ (Ferelden)

Crow Feed (Antiva)

Dried Foods

Dried Fruit

Dried Meats

Fereldan Hearty Scones - a scone filled with bacon and cheese, careful, a mabari might snag it. (Ferelden)

Fish Pockets - A meal of fish, crisp vegetables, spices, and a soft wrap.(Seheron)

Fish Wrap - Fish wrapped in thin bread (Seheron)

Grey Warden Pastry Pockets - A hand pie filled with meat and other foods. Olesian Grey Wardens put their own twist using Olesian puff pastry.

The Hanged Man's Stew - The tavern’s featured dish, made with a different mystery meat every morning. (Kirkwall)

Jerky

Jerky Ball

Spiced Jerky

Meat Skewers - A portable snack. A known Orlesian version of this snack is primarily eaten by nobles while out on hunts and are not interested in the hunt, made of meat, cheese, and wine-soaked fruit.

Pickled Eggs - Eggs, sugar, salt, vinegar, and various spices and seasoning of the cooks preference. Favored in Ferelden and seen as a cure all. Served in nearly every Fereldan tavern. (Ferelden)

Pig Oat Mash - A constant dish on The Hanged Man menu, a popular hangover cure if washed down with brandy spiked cider. This warming porridge contains apples, dried salt pork or smoked bacon, dried rolled oats, berries, ale or water (Kirkwall)

Poison Stings - "Poison stings" is the colloquial name. Orange peels coated in chocolate, a crunchy yet chew texture that is both sweet and sour. A favored snack of Dorian Pavus when traveling from Tevinter to Ferelden. (Tevinter)

Provisions and Rations - Typically consist of dried meat, nuts, and a variety of other simple foodstuffs.

Dry Ration

Hardtack

Qunari Ration

Stuffed Vine Leaves - Common tavern food in Tevinter, stuffed with rice, herbs, and sometimes minced meat. Can be topped with lemon juice or tzatziki sauce.

Treviso Energy Balls - Made of peanut butter, oats, and dried fruit, it is a famine food invented during the occupation of Treviso in the Qunari Wars/The New Exalted Marches.

Unidentified Meat - Despite it's ominous name, it's simply chicken legs. Sometimes served with Nevarran flat bread. (Tevinter)

Dips, Glazes, Gravy, and Sauces

Apples Stewed in Brandy Sauce

Applesauce

Cherry Sauce

Cheese Sauce

Cream Sauce

Deep Mushroom Flavored Cream Sauce - Commonly served with seared nug. (Orzammar)

Dragon’s Blood Sauce (Nevarran)

Gravy

Honey-glaze - A sauce used to glaze various foods, particularly meats.

Hot Sauce

Llomerryn Red Sauce - A sauce that goes on almost everything, contains pulped tomatoes, onions, red pepper, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, mustard powder, hot pepper powder, salt, cinnamon stick, allspice, cloves, fennel seeds, dill seeds, mustard seeds, black peppercorns, bay, garlic. (Rivain)

Mushrooms cooked in ale - One recommendation for this sauce is to be served over roasted nug.

Mushroom Sauce

Nesting Roast Gravy - Gravy made from the pan juices of a nesting roast. Meant to be served with the roast. (Orlais)

Plum Sauce

Red Wine Marinade

River-herring Gravy - a gravy as white as apple blossoms. (Orlais)

Special Sauce - A sauce infused with the essence of fifty-two herbs, prized for the ability to help with “inadequacy”. (Kirkwall)

Spider Leg Sauce - a variety of alcohol-based sauces unique to each Orzammar establishment, meant to be paired with fried young giant spider legs.

Tzatziki Sauce - Served with stuffed vine leaves. (Tevinter)

Wild Flower Glaze - A honeyed glaze made of wild flowers, it is recommended to use flowers plucked at dawn and the lowest blossoms. (Anderfels)

Yogurt Dip - Often served with flat bread (Nevarra)

Soups and Stews

Barley Soup

Blood Soup - Merrill is credited with the creation of this creamy beetroot soup, it is topped with roasted chickpeas. (Dalish)

Butter Soup - A simple, inexpensive, and easy soup. Made as midmorning meals or midday refresher for field workers. It is commonly fed to children and convalescents due to its nutritious nature. Ingredients include water, potatoes, cinnamon, star anise, clove, bay, peppercorns, salt, noodles, cream, butter (Orlais)

Cabbage Stew (Ferelden)

Deepstalker Stew - A stew of deepstalker is made when rations run low. (Legion of the Dead)

Denerim-rabbit Stew - Made with rat (City Elf)

Enchantment Soup - Made by Sandal, edibility unknown.

Fereldan Potato and Leek Soup

Fereldan Turnip and Barley Stew - White beans, oil, onion, carrots, celery, garlic, stock, turnips, turnip greens, sausage, barley, cumin, dried basil, oregano, salt, pepper, herbed wine vinegar

First Day Festival Stew (Orzammar)

Fish Chowder (Antiva)

Fish Stew

Lamb and Pea Stew - Alistair has his own version of this soup. (Ferelden)

Lentil Soup - A universal soup, with lentils being common in every Thedosian pantry.

Nettle Soup

Norbotten Fruit Stew - This dish is used to rehydrate dried fruits: dried apricots, pitted prunes, raisins, mixed dried fruits (cherries, apples, cranberries, etc), lemon or orange, cinnamon, cloves, water, sugar or honey, brandy. (Anderfels)

Pea Soup

Ram Stew (Ferelden)

Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup (Ferelden)

Turnip Stew (Ferelden)

Turnip-Goat Stew (Ferelden)

Wild Rabbit Stew

Main Course

Alamarri Pickled Krone - Krone, Brine, (optional) pine pitch and druffalo dung.

Baked Fish - An Avvar cooking method where they wrap fish in pungent leaves and clay before cooking it in banked coals. (Avvar)

Baked Krone with Honey - The honey is typically used as a side sauce for dipping. (Fereldan)

Beans and Bread

Boiled Roots

Braised Nug with Elfroot (Dwarven)

Braised Ram with all the Trimmings (Ferelden)

Broiled Boar Head (Fereldan)

Cacio e pepe - A dish of three ingredients; spaghetti, pepper, and pecorino romano. (Antiva)

Dalish Deep Forest Comfort - String squashes, halla butter, garlic, mushrooms, elfroot or spinach, diced tomatoes or beetles, hot red pepper, rock salt, halla cheese or goat cheese, edible wildflowers (borage, chicory, etc), pine nuts. (Dalish, Southern Orlais)

First Day Chicken - a dish served during First Day in some parts of Orlais. (Orlais)

Fish in Salt Crust - Cooked much liked the baked fish, instead of using clay, the fish is covered in salt and wrapped in pungent leaves before being cooked in banked coals. (Avvar)

Fresh Oyster - Noted to go well with Llomerryn red sauce.

Fried Fish

Fried Mush (Orzammar)

Glazed Krone (Ferelden)

Gilded Swan with River-herring Gravy - An eastern spice, flour, gold leaf, river herring, swan, yolk. (Orlais)

Gnocchi (Antiva)

Goat Custard - A broiled goat head, not to be confused with the dessert. (Ferelden)

Grilled Poussin - Grilled chicken, typically a younger chicken. (Chasind)

Ham

Anderfels Smoked Ham - It tastes of despair

Avvar Ham

Ham Stuck with Cloves

The Jade Ham - Honeyed with wild flowers (especially those picked at dawn), masterfully seasoned, and spiral-cut. Not considered edible but better used as a weapon. (Anderfels)

Orlesian Ham

Smoked Ham

Herbed Chicken and Biscuits (Ferelden)

Jellied Meats

Jellied Pigs Feet - A delicacy in the Free Marches and originally a popular commoner food that has risen to the tables of nobility. Pigs feet and/or pork hocks, salt, onions, garlic, allspice, peppercorns, bay. (Free Marches)

Veal Galentine (Orlais)

Liver

Lutefisk

Nesting Roast - This dish is classically made with a quail stuffed in a pheasant stuffed in a swan. Served with gravy made from the pan juices. (Orlais)

Mad Burnard’s Gift of Flesh - A nesting roast unlike any other, involving a whole wyvern, stuffed with a whole gurn, stuffed with a horse, stuffed with a large halla (horns and all), stuffed with a swan, stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a quail, stuffed with a bunting that choked on a gold piece. (Orlais)

Nug Steak (Orzammar)

Nug-gets (Orzammar)

Nug-loaf (Orzammar)

Nug-Nug - A dish meant to resemble a nug peeking from its burrow; made of ground meat (beef preferred), parsley, egg, salt, crushed cumin or mustard seeds, black pepper, cooked rice, tomatoes, onions, chives (Orlais)

Paella - Made with rice, saffron, and a variety of seafood; such as shrimp, cuttlefish, and mussels. (Antiva)

Pancake - The breakfast food and savory dishes.

Crepes - A very thin pancake that can be filled with sweet or savory ingredients. (Orlais)

Hearth Cakes - Described as a common fare where they are baked on an iron griddle. They are made with halla butter (can be subbed for goat or cow butter), flour, hardwood ash (can be replaced with baking powder), cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, sugar, mixed dried fruit (like cranberries, raisins, and currants), an egg, and milk. Described as baeing crispy and flaky on the outside, but remains moist on the inside. They are grilled on one side and then are flipped over, ensuring they are all crisp and bown. (Dalish)

Nug Pancakes - A savory pancake made with nug. A favorite among dwarven children. (Orzammar)

Porridge

Bland Porridge

Deer Porridge - A savory porridge served with deer.

Porridge with Raisins

Savory Porridge - Served with meat, vegatables, or spices.

Pudding - A sweet or savory, steamed dish that can be topped with gravy or chocolate.

Rack of Ribs (Ferelden)

Ram Chops (Ferelden)

Ram Cutlet (Ferelden)

Rice and Boiled Vegetables (Tevinter)

Roast

Gurgut Roast with Lowlander Spices and Mushroom Sauce (Avvar)

Roast Boar - One cooking method involves the boar being stuffed with apples (Ferelden and Orlais). Another has it served with a side of candied yams.

Roast Chicken

Roast Duck

Roast Hog

Roast Lamb

Roast Turkey - Common in the Free Marches, especially among Starkhaven nobility, as well as the Chasind.

Roast Wyvern - Common with the Avvar and Orlais.

Roasted Cave Beetle (Dwarven)

Roasted Giant Spider (Dwarven)

Roasted Nug (Orzammar)

Roasted Phoenix - One of the most infamous meals in Thedas, it is served with sweet red wine.

Roasted Rabbit

Roasted Venison with Wild Greens - The venison is seasoned with mint and pepper, served with wild greens and sweet pastries. Paired with wine to drink. (Ferelden)

Slow-roasted Nug-let (Orzammar)

Spit-roasted Deepstalker (Dwarven)

Spit-roasted Nug with Hot Sauce (Orzammar)

Sandwich

Ham Sandwich

Sausage - There are about twelve different kinds of sausage unnamed mentioned in Last Court.

Black Pudding - A type of blood sausage made from pork or beef blood, pork fat or beef sue, and a type of cereal. (Orlais)

Smoked Sausage

Spiced Sausage

Savory Pies

Dove Pie - A pie made with live doves, for the theater of the meal. (Orlais)

Nug Bacon and Egg Pie (Ferelden)

Pigeon Pie

Pork Pie

Starkhaven Fish and Egg Pie - Fish from the Minanter River (carp, trout, or others), wine, onion, carrot, thyme, bay, sea salt, dried currants, sliced almonds, boiled sliced eggs, butter, flour, fish broth, milk, salt, pepper, nutmeg, cream, fried whitebait or other small fish. (Starkhaven)

Turnip and Mutton Pie (Ferelden)

Unmentionable Pie - It is a meat pie that uses the typically undesirable parts of an animal. (Ferelden)

Venison Pasty - A hand pie filled with venison. In Serault, it is served with curls of goat cheese. (Orlais)

Seared Nug - Usually served with a deep mushroom cream sauce. (Orzammar)

Simmering Partridge - Cooked with sweet onions and pale beans (Orlais)

Smoked Meat

Smoked Boar

Smoked Fish

Smoked Rabbit

Smoked Venison

Spiced Nug

Stuffed Cabbage - A seasoned cabbage head stuffed with meat.

Venison with Apples Stewed in Brandy Sauce

Wandering Hills - A delicacy made from large creatures of the same name. (Anderfels)

Wyvern Steak

Sides

Antivan Olives - Soaked in vinegar and stuffed with capers.

Boiled Turnip (Ferelden)

Brandy Soaked Cherries (Orzammar)

Candied Yams

Croutons

Fried Potatoes - Recommended to be served with Llomerryn red sauce.

Hard-boiled Egg

Honey Carrots - Most common in Orlais where it is traditionally sweeter compared to other places due to the use of honey.

Jarred Olives (Tevinter)

Jellied Eels (Ferelden)

Mashed Turnip (Ferelden)

Peeled Grapes (Tevinter)

Picked Foods

Pickled Apples

The Pickled Apples of Arlathan - Apples said to be from the time of Arlathan. The taste is described to be one of fresh apples, with the same crispness.

Pickled Fish

Pickled Lamprey

Pickled Nug

Pickled Ox Tongue

Pickled Vegetables

Pickles

Roasted Sides

Roasted Chestnuts (Nevarra)

Roasted Figs (Rivain)

Roasted Potatoes - Recommended to be served with Llomerryn red sauce.

Roasted Turnip (Ferelden)

Sera’s Yummy Corn

Smoked Bacon

Steamed Beans

Steamed Turnips (Ferelden)

Stir-fried Turnips (Ferelden)

Toast

Toasted Bread - Used for dipping in stews.

Toasted Chickpeas - Used as a topping for soups and salads, sometimes as a replacement for croutons.

Wine Soaked Fruit

Baked Goods, Desserts, and Sweets

Bread Pudding - Made with stale bread, eggs, milk or cream, and other ingredients varied by if it is savory or sweet (Ferelden)

Cake

Cake with Apples

Cake with Nutmeg

Chocolate Cake

Cupcakes

Cherry Cupcakes - Historically a common method used to poison people, often served in the theater. (Tevinter)

The Exquisite Misery - A little cake topped with a dusting of anise, deep mushrooms, and gold dust. (Orlais)

Found Cake - A chocolate cream cake topped with white frosting and strawberries (Ferelden)

Hearth Cake - A pan-made cake; made of flour, hardwood ash or baking powder, halla butter, sugar, mixed dried fruit (currants, cranberries, etc), egg, milk. (Dalish)

Honey Cake (Orlais)

Lamprey Cake - contains no actual lampreys, it is modeled after the appearance of lamprey.

Lemon Cake

Petit Fours (Orlais)

Pound Cake

Round Cake - Often topped with poppyseed and honey. In Serault, they will sometimes have the antlers baked into the crust. (Orlais)

Sponge Cake (Orlais)

Sugar Cake - One version is made with strawberries and sugar-cream icing dressed on a pound cake. (Ferelden) Another version is made with a "humble cake" and is dressed with butter, sugar, and almonds. Both are seen as great gifts and good pick-me-ups after long days of traveling, and are often served by merchants.

Sugar-drizzled Lemon Cake - A type of lemon cake that was used in Antivan Crow history to assassinate templars.

Sugarcake - A dense cake usually topped with powdered sugar.

Sweet Cake

Wedding Cake

Candy

Black Licorice Candy - Can be salted. (Tevinter)

Bon-bons

Candied Almonds

Candied Fruit

Candy Apple (Ferelden)

Candied Dates (Tevinter)

Candy Cane

Carastian Candy - A candied chocolate. (Tevinter)

Peppermints

Spun Sugar (Ferelden)

Sweetmeat - A confectionery treat, sometimes candy coated fruit.

Toffee

Unnamed Candied Nuts with Spice - A candy that is sweet until swallowed, then they leave a spicy aftertaste. (Orlais)

Cobbler

Dalish Forest Fruit Cobbler

Strawberry and Rhubarb Cobbler (Ferelden)

Cookies

Biscuit - A hard, flat, and unleavened baked treat that can be sweet or savory.

Butter and Sugar Cookie - This cookie isn’t specified as it is only described by these ingredients.

Raisin Cookies

Shortbread

Tea Biscuits

Wafers

Custard

Goat Custard - Differing from the Fereldan savory counterpart. This custard is made throughout Thedas with goat milk and has numerous varieties. On pairs it with roast fig. A Rivain variation uses milk of the Ayesleigh gulabi goats specifically for its sweeter milk.

Donuts

Ice Cream

Orlesian Guimauves - Another name for marshmallows.

Pastries

Antivan Apple Grenade

Cinnamon Rolls - one of Varric's favorite pastries.

Croissant - Vivienne starts every morning with one. (Orlais)

Honey and Nut Pastry (Tevinter)

Macaroon

Marie du Lac Erre’s Sweet Ruin - One version of this pastry with a dramatic history, the recipe contains; butter, powdered sugar, chocolate, vanilla extract, flour, orange or mint extract, baking powder, and milk. (Orlais)

Tarts

Unnamed Blueberry Pastry - A light, sticky pastry with blueberries. (Possibly Nevarra)

Varric's Favorite Pastry - A pastry spread created by Devon, a Fereldan cook, after consulting with Varric Tethras on his favorite pastry.

Pie

Apple Pie

The Blessed Apple - A pie made by a small cloister of Chantry sisters tending to the orchard, they use the windfall apples and share the pies freely; as well as the apples. The ingredients are flour, salt, butter, water, apples (golden apples from Lady’s Orchard preferred but others are acceptable substitutions), brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. (Orlesian)

Minced Pie - filled with finely chopped fruit and sweet things.

Pudding

Blancmange - A white pudding made of milk or heavy cream, its name is Orlesian for "white eating". Because of the mild, sweet taste it can have a variety of toppings such as toasted almonds, ribbons of fresh mangos, red grape compote, cherry saus, or Vivienne's preferred plating of white chocolate curls with whole jasmine flowers. (Orlais)

Caramel Pudding

Dessert Pudding

Rice Pudding

Scones

Sour Cherries in Cream (Orlais)

Sticky Figs Rolled in Nuts (Tevinter)

Sticky Jellies (Orlais)

Sources:

(If you want to find the direct links or page numbers, check out the Wiki's Food and Ingredients page.)

Primary Sources:

Dragon Age: Origins (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: Awakening Dragon Age 2 (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: The Last Court Dragon Age: Inquisition (DLCs + Multiplayer)

Books:

Dragon Age Tabletop RPG Core Rulebook Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Blood in Ferelden Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Game Master’s Kit: Buried Past World of Thedas Vol. 1 World of Thedas Vol. 2 Dragon Age Official Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne Dragon Age: The Calling Dragon Age: The Masked Empire Dragon Age: Asunder Dragon Age: Last Flight Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Short Stories:

Short Story: Paying the Ferryman

Comics:

Mage Killer Knight Errant Deception

Codex Entries, Letters, and Notes:

Entry: The Ben-Hassrath

Codex Entry: Blackwall the Last Few Years

Codex Entry: A Compendium of Orlesian Theater

Codex Entry: Feast Day Fish

Codex Entry: The Diary of Triolus Hertubise

Codex Entry: The History of Soldier’s Peak: Chapter 3

Codex Entry: A Letter to Harding

Codex Entry: A Magister’s Needs

Codex Entry: The Noladar Anthology of Dwarven Poetry

Codex Entry: On Avvar Cuisine

Codex Entry: The Pickled Apples of Arlathan

Codex Entry: In Praise of the Humble Nug

Codex Entry: Ram

Codex Entry: Redcliffe (Inquisition)

Codex Entry: A Scholar’s Journal

Codex Entry: A Supply List

Codex Entry: A Tattered Shopping List

Codex Entry: Waterlogged Diary

Letter: Feeling Inadequate?

Note: Cook’s Note

Note: Instructions for the Maid

Note: The Rusted Horn’s Menu

Note: Short Note

Armor, Items, Junk, and Weapons:

Armor: Wade’s Superior Dragonbone Plate Boots

Item: Found Cake

Item: Sugar Cake

Item: Lamb Bone

Junk: Stale Biscuit

Junk: Qunari Rations

Weapon: The Jade Ham

War Table Missions:

War Table Mission: Abernache over Under

War Table Mission: Disaster in the Deep Roads

War Table Mission: Inspire

War Table Mission: The Tevinter Resistance

The Last Court Cards:

A Tumbledown Shack

An Unofficial Meeting

Decide the Archoress’s Fate

Flames of Freedom

The Fields

Go Hunting

Good Neighbors

Graffiti

The Next Course

Outlaw Councils

The Whispering Woods

Your Bailiff is Attacked

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