#the stuff about the fish cutlery is true but we just as often use it for stuff like cod burgers and tuna pasta or something

[thatgaydemigodnerd]

Because the big spoons are too big for breakfast, they look weird and out of place in the bowls and are awkward for cereal. Clearly, the breakfast spoons are just the right size to eat breakfast in a timely manner cause breakfast is simply a smaller portion

As for the fish cutlery, we dont always eat fish we have to debone ourselves at the table, it's kinda rare we do actually, but my mother's favourite fish is eaten like that, it's a flatfish and you get it with two filets while the fishbone is still in between them, you need to move the knife down the spine to split each filet in two halves then run your knife beneath it to separate it from the fishbone, while dodging the fins best you can cause they're so full of tiny bones the small scraps of meat on them aren't worth it, after you ran your knife below the two halves of the filet you slide it off the fishbone and eat it like that, then flip it over and repeat on the other side

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 9 OF 22

You will let my tender hook Catch the folded darkness inside you, let me occupy The dented place at the base of your throat. - "One Life", Carlomar Arcangel Daoana

--

She wakes up late.

Comically late.

No hangover, thank god—but it’s 11am and she’s dressed in lent pajamas in a bed that isn’t her own. She shoots up to sitting position in a second, and standing in a minute, trudging out the room to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

By the time she’s up and out of the room, a little more awake, Dazai and Arthur have already long gone, the only remnants of their presence the bit of glitter that they had wiped onto the sofa they nestled in.

And text messages.

She squints when she reads it, not because she had a hard time reading what it said, but—because she couldn’t believe what it said.

A series of text messages from Dazai:

[ 7:23 | Dazai ] ur still asleep but ur friend kinda hot

[ 7:24 | Dazai ] ofc I woke up first but his eyelashes tho???

[ 8:32 | Dazai ] pls tell me he’s not a douche bc im rly gonna jump him

[ 9:03 | Dazai ] mgonna jump him

[ 10:19 | Dazai ] abt to find out if he’s got the magnum sized dong u promised

Oh, god, what has she done.

With a groan, she heads down the hallway, phone securely in the pocket of the sweatpants, to see Vincent and Theo preparing a meal in the kitchen; Theo preparing some sort of fillet (fish? Chicken?) and Vincent frying some onions and garlic on the stove, filling the kitchen with a nice aroma.

“Good morning,” she says softly, as she shuffles onto one of the dining table chairs.

“Thought you died,” Theo says with a snort; but once he turns around to face her, all derision goes away in his face and is replaced by a quiet surprise.

Vincent beams as he turns to get the fillets from Theo. (It’s chicken.) “Good morning. Did you sleep well? No headache?”

She shakes her head. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night and for the clothes.”

“Of course, no problem at all,” Vincent answers, turning back to the pan. The chicken makes a sizzle as it meets the oil.

Theo is still staring at her with an odd look on his face.

“Earth to Theo?” she calls out, waving her hand in front of her. “Something wrong?”

“Broer. Why did you lend her my clothes.”

Oh.

“You know how most my shirts are, paint-stained in all the weird places.”

She feels the cling of the cotton around her skin so differently, so suddenly. Oh.

“She wouldn’t have minded, she was drunk.”

That’s correct, but—

Vincent smiles at Theo, the kind of smile one makes when they can see through someone; she’s filled with a kind of relief at knowing that Vincent can do that to Theo. Maybe the man isn’t an impenetrable a character after all. “No need to be shy, Theo.”

“I am not,” he insists, finally tearing his gaze away from her and heading to the sink to wash the used chopping board and the knife. “I just don’t want her wearing my stuff.”

She smirks. He is shy. True, she didn’t get the opportunity to think about what she was putting on last night because she was so tired and knocked out by the alcohol, but…if that was the price she had to pay to see this side of Theo she doesn’t have the opportunity to witness often, then it was worth it. Oh, the ever put-together Theo, brought to his knees by only one person in the world, the one he trusts the most: his brother.  “Is it because your personality is contagious?” she teases, “wouldn’t want to catch that.”

He answers her with a glare. “Reverse. It’s your stupidity that’s contagious.”

“Oh, we’re pretty much equally as stupid, Theo. No need to worry.”

“We are not,” he says, and then Vincent elbows him carefully.

“You really should be a little gentler to your friends,” Vincent comments, as he turns the fillet onto its other side.

Theo grumbles something unintelligible and it makes her laugh. Sitting in the kitchen, watching the two brothers side by side with their back to her as they prepare—she checks the clock—lunch for the three of them, she hums, content. She’s lived alone for all her life here in the campus, and it was one she looked forward to after living in a house crammed with people for most of her life. But sitting here, watching them share the chores and maybe have a little banter with each other—makes her reconsider that maybe, maybe settling down in even the worst of places isn’t that horrible when you’re in good company.

Theo opens the plate cupboard and hands her a set of it with some cutlery. “Set the table at least, freeloader?” He says, though his voice lacks all the venom his words otherwise had.

Okay, she’ll have to reconsider if Theo counts as “good company.”

--

Theo barely survives lunch with her and his brother because of how much he gets teased by the two. He might argue that this is worse than being stuck with her and Arthur because since it is Vincent, he does not get the leeway to have a comeback, only able to grumble in displeasure at being see-through. They stuff their bellies not only with Vincent’s famed chicken with herbs but also with a hefty amount of laughter.

She slides back (slightly disgusted) into her costume to walk back home in, confident that many other students will be trudging along the streets suffering the same fate. (“Not everyone wakes up as late as you.” “There’s bound to be at least one, right?”) When she comes out of the bathroom, there’s a book on top of his neatly-folded clothes.

They speak at the same time.

“I could wash these first before giving it back if you—” “You had that with you all this time?”

Silence.

She breaks it with a laugh. “Yeah, it was a Saturday. I didn’t want to break the schedule.”

“You get so thorough about the weirdest things,” he comments, but he takes the bundle in her arms anyway. “It’s alright, I’ll have them. Let me get you a book, too.”

She follows Theo into the studio, where he crouches in front of some bookshelves. Vincent peeps from behind his easel. “You should walk her home,” he offers, as Theo pulls a few books out of the shelf.

“No, it’s alright, I’ll be fine! I’m not drunk or dizzy. The walk will help clear my head.”

“It’s twenty minutes out,” Theo points out, getting up.

“Just promise that if you find me asleep on the street you’ll pick me up?”

Handing Murakami’s Dance, Dance, Dance to her, Theo grins. “I can’t promise that.”

“Oh, Theo, you know you will.”

Even when she is long out of his sight, the smile on his face does not go away. Even as the day shifts into mundanity. Even as he’s carting a bagful of clothes to the launderette. Even as he picks up some groceries on the way home. Even as he prepares dinner for Vincent, who is a few hours deep into painting.

Maybe for a moment, it goes away, but—

He thinks of her and the smile comes back full force.

--

She spends the rest of Sunday recovering and hiding away in her room after the very socially draining party, but by Monday she’s hopped onto her bike and headed for the literature club’s little gazebo. She’s left a message for Dazai, asking for company. Sure, they spent quite a lot of time together in the past week, after having jumped through thrift stores and boutiques for the perfect Night Circus costume (and yes, she made him read the book beforehand too, for good measure) but Saturday was quite a day. She’s brought a couple of cookies for sharing with him, sitting at their usual spot, looking out at the quadrangle next to it.

“Toshiko-san! Sorry we kept you waiting!”

The plural takes her off guard, and she turns to find that Dazai has brought a rather distracted-looking Isaac along, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Isaac is always dressed so well—she supposes it’s part of the uniform or something of being seen as a respectable professor—but she sure does want to see him dress down once. T-shirt, shorts, that kind—Isaac seems to take everything too seriously.

The pleasant feeling of seeing a friend she hasn’t met up with in a long time is quickly replaced by confusion, as the science complex is nowhere near the Arts building. “Nice to see you here, Isaac,” she says, but also with the lilt of a question.

Dazai answers said question. “He’s here because he has nothing better to do, so I asked him to come.”

Isaac makes a face that’s both resignation and panic. “He passed by my office.” –and dragged me out because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she finishes in her head.

“I see,” she answers, even though that’s not really an explanation in itself.

She knows Isaac through Dazai, and Dazai knows Isaac through a very peculiar class: Occultism 101.

A class team-taught by three major colleges in the university—the College of Arts, the College of Science, and the College of Social Sciences—Occultism 101 is one of the more controversial classes on campus because of its nature. It goes through a long history of the evolution and persistence of supernatural beliefs and practices among nations in the world, in that nice gray area between religion and science. There are only two kinds of students in Occultism 101: those who believe and who are genuinely interested, and those who do not believe and would like to spend an entire semester saying “bah! That’s not true!” to themselves all the time.

Occultism 101 is typically taught by professors from the College of Social Sciences and College of Arts with backgrounds in religious practices and other mystical behavior (whether in history or art), and then occasionally, in the middle of the semester, guest lecturers from the College of Science come in to give lectures on how these “supernatural events” may be explainable through scientific means. Say, how the piping system in a building can cause haunted “cold spots”, or how floating dust particles can come up in a photograph as “orbs”, or the likes.

And she doesn’t want to be very stereotypical about it, but a lot of people in the College of Science are pretty… well, square, and so no one really wants to teach Occultism 101, even if it’s only a few meetings in a semester. This is how this job ends up to unwilling, no-choice Ph.D. students such as Isaac.

It was just his luck that Dazai was in the section he taught.

“So, Osamu, care to tell us about your little date last Sunday?” she asks, as the other two have taken their seats across her. Dazai swoons a little at the mention of Sunday. Isaac looks at him with unsureness.

(Isaac has had the miserable experience of being the victim of Dazai’s flirtation at some point in time. One can see how that has instead simmer into a rather tentative friendship. All is well.)

Dazai rests his elbows on the table and places his chin on the palms of his hands. “He’s so dreamy.”

“No he isn’t,” she swiftly replies, without thought.

But Dazai pretends not to have heard it. “He’s not looking for a serious relationship though,” he adds. “Not that I am, either.”

“You aren’t?”

“No, sweetie,” Dazai explains. “But he’s my type and I’m his type and we couldn’t just leave it at that so I have his number now, and a little… arrangement.”

The word hangs in between them, swaying.

Oh no, that’s not any good. “What arrangement.”

“You don’t need to sound so concerned.”

“This is Arthur we’re talking about,” she insists, and the name makes Isaac flinch a little.

“Doyle, the med student?” Isaac asks, and she turns to him, blinking.

“You know him?” Remembering Arthur during the party, her mouth falls into a small o. “He knows you too, doesn’t he?”

Isaac scoffs. “Who in this university doesn’t?” Arthur’s pretty well-known to be a flirt. Something like having a checklist of bedding at least one person in every department—a rumor that would have been a little more shameful if the rumors also didn’t say how he was so good at it.

She nods. “Well, fair enough.”

“No, no, he’s an absolute sweetheart to me, so it’s definitely a you problem,” Dazai insists. “It’s just a friendship with benefits, yanno?” He emphasizes every of the following syllables with his tone and his hands: “Nice, big, hefty benefits.”

And even Isaac, who usually refrains from commenting no matter how much he has to say, has to quip with “Terrible choice, really.”

And she has to agree. “I respect you, but not your taste, Osamu.”

Dazai grins. “Understandable.” He picks up one of the sandwiches she’s prepared. “You make it sound like I’m the only one making bad decisions though.”

“Excuse me?”

He turns to Isaac. “You should have gone to the Halloween party. She brought her little boy toy.”

She scoffs. “He is not my boy toy.”

“You sure do have him around your finger though, getting in matching costumes and all that,” Dazai says. “Spends Saturdates with him all the time.”

The only strategy that will work in times like these is straight-up ignoring him. “Anyway—” she begins, about to steer the conversation away when Isaac speaks up.

“It’s nice to hear you’re getting close to other people,” he says softly. Isaac has a way of speaking that makes it always seem like he’s spent so much time thinking about what he said before he actually said it; so sometimes it’s hard to gauge if he’s saying it casually or entirely seriously.

So she blinks. “You make it seem like I have no friends, Isaac.”

“I-It’s not that!” he suddenly blurts. Ah, there. There’s the usual Isaac. “You’ve spent so much time focusing on your work lately, it’s nice to know you’re relaxing with other people sometimes.”

And he doesn’t say it, but she sure does hear it: the you haven’t been to the astronomy club in a while and it’s made me worried about you.

She doesn’t go religiously, but she used to attend fairly often to hang out with the other members and just look up at the stars. Isaac tries to organize at least two sessions in a month, one to look at the moon, and another to point at the stars. She hasn’t been able to catch them in a bit.

But then, slowly, as the image of the view outside the astronomy club’s hangout is refreshed in her mind, the way the physics building rooftop is just high enough to provide a good view of the rest of the campus below, the city downtown, just at the right place on campus that at night, the rest of the sprawling town’s streetlights trickle out like golden LED veins through the threes—an idea begins to implant itself into her head.

Taking root immediately.

She likes to go up here to think. She really shouldn’t have had permission to go up there on her own, in her free time, since they have rules about club hours and the likes, but Isaac is a close friend and gave her a spare key, so she can come and go as she pleases. And sure, the Grove is a nice, quiet place for book clubs and maybe doing homework if one doesn’t need an electric socket, but up here in the astronomy club’s “the Rooftop”, she feels like she can float away into the vast ocean of her thoughts and get lost in them for a moment.

She feels small up there. And that’s a good feeling.

She won’t tell it to Isaac’s face but it’s one of the primary reasons why she applied for the astronomy club in the first place. The stars are great no matter how dumb she is at physics, but the view—it’s really something else.

What does the world look like from the point of view of a star? How tiny are human lives in the vast expanse of the universe? How long have these stars been out there, how long will they stay out there, how much longer will they stay in this universe more than we will?

…This is why Theo teases her for being a literature major: all these goddamn metaphors.

And for a split second, she thinks…

Maybe it isn’t that bad to share that same quiet space with him?

…You know, to talk books.

“About that…”

Isaac and Dazai turn to her.

“Mind if I sneak in an outsider to the Roof?” she asks, facing Isaac with genuine hope in her voice.

Isaac only shrugs. “Do as you please,” he says casually, taking a cookie from her little box on the table.

And she grins like he’d just given her the light of the world. “Thank you, Isaac.”

Dazai shakes his head, because he knows she’s got no denying herself out of this one the next time.

[shae-la-hyene]

Mermay day 21

Continuation of day 18

“I want to eat something,” Coraline said suddenly. The sun was starting to set, sending golden glitter over the surface of the sea, and daydreams in my head. I laid there a long time, just processing. “You know, since I made you, all of that time, I never asked myself if you could, needed to or wanted to eat. I’m amazed, truly, that you are still alive, because if you had to rely on me you wouldn’t have lasted a day. And I am mortified.” She laughed, a deep sound filling the cold air. “Yeah, I figured that pretty quickly to be honest,” she said, looming over me. “It’s fine. I can eat, I don’t really need to. But right now, I want a picnic.” A picnic ? “A picnic ?” I asked, offended. “Why would anyone in their right mind want a picnic ? They’re uncomfortable, unpractical, messy, hard to prepare, always end up dirty inside and outside… I don’t like picnics.” She laughed again, and started poking my shoulder repeatedly with her finger. “Please, please, please, sweetheart !” she moaned. “A picnic over the waves !” I groaned, and stood my ground. Figuratively. I was still laying like a dead fish over the rock. She kept poking, and poking, and poking, laughing harder every time, until I yielded and smiled. “Fine,” I whined. “But I’m vegetarian, I won’t serve you meat, so deal with it.” I closed my eyes, and created the food slowly. Mostly vegetables, raw or roasted, or cooked in a solid way. Picnics were not a place for ratatouille… I did made her some mayonnaise. Because I’m nice like that. She snorted. “What, miss wise-ass can create anything but can’t stomach the sight of meat ? You killed, savagely, but meat juice, it’s just too much ? What’s the difference, for real, between a cucumber and a sea cucumber ?” I opened her eyes and looked at her angrily. “Plants can’t feel pain, that’s my limit. And if you keep being an asshole you won’t have potato chips and we both know that will be the loss of your life.” She stopped laughing and looked at me straight in the eyes. She seemed to take a few seconds to consider it, then realized potato chips were definitely worth slowing down on the sass. “Yeah,” I said cheekily. “That’s more like it.” I closed my eyes again and refocused on the food making. When everything was neat and pretty, I completed the look by making us lay on a Vichy cloth. Because you have to be consistent. Her eyes widened in surprise, pleasure clear on her face when she saw the display. She started biting off berries the second after, and I gently moved the chips bag toward her, watching her eat a little disgusted. I never really liked picnics. All that cold food, eating with your hands that you can’t watch either before or after, often no cutlery and often it’s worse when you have it because then you have saucy salads which drip everywhere and stain your jeans and… I didn’t like picnics. But Co seemed to like it. That was the most important. I leaned back on my rock, focusing my eyes on the sunset rather than on the monster-eating next to me. “I don’t know why,” I said distantly. “But I always loved watching sunsets over the ocean. Those are always more beautiful, more magical and colorful, and you don’t miss any of it hidden behind buildings.” She didn’t answer, but I heard the crunching of a mouthful of chips. I sighed. “Tell me, what’s with the nostalgia wave ?” I asked her, watching her slightly. She shrugged. “I don’t know, it happens, sometimes. Picnics, bubbles, those are stuff I did when I was a kid, before I knew how shitty life really was, before the accident… Childhood was the good times, I miss it sometimes. Why ? Never experiencing it ?” I thought about it. When I was human, and wanted to feel like a kid again, I slept with one of my dolls. I haven’t touched her since I left. And I rarely looked back since. “I can have a picnic whenever I want” I said instead. That was true. The only thing was to have someone I wanted to share it with.

[shadowphoenixrider]

A Meal to Remember

(Finally managed to get this fic out after periods of writer’s block and, well, all the anxiety and nonsense that comes with buying a house. But! It’s here now! This is a fic full of lemons, so discretion is advised. Tagging my lovely, patient crew: @galleywinter, @sigurdjarlson, @elfgirl931, @fer8girl and @highpriestessbriyanna!)

“I can’t believe Malfurion made you an archdruid.” Draggka said, stepping out into the sunset drenched streets of Dalaran.

“You’re telling me!” Dranka replied, running his hand through his red mohawk. “I’m standing here holding the teeth of a Loa and going ‘oh okay, if you really think so. I guess’.” He shrugged as they wandered down the street. “Talk about pressure.”

“Exactly what happened to me. First ‘go and fetch Thas’dorah, legendary bow of Alleria Windrunner’, then ‘ta da! You’re Huntmaster of the Unseen Path now’. Wait, what?!” Draggka gestured. “I think I might be jealous of Aiya and Cay, dodging all this responsibility.”

“Yeah, but if all their friends seem to be getting promotions but them? That’s gonna hurt.” He reminded the hunter, coming to a stop by the well near the Legerdemain Lounge, peering briefly down it.

“Fair point.” Draggka nodded, petting Spike as the raptor rubbed by her side. “Hey, you thinking about a bite to eat? Fighting all those naga made me hungry.”

“We’re not allowed to eat the naga, Drak.” Her brother grinned, folding his arms. “No matter how fish-like they are.”

“Oh shut up, you know what I meant!” She exclaimed, shoving the druid hard.

At that moment, Draggka felt a familiar ripple of magic trace over her spine, and Spike tensed, uttering a low warning growl. They turned slowly to see the pink, bulbous shape of an arcane elemental, the pair of lights serving as its eyes boring into the hunter.

“Looks like the Archmage is after you.” Dranka said, the humour gone from his voice. Her brother could be an asshole, but after she’d told him of what had happened in Azsuna, the druid had kept his teasing strictly work-related.

“Mmmm.” She hummed, resting a hand on the back of Spike’s neck. “What do ya want?” She asked the shimmering blob.

“The Archmage has invited you to come to his quarters for dinner this evening.” The elemental ‘spoke’ inside her head. “He has emphasized that you do not need to bring anything other than yourself and your companion.”

“How is de Archmage?” Draggka asked, internally grimacing at the outwardly one-sided conversation.

“His condition is stable.” The elemental replied. Dranka watched on, tilting his head expectantly at the hunter.

“Looks like I won’t be able to join you for dinner,” she relayed to him. “Khadgar’s made plans for me.”

“Plans?” Dranka grinned. “Interesting. Sounds like he’s feeling better already.”

“Yeah. Said I don’t need to bring anything but Spike, so I might just be getting whatever he can conjure, though.” The raptor perked up at the sound of his name.

“He might wanna give you another taste of his strudel.” Her brother gave her a shit-eating grin.

“Drank!” She swatted at him. “He’s had a concussion - there’s no way he’ll be up for anything like that.”

“Uh huh.” Dranka sounded as unconvinced as her gut felt. “Anyway, good to hear he feels better. We need him back in action.” He shrugged again. “Shame we’ve gotta catch up another time. I’d like to hear about what happened in Highmountain.”

“I’ll find time, don’t worry.” His sister nodded, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “Take careful of yourself, big guy.”

“You too, little sis.” The druid smiled back at her, resting his hand over hers. “Go and enjoy time with mage before it all kicks off again.”

A quick squeeze to her hand (and a pet to Spike’s head), and they parted ways, Dranka sauntering off into the Lounge. Draggka turned back to the elemental which had been silently awaiting her answer.

“I be accepting his invitation,” she said. “But how do I be getting to his quarters?”

“I will escort you to his chambers.” The elemental replied. “You will not be challenged. Please, follow me.”

Without much warning, it turned and drifted off towards the Violet Citadel, Draggka having to jog to catch up to it. She and Spike exchanged a look between one another, and decided it was best just to follow the magical construct and hope for the best.

The troll did get some puzzled looks her way as she followed the arcane servant through the Citadel, but true to its word, no-one made a move to intercept her. That said, she did have a scarred raptor by her side, meeting the eye of any staring at her.

The elemental stopped at a door that Draggka found vaguely familiar, and without a knock, or any indication of their arrival, it opened, revealing the Archmage.

“Draggka!” His eyes were as bright as his smile. “Come in, come in!”

His elemental entered first, floating off towards the kitchen. Draggka and Spike followed behind, the raptor sniffing the air intently, uttering an excited grunt. He smelled cooking food, and good food at that - Draggka’s stomach gurgled eagerly.

The mage locked and warded the door, the hunter noticing he had stripped out of his armour into something more comfortable - his robes were still the long light blue as usual, but they lacked the brown leather trimming and looked softer, tied around his waist by a darker blue cloth belt, edged with gold. He was still wearing his collar, however, and was also missing something very important.

“Khadgar, where ya bandage be?” Draggka asked, giving him a stern look.

“Ah heh, yes.” He gave her an apologetic smile, running a hand through his silver hair. “The Council all but forced me to see a healer, despite your impressive handiwork. Said healer wasn’t amused when I told her I was fine, and healed me anyway. After threatening to hit me with her staff if I tried to ‘wriggle out of it’.” He turned around. “It felt like she did a good job.”

“Yeah.” Draggka nodded, parting his hair to inspect the skin beneath. “She closed it nicely. Tink it be leavin’ a scar though.”

“Another to add to my collection.” The wizard commented. “The Council has also ordered me to stay in Dalaran until I recover. As did the priest who healed me.”

“Good.” Draggka said, folding her arms. “So ya should. You coulda got into a lotta trouble down dere.”

“I am aware Huntmaster, but confining me to my quarters seems a bit much.” He shook his head, waving a hand. “Anyway, enough about that. I invited you for dinner, not to complain about the Council.” He blinked. “Speaking off which...” The mage hurried off into the kitchen.

“Ya actually cooking something?” She asked, her eyebrows raising. Spike padded over to the kitchen, stopping at the threshold to peer in.

“Yes, I am. Not often I get the time to.” Khadgar called back. “I, it’s nothing fancy, just a simple Pandaren dish, some noodles and a sauce. I figured I should try not to burn the Citadel down on my first go at this.”

“Dat be a good thought.” The hunter replied, glancing at Spike. The raptor was deeply engrossed in what the mage was doing, nostrils flaring wide with each breath - clearly he thought he was doing a good job. “Where do ya want me to put my stuff?”

“Anywhere out of the way is fine!” Khadgar replied. “Remember that my quarters are every bit yours as mine now.”

Draggka’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt her face colour. It still hadn’t sunken in - first that she now had a stationary place to call her own, but also that it was with someone else. Who just happened to be Archmage Khadgar, Leader of the Kirin Tor, and legendary Alliance Hero of the Second War.

She found a clear spot in the main room, and dropped her pack and quiver there, before unstringing Thas’dorah, wrapping it in cloth to keep it safe. The troll hesitated for a long moment, feeling her armour become heavy and unwelcome. The Archmage was in casual robes, so it seemed a bit much for her to stay like this.

Decision made, she quickly shed the mail armour that protected her, stripping down to just the leathers on top of the simple fabric clothes she wore to stop them rubbing, piling her armour up to one side.

“Draggka, are you alrigh- oh!” The hunter jumped, whipping her head around to see Khadgar poking his head into the room, a blush starting to glow on his cheeks. “S-Sorry, I didn’t expect that’d you, um...”

“I-It just be my armour.” She replied, feeling her own face heat up. “Ya not be in ya battle robes, so...I thought I better...not be in my gear.”

“O-Oh yes, of course, you wouldn’t want to be o-overdressed.” He smiled shyly. “I-I just wanted to let you know that it’s ready, if, if you want to come through?” He gestured for her to join him. “I hope it’s alright.”

“Well, only one way to be finding out.” Draggka smiled back.

---

“Mmmm.” Draggka hummed contentedly, wiping around her tusks. “Didn’t know dat being a good cook be another one of ya skills.”

Khadgar laughed shyly, his face flushing red.

“Oh, well, I was only following instructions. I don’t tend to cook for myself.” He smiled. “I’m very glad you enjoyed it.”

They were sitting at a small table in the kitchen, just big enough for the two of them, and neatly laid out with a tablecloth and shiny silver cutlery, a candle glowing between them. The troll had felt more than a little scruffy, sitting at it in her battleworn leathers, but Khadgar’s presence and the good food had helped smooth away any concerns.

Said wizard tilted his head.

“Did your friend?”

Draggka looked down to see Spike lying under the table across the cool floor tiles, his eyes closed and a contented rumble rising from his body. The end of his tail curled slightly, the raptor looking utterly replete.

“I’d be taking dat as a yes.” She chuckled. “Where’d ya get the meat?”

“Connections.” Khadgar smirked, lifting a shoulder. “They don’t ask many questions.”

“Uh huh.” The hunter let the conversation settle briefly, eyeing the candle flickering between them. “So, dere be a reason you be making for dinner for us?” She asked. “N-Not dat I be complaining at all!”

Khadgar chuckled.

“Always to the point,” he said, smiling warmly. “Well, I recall that you mentioned about making some time for the both of us after recovering the Pillar of Creation. And since the Tidestone is now secured within the Chamber of the Guardian, I suppose the time is now.”

Draggka blinked.

“You remembered dat?”

“I did.” Khadgar gestured with his hand, eyes briefly lighting up with magic. His servant sprouted up beside them, taking the plates away. “I spent the night in the Azurewing cave thinking about it. About holding you, being with you, whiling away the day together...” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Regardless of our present circumstances, I could have stayed like that forever.”

Draggka couldn’t help but smile back - she’d felt similar when she’d woken before him. Enough to delay her morning hunt.

“Yeah. Thought da same when I be wakin’ up next to ya.” She replied, stretching her legs out under the table, brushing against his. “We be goin’ from one crisis to another. I- we need time to breathe.”

“Absolutely. Consider this the beginning of the time we can scratch out from the outside world.” Khadgar spoke, resting a hand lightly on her knee. “And also me paying you back for your...service a couple of days ago.”

The archmage’s smile went for warm and loving to dark and mischievous, wiggling his eyebrows. The troll’s eyes narrowed.

“Surely dat not be a good idea afta ya just had a concussion, right?”

“The healer did advise me not to undertake any ‘vigorous’ exercise whilst I was recovering.” His grin became downright devilish. “However, that doesn’t mean I can’t pleasure you in other ways.”

Spike groaned loudly, too full to do anything but voice his displeasure at the young-old wizard’s flirting. Despite her companion’s complaints, Draggka felt her face heat up. Khadgar seemed content to let her stew for a moment, taking a sip of the red wine he’d poured himself.

“To be honest with you, my dear,” he said. “I intended this night to be a memorable in that we would have a romantic night in. A candle-lit dinner, wine, good food, and even better company. Whilst I do intend for our evening to have a pleasurable conclusion, said conclusion need not involve any carnal relations.” Khadgar’s smile warmed, becoming loving, and his eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “Merely sitting and holding you would be enough for me, if that’s what you would prefer.”

The troll was sure she was blushing now, feeling rather charmed. The wizard was so effortlessly suave and she...was not.

“I, I’d like both of dose tings.” She replied shyly, not for the first time cursing that Common was a second tongue. “If, if ya wanna mate wit me...I’d like dat.”

Spike seemed to summon enough energy to haul himself up with a groan, and he walked off out of the room.

“Your raptor disagrees.” Khadgar commented, hiding his smile behind his wineglass.

“I tink he be havin’ enough of us flirting.” Draggka said, before she smirked. “Wait. Did ya get rose petals for da bed dis time?”

“Only one way to find out.” The mage replied with a wink. He took another sip of wine before he climbed to his feet, offering his hand. “Shall we?”

The hunter nodded, taking his hand. Khadgar helped her up with it before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her heart did a somersault, and she almost melted on the spot. Spirits’ grace, I feel like I’m in a dream.

The Archmage escorted her to the bedroom (past Spike lying on the couch and pointedly ignoring them), pushing the door ajar, and gesturing for her to go in first.

The room was dark, yet lit by a host of glowing lamps, hovering serenely in the air with their orange flames flickering behind their protective glass cases. The bed was immaculately made up for two, with white pillows and sheets, and covered with a generous scattering of red rose petals.

Draggka glanced back to look at Khadgar, hovering shyly behind her as he closed the door.

“Do...do you like it?” Was his tentative question.

“Yeah.” She smiled wide, nodding. “Yeah, of course I do.” Her heart swelled in her chest, yet she managed to put on a grin. “Looks like ya got dose petals afta all.”

“I did.” Khadgar grinned back, stepping closer to her. “They might not be Gilnean, but I doubt it will be an issue,” he said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“Roses be roses to me.” The hunter admitted. “Ya not gonna get questioned on dese, I hope?”

“No doubt gossip will swirl amongst the merchants, but gossip has started for more trivial reasons than this.” The mage said. “If they wish to read too deeply into an order of spell reagents, that is their business.”

He shook his head, moving up behind the troll and gently sliding his hands around her waist.

“Enough of that talk. What matters now is you, and you alone.” Khadgar murmured, his voice caressing her ears. “Shall we get you out of these leathers?”

She turned her head enough to regard him.

“Ya not joining me?” She asked. There was a flash of anxiety in his eyes, a chink in his armour.

“I...I’d rather not.” He replied, glancing away from her. “A-At least, not right now.”

Draggka carefully nuzzled his face with her own.

“I’d like to see more of ya if I can. But you do whatever ya feel more comfortable doin’,” she said softly. “I be happy if you be happy too.”

A quick, shy smile flashed across Khadgar’s lips.

“You are too kind.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Light, I love you so much.”

With that, he cupped her cheek, turning her head so they could kiss properly.

It was like two puzzle pieces coming together with how well the fit felt. The longing that had quietly sat on her shoulders - ignored due to other, more critical concerns - was finally being sated, and in that moment the doors to the outside world were locked and barred. All the fretting, worries, and responsibilities associated with it were quickly filed away for the night, leaving her free to focus on her mate, her love. The man she adored.

They pulled away slowly, as if lost in a dream. Not far, however - their noses were still close enough to almost touch, their breath mingling. Khadgar’s eyes were soft, gentle and warm, as blue as the ocean on a calm day. Draggka was all too content to be washed away.

“May I disrobe you?” He asked in his deep, rich voice.

“If ya know what to do, yeah.” She nodded.

“I shall ask you for aid when I need it.” He replied, a smile playing on his lips.

The mage’s hands were gentle, nimble and precise as he helped the hunter shed her clothing, leaving it in a neat-ish pile by the bed. With every item that was removed, he smoothed his hands over the newly revealed section of bare skin, tracing lovely over the scars he found, and muttering compliments just under his breath. He touched her as if she was the most important person on Azeroth, as if being able to touch her was a blessing he was frightened to lose.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Khadgar asked, when Draggka just stood in her breastband and underwear.

“I don’t remember ya telling me in great detail.” She admitted, watching his eyes twinkle.

“I would be delighted to tell you,” he said, smiling. “Though I confess, I hardly know where to begin. I trained as a scribe, not a poet. But I can try.” He cleared his throat, coming to stand in front of her.

“You are the epitome of a hunter - sleek strength and powerful agility, as one with the jungle as any druid.” He began, eyes tracing over her as he spoke. “Your eyes are a lovely shade of amber, and always remind me of fire - like candlelight. I could spend hours staring into them, and...I like to think I could feel their warmth if I gazed deeply enough.”

The mage reached out, tenderly touching one of her hair braids that held two of his raven feathers in the cloth band. “I am honoured that you decided to keep me close to you, so to speak,” he said softly. “I long to find something of yours I could keep with me like this.” He ran his thumb over the tuft of hair at the bottom. “If you would allow it, I’d like to see how your hair looks like down. N-Not that’s not gorgeous as it is now, I-I’m just curious.” Khadgar smiled nervously, and Draggka couldn’t help but giggle.

“I know, Khadgar. Maybe another night I’ll show you,” she said.

“I’d like that.” His smile was bashful even as his eyes roved over her face, settling on her mouth. “I...I like your tusks too. I find it difficult to understand why people would dislike them, aside from the obvious physical limitations.” A blush began to darken on his cheeks. “I...I like the way they feel. When I feel, feel them against me.”

The archmage glanced away, his bravado having fled and left his shyness nakedly apparent. The hunter's grin was that of a predator.

“You like dat, do ya?” She was delighted when his blush deepened, and he smiled nervously. “Why, Archmage, I didn’t know ya had dat in ya.” She leaned over to purr: “Maybe when you be better, I can be doing some more of dat for you...”

“Ohhh, you tease.” He shuddered. His bravado suddenly returned, however, with a grin. “And not just with your words as well...” Khadgar moved closer, his eyes dark and hungry, and his voice creeping into much lower registers.

“The shape of you, the way you move - I can’t keep my eyes off you.” He spoke, slowly circling behind her. “You bewitch me, enchant me. I long to feel your body against me, to find all the scars under your fur, to listen to what you sound like when I run my hands over your skin...” He purred in her ear, and the troll couldn’t resist the shiver that ran up her spine.

Khadgar pulled back slightly, pleasantly surprised.

“Oh?” She could practically hear the devious smile spread across his lips and the glint in his eyes. “Is something exciting you, Huntmaster?” He crooned. “Tell me, is it the thought of my hands on you, or my voice?”

Draggka blushed deeply, a part of her doing a peculiar little wiggle. Sure, one made her heart quicken with anticipation, but the other...

“Ya...your voice.” She admitted, the weird feeling becoming some sort of combination of shy embarrassment and arousal as she finally acknowledged the thing that had been simmering in the background for a while.

“My voice, hmmm?” The infuriating wizard was definitely capitalizing on his effect on her, wielding his voice with disciplined practice. “You know, I had a feeling that might be true. Certain things I’ve said, the ways I’ve said them, and you with some very...interesting reactions. Subtle ones, yes, but I’ve noticed them...” He finally circled back in front of her, running a finger under her chin. “I think we should explore this further...don’t you?”

Draggka was pretty sure if she kept blushing this hard, her face was going to get stuck that way. She nodded to answer him, managing to get a tentative; “yeah, I tink so too” response out. Khadgar softened immediately.

“O-Of course, if you, you don’t feel comfortable with it right now, we can schedule those e-explorations for another night.” His smile was genuine in its warmth, but also in its nervousness.

She gave a short chuckle at the thought of him as the effortlessly suave seducer, whilst also still worrying he would upset her at the slightest thing.

“No, it be alright.” She smiled, moving his hand to cup her cheek. “Ya just took me by surprise, dat’s all.”

“The good kind of surprise, I hope?”

“Yes.” She pecked him on the lips. “So, ya be saying someting about putting ya hands on my body...?”

Khadgar blinked at her before the coin dropped.

“Oh, yes, your body!” His gaze darted up and down her. “Did I mention you’re gorgeous? I mean it. I confess, back on Draenor, I would watch you train with the other archers.” His eyes hazed over as he spoke.

“Such grace in your form, such power. I think that must have been the beginnings of my physical attraction to you.” A blink, and his gaze was clear again. “Not to mention when you saved me at the dam.” He traced his cheek. “Your arrow came so close I think I felt its feather.” A nervous chuckle. “You...didn’t happen to see my face afterwards, by any chance?”

“I don’t really remember.” Draggka shook her head. “It were a hectic time. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.” Khadgar grinned bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably me staring at you like a lovesick initiate, that’s all. Like how Turalyon looked when he first clapped eyes on Alleria...” A brief far-away look, and then it was gone.

“Anyway. Your hands.” He took one. “They fit perfectly into mine, and your touch...I long for it. Pine for it when I cannot have it. I play back the days and nights when I’ve had your hands on me, hoping to soon have stronger memories.” The mage pressed a kiss to her knuckles, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “Anything else you would like me to praise?” He asked.

“No...no, I tink ya made ya point.” The troll giggled, both pleased and also hoping her blush wasn’t trying to stain her face purple.

Khadgar chuckled, a deep sound low in his throat, and gently tugged her closer by her hand. He glanced to the bed, then back to her.

“Shall we?”

She nodded, still a little too charmed to speak, and followed him over to sit amongst the red petals. When the hunter noticed Khadgar stayed standing, she used a little tug to get him to sit beside her. When she reached towards his robes, he froze for a brief moment, hands slightly lifting as if to stop her.

“I just want to be feeling ya,” she said softly, meeting his anxious eyes with her own calmer ones. “Is dat okay?”

He glanced down, thinking for a second, before he nodded, taking a deep breath and resting his hands back on his lap.

“Okay.”

Draggka reached out again, untying a lace on the neck of his robes so she could slide her hand underneath. He felt as she remembered: warm, soft skin, chest hair that was slightly wiry yet still nice to run her fingers through, and the valleys and knots of scar tissue that belied his prior battles and conflicts.

Khadgar was tense at first, but he relaxed at her touch, yet she could still sense the nervous energy buzzing around him. She plucked another lace free to catch more of a glimpse of her lover’s bare skin as her other hand continued to wander, before their gazes met.

“May I see a little more?”

A quick smiled flashed across the archmage’s face.

“Of course.”

He undid the last few laces of his robes and the cloth belt around his waist, shrugging the fabric off his broad shoulders and onto the floor below. A blush darkened his face, despite himself, and Draggka leaned forward, giving him a brief kiss.

“Dat’s better.” She purred, her eyes leisurely taking him in. “It won’t be a memorable night if I don’t be getting to see ya gorgeous body.”

“You’re flattering me.”

“I not be one for flattery, Archmage.” She smirked at him, arching an eyebrow. “You know dat as well as I do.”

Khadgar chuckled, shaking his head.

“You are a wonder,” he said, almost to himself, before he leaned in and kissed her properly. There was barely a hesitation before he deepened it, cupping the back of her head and opening his mouth so their tongues could meet. It kindled the need that had been patiently and quietly humming in the background, waiting ever since it had been suppressed in the Llothien forest. This time, there would be no distractions.

Hunter and archmage broke away for air, but soon they were kissing fervently again, fumbling closer to one another in a twist of limbs and torsos and the occasionally clack of over-eager teeth and tusks. Draggka grasped for Khadgar’s hair, but her unconscious mind thankfully thought better of this, and her hand went to his back instead, finding the extra folds of skin he possessed quite useful to hold onto.

They parted again, only this time Khadgar moved down to her neck, feathering kisses down it that made her breathing heavier and her head tilt back to oblige him. He hesitated a moment, and then Draggka felt the tentative nip from his teeth. Surprise, both from his action and its resulting effect on her made her gasp, and Khadgar quickly recoiled at the sound.

“Are you alright?” He asked breathlessly, eyes wide.

“I, I be fine.” Draggka flashed him an earnest smile. “Jus’ surprised.”

“Yes. Sorry.” A weak smile.

“No need to be sorry.” She told him. “I, I liked it.” A bashful smile. “Jus’ don’t be leaving a mark dat others can see.”

“I won’t. Though, I think your regeneration would help eliminate any trace in quick order.” Khadgar mused. “I will err on the side of caution for now.”

Draggka felt she should probably remind him of their situation, but he was already back to kissing her neck, dropping little bites every now and again to make her breath hitch and heart skip a beat.

As he did this, she felt his fingers creep over the lip of her breastband, stopping just short in a move both polite and teasing.

“Do you want this?” The mage drawled softly by her ear, his breath stirring the fur just behind it and sending ticklish tremors down her back that made her want to squirm.

“Yes.” Draggka nodded, hands going for the tie behind her back, yet Khadgar merely tugged the fabric down to free her breast, taking a moment to ogle and trace a finger lovingly over them.

“You are so beautiful.” He murmured admiringly, dark eyes briefly glancing up to meet hers, full of love and desire.

With that, Khadgar bent down and pressed kisses to a breast, whilst his hand moved to gently fondle the other, occasionally squeezing to coax a moan out of the troll. He experimented with his mouth, alternating between open mouth kisses to the furtive lap of his tongue and the occasional scrape of his teeth to see what the hunter found more appealing. Similar experiments were occurring with his other hand, mostly concentrated on her nipple and what she found arousing, using her gasps, sighs and moans to gauge his success.

After a couple of minutes, he switched breasts, putting his new found knowledge to the test - including mimicking what his fingers were doing with his mouth, running his tongue over her nipple and tentatively pinching it between his lips and sucking. These ministrations sent hot bolts of arousal straight into the apex of Draggka’s thighs, and it was all she could do not to squirm and rub her legs together.

Their first time had been awkward and fumbling, taking advantage of a rare peace to make love. Their second time had been pure, unadulterated lust and a desperate need to steal some time before they would be separated once again. This was finally some time to breathe, put real life aside and explore one another, to tease out how best to please their lover.

At least, Khadgar would do that to her; with his recent head injury, Draggka would have to learn her mate a little later. But she would, and she would make him feel just like how he was making her feel right now; utterly aroused, immersed in pleasure and not wanting it to stop.

With a soft, insistent urging, the archmage encouraged Draggka to lie down, although they had to part briefly so they could scoot a little further up the bed. He continued his kissing and caressing, utterly engrossed in his task, whilst his other hand slid under the troll to cup her backside through her underwear, giving it a little squeeze.

A low moan uncoiled from the hunter’s mouth, her eyes fluttering open and shut as she warred between watching her lover at work, or just basking in the sensations like a lizard in the morning sun. Either way, it was bliss.

Content that he had thoroughly lavished Draggka’s breasts with affection, Khadgar slowly began to meander down the troll’s body, kissing his way to her pale scars that he traced with his lips and tongue (excluding the large scars over her belly, which he also ran his fingers over), until he reached the hem of her underwear.

After a kiss to her pelvis, the mage looked up at her, one finger hooked into the last piece of clothing she wore.

“May I?” He asked, voice deep but his eyes earnest.

“Yeah.” Draggka nodded, lifting her hips off the bed to help him slip them off to join the pile on the floor.

The wizard sat back for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him, which made warm arousal and a slight tingle of shy/nervousness rise within her. His pupils were wide with lust, and the large bulge in his trousers certainly underlined his desire, yet his smile was fond and his gaze was almost reverent.

“Beautiful.” He breathed the word like a sigh, his hands lightly drifting down her legs. His lips moved a couple more times, but either Draggka couldn’t hear what he said, or his words eluded him like a panther on a starless night.

“Khadgar?”

He smiled up at her, his expression warming her heart.

“Forgive me, my love. I had forgotten how gorgeous you are like this.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what or who to thank for bringing us together, but I would sing their praises forever if I did.”

“Even if it were Garrosh?” Draggka chuckled as his brows furrowed.

“Mmm, maybe not. But you know what I mean!” He waved a hand dismissively. “I do believe I have more important matters to take care of. Something about a reward for my valiant saviour?” A dark, teasing grin grew over his lips, eyes flashing with mischievous intent. Draggka rolled her eyes.

“Really?”

“But of course! A rest from her duties, a candle-lit dinner, and a thorough worship of her wonderful body - a perfect reward for the brave hero who saved my life, don’t you think?” He grinned, slowly sinking down between her thighs.

“I’m not sure ya should be offerin’ dat to everyone who be saving ya skin. Dat be a quick way to be makin’ a lotta people jealous.”

“Yes, of course. Good thing it’s a reward exclusive to my Huntmaster, then.”

Before Draggka had a chance to retort, Khadgar dipped his head, his breath passing her moist folds and sending shivers up her spine, before his finger began to delicately trace through them, exploring them thoroughly with a light, teasing touch.

“I’ve been dreaming of this.” Khadgar said, voice deep and hungry. “But as vivid as they may be, they never compare to this...”

He found her clit then, and a gasp escaped the troll, tapering off into a moan as the mage started to play with it under his finger. His touch was firm yet delicate, experimenting with what he could do to elicit the most pleasurable reactions from his lover, whilst his other hand rested on her thigh, a warning not to crush him between them (though that idea was very appealing).

Draggka had only just gotten used to that tease when she felt his lips trace over her own, then his tongue, and the troll couldn’t help the Orcish curse that escaped her, and the subtle lift of her hips to chase him. This was her third time experiencing the archmage going down on her, but it was just as shockingly erotic as the very first. If the hunter didn’t know better, she’d swear to her Loa that Khadgar had done this all his life, even from her limited experience. It just felt so good; his lips, fingers and tongue moving over her, in her, around her in some sort of dance that just brought pure ecstasy to her with almost every movement.

For the first time, instead of resisting and struggling against the waves of pleasure to watch Khadgar work, Draggka closed her eyes and let herself bathe within it, focusing instead on not doing anything that could jostle or hurt the man buried between her thighs.

The sensations moved her, literally so as she writhed and arched as they pulsed through her, causing a litany of moans and breathy words in all the languages she knew to come tumbling out of her mouth. Curses at how unbelievably good it was, praise for the mage and his talents and begging for him not to stop and deprive her of this heavenly ecstasy he was giving her.

Khadgar did murmur things, deep, dark and low that most of the time she didn’t hear over her own noises, but what she did hear was praise about her, what she sounded like, interspersed with curses of his own, as arousal became as strong and hungry as hers.

As the building heat within Draggka’s abdomen had started to solidify and tighten, her fingers grasping at handfuls of sheets and rose petals, Khadgar must have lifted his head just enough to let her hear his words.

“Light above Draggka. You taste so good.” The words were thick and rough. “I could stay here forever.”

The shiver that shot up her spine was electric, especially when Khadgar returned to his work with renewed fervour, a desperation to his ministrations. It was all Draggka could do to stay still and resist the urge to grab him by the hair and hold him there until he gave her her sorely needed climax. She was dimly aware that she was begging now; for more, for less, certainly for him not to stop, though whether or not he could understand was another matter entirely. He could definitely understand the cries of his name, however, which was becoming the easiest thing for her overloading mind to grasp. The few brain cells that could string a sensible thought between them dimly wondered if someone could hear them despite the soundproofing - to hear that their archmage was causing these cries, giving her this ecstasy beyond anything she’d ever known.

Finally, she could take no more, and Draggka came with an arched back and a loud cry of his name, every ounce of tension within her body suddenly released in a surge of ecstasy and relaxation that left her boneless, exhausted and ultimately satisfied.

Several minutes-long seconds passed before she felt the bed dip around her, and she opened her bleary eyes to see Khadgar gazing fondly down at her.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asked in his soft, deep voice, brushing her hair from her face. “Was that good for you?”

The troll managed a tired chuckle.

“Dat be more den good, Ba’la. Dat was...” She reached for the word in her foggy mind. “Wonderful.”

He smiled.

“I’m glad.” He shifted to lie beside her. “I was worried it wouldn’t be perfect, what with my current condition.”

“Maybe.” She reached up, lacing her fingers with his. “But it were perfect for me.” She smiled up at him. “Good food, you, and sex. Dere be nothing else to wish for.”

“You’re right.” Khadgar leaned down to kiss her, gentle and brief. “Draggka...what does ‘ba’la’ mean?”

The troll blinked, a blush starting to grow over her face.

“Oh...’Ba’la’. I tink in Common it means ‘beloved’” She glanced away shyly. “It just...slipped out.”

“‘Beloved’...” Khadgar murmured wistfully, surprise coating his words. When she plucked up enough courage to look back, the mage was blushing too, a bashful smile on his face. “Looks like it’s not just me with the pet names.”

Draggka giggled, swatting playfully at his face.

“I mean it, ya know. Ya be my beloved.”

Khadgar blinked widely.

“You do?”

“‘Course I do.” The hunter reached up to cup his cheek. “I love ya. You be my mate. Derefore, my beloved.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I deny it?” The mage chuckled, looping an arm around her to bring her closer.

Fatigue began to creep over the troll, her previous adventures and prior excitement finally arriving to take their toll on her. She stretched out, stifling a yawn.

“Tired, love?” Khadgar rumbled softly.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Tink ya tired me out.”

“I think our adventures down in Azsuna did most of the work.” He smiled. “Do you want to clean up before you sleep?”

“Mmm...” Draggka frowned. “Suppose I should.”

“You can stay here if you like, love.” Khadgar said. “Leave it until tomorrow if you wish.”

“Alright, you win.” She murmured, rolling out of his grip. “If dey be needin’ anyone, dey can be getting another champion to be dealing wit it.”

“I quite agree.” The mage grinned, changing down to his underwear before joining her under the covers, pulling her up close to him. “Good night, darling. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Ba’la.” Draggka smiled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook her. As Khadgar also slipped into blissful unconsciousness, the bedroom door was slowly pushed open.

Spike nosed his way inside, and his muzzle immediately wrinkled in disgust at the scent of sex in the air. He would have left, if not for the sight of his two pack-mates curled up together.

Deciding it was best to let them sleep, Spike padded over to the foot of the bed and curled up to watch the door.

[cmarionthewilkid-blog]

C.O.N.S.U.M.E.D

What happens when we consume more than we need? What happens when our choices are influenced by societal pressures of how things should be? Part 1 of my reflective journal will aim to provide a glimpse at two weeks of a working mom, head of a house of five, who also coincidentally adds event planner often to her job tasks. 

Day 1: I specifically started my consumption journal on Friday, October 25. The day before a large case competition I was hosting on campus. Day 1 starts like most every other day of my life. The 20 minute drive to daycare, followed by the usual ice cap pit stop at Tim Horton’s. This day is special though, with the pressures of ensuring everything was just right for our judges and sponsors. I stroll off to Ferme Beaulieu to spend $328 on gifts. I am thinking that at least I am buying local products (honey, herbs, ketchup aux fruits) and feel pretty great about that. But why do I feel obliged to buy gifts at all? Wouldn’t a sincere thank you be enough? I guess according to Jonathan Porritt (2011), I have fallen victim to consumerism at its best. Somehow, I feel OK about it though. 

 A quick stop at Dollarama for gift bags, disposable coffee cups (cringe!), and plastic plastic trays. Finally, a $148 trip to Provigo for snacks for the case competitors and coaches. Oops, did I mention the trip to the t-shirt printer to pick up the 60 red printed competition momentos. Let’s add the 250+ pages I printed that day! As I sit here and reflect on the necessities (needs) of running a case competition versus expectations (and wants), I come to the realization that most of what I have purchased is simply there to enhance image. 

Day 2 (October 26): Tim’s ice cap (check!). 60 Donuts, 60 pre-packed lunches, 24 cans of Perrier, 60 cans of soft drinks, 40 coffees in disposable cups, 100 plastic glasses of wine. Today, I am completely influenced by materialism and keeping the “image”. Let’s keep in mind that I work for a business school and that comes with some rather large assumptions around how things are supposed to look and be. Not to mention, I am hosting five people from the company who is sponsoring the event, so I need to keep them happy and ensure the event lives up to their expectations. I am reminded of Amitai Etzioni, (2012) and his sentiments about “keeping up with the Jones’”. It is true, when one party sets a certain expectation, we all rise to meet, or better, exceed them.

Today; however, my biggest disappointment was food waste. The boxed lunches were good, but about 25% of people didn’t eat all their meal. Almost 100% of the people didn’t eat the dessert included. We don’t have access to compost, so it went to the trash. Above the clear environmental impact of my event, I am reminded of the fact that one fifth of the world’s richest people consume 45% of all the meat and fish (Shah, 2014). Despite the company providing compostable cutlery and cups, I feel guilty that I sent so many things to the landfill today. To top it all off, Sodexo served a less than stellar menu at the Gala dinner (veal sous-vide). I swear I wanted to eat it, but alas, two bites in and I am done. More to the trash. Exhausted and mentally drained, I wonder to myself where the balance between convenience and waste needs to come into play. Why can’t we have compost stations on campus?

Day 3 (October 27): But first, my ice cap! A friend’s child’s birthday party today so I scramble to get things together. I run to Provigo to grab stuff for mini pizzas to share (forgot my grocery bags, so plastic it is). My friend insisted on no gifts at the party, which I wanted to accept, but quite frankly couldn’t. I’m glad I didn’t because apparently no one else respected it either. I think about this social obligation more deeply (Goodwin, Smith, & Spiggle, 1990). I try my best to make a compromise, we opt for a movie day among friends instead of a traditional gift. I am hoping this small intrinsically motivated action may decrease future landfill waste in the future. Nonetheless, we are filled with waxed juice cups and plates. Back to the Provigo to grab something for the family for supper. I grab peppers in a plastic bag, sausages in a styrofoam package, pasta sauce in a glass bottle, cheese in plastic packaging and pasta in a cardboard box. Nothing much to compost or recycle unfortunately. 

Day 4 (October 28): Monday and back to work. Ice cap, yup! I am starting to get quite the collection in my office recycling bin. My boss just commented on it. I guess it is a bit of an eye sore..haha! 

Two trips to Provigo today. One at lunch to grab George’s bread, deli ham, Coaticook cheese, carrots and dip. Next stop on the way home from work for supper, chicken, baby potatoes and stuffing. 

Day 5 (October 29): If you haven’t guessed by now, ice cap time! Today, my brother (who lives with us) did a fridge clean up. Sigh! I can’t believe how much stuff we threw away. Past date, wilted vegetables, moldy fruits. Why don’t I just throw money directly into the garbage can? Is it normal that the first thing I think about is wasted money? According to a study  by Graham-Rowe, Jessop, and Sparks (2014),  wasting money is indeed a major motivator to minimize food waste. Inspired by this revelation, I am determined to have leftovers for lunch and transform the chicken salad sandwiches tonight for supper. I don’t even have to stop at Provigo today! WOW!

Day 6 (October 30): IC (that’s all I will say). Wednesdays are always tricky because I am running around and teach a class at night. It is one of those days. I grab lunch at Subway (steak sub, chips and a drink) -> garbage.

Run to Provigo after work and grab steak, carrots, potatoes and gravy from Provigo and throw it in pot to cook. I also realize that I haven’t really bought any candy for Halloween for my students in case class. $65.30 later and we have meat and candies! I’ve also been putting out chocolates outside my office door for students. 

Day 7 (October 31): Another ice cap to go please. I don’t even eat lunch today. Now I realize we have no candy for the kids. Drive to Walmart and $68.03, we’ve got goodies. No lunch again, and we go to a friend’s for supper. Off with the 4 year old trick or treating in the rain. She gets a pail of treats, we have 2 boxes of stuff leftover.

Day 8 (November 1): Day of the dead? I think so! Actually order breakfast with my ice cap at Timmy’s this morning. No lunch today. We decide to go shopping after work today as my brother has a 40% discount at L’Equipeur. $218.58 later, my husband enjoys new shoes, jeans, sport jacket, t-shirts, and a pair of sneakers for my mom for Christmas. Oh wait! Marlee needs new winter boots, so $86.22 later, we have new winter boots for her. I also see the cutest dress boots at Marshall’s (fake baby Uggs). I suppose these is what the marketers are hoping for. Top it all off with super for the family at Guido’s. (Wow! I have really been eating like crap!) Day 8 hurt the bank account!  Day 9 (November 2): Maybe I should actually buy some groceries for my empty fridge. I sludge off to Provigo early Saturday morning to spent near $200. At least I have meat, veggies, fruits, and some of the other basics for my family to actually live on. Stop at Tim’s on the way home for the usual. 

Day 10 (November 3): Beautiful breakfast with family (and an ice cap). Spent the day making food (soup, roasted chicken, pasta sauce, etc....). Trying to cut down on the restaurant stops this week. End up at the library with some dear colleagues from GSE503, so I think another ice cap is in order to stay awake (and leftover Halloween Candy). 

Day 11 (November 4): Check that thought. Day went to hell, running late, dead tired, no breakfast, grabbed Rima for supper. Fridge full, but I don’t even care at this point. 

Day 12 (November 5): Today is a new day! I started making iced coffee at home! No Tim’s! I actually did not spend $1 today! Why do I feel so great? Apparently it is something referred to as perceived consumer effectiveness (PCE). When is comes to sustainable buying practices, this PCE is influenced directly by guilt and pride. This becomes important because it means that as a consumer,  my behaviours could be modified by using emotions (Antonetti, & Maklan, 2014).

Day 13 (November 6): Another no spending kind of day! Feeling all pride and no guilt! Maybe Atonetti and Maklan are on to something!

Day 14 (November 7): Last day of recording! No ice caps and going strong.  My husband and I are feeling like we need a little extra family time, so we go out for supper at Mike’s with Marlee. We follow it up by a little Chocolat Favoris. I asked myself why we went to Mike’s again? What a waste!   A quick stop by Provigo to grab snacks for my basketball girls. I make an orzo salad plus pull together fruits, yogurt, cheese and granola bars.

Stay tuned for Part 2 to see if I actually made some changes and what this whole process has meant for me. Until then, I leave you on this note: Waiting on the World to Change

REFERENCES

Antonetti, P., & Maklan, S. (2014). Feelings that make a difference: How guilt and pride convince consumers of the effectiveness of sustainable consumption choices. Journal of Business Ethics, 124(1), 117-134. Retrieved from www.jstor.org/stable/24033218

Etzioni, A. (2012). You Don’t need to Buy This. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/FN3z8gtDUFE

Goodwin, C., Smith, K.L., & Spiggle, S. (1990). Gift giving: Consumer motivation and the gift purchase process. In NA - Advances in Consumer Research. 17, eds. Marvin E. Goldberg, Gerald Gorn, and Richard W. Pollay, Provo, UT : Association for Consumer Research, 690-698. Retrieved from http://acrwebsite.org/volumes/7086/volumes/v17/NA-17

Graham-Rowe, E., Jessop, D.C., & Sparks, P. (2014). Identifying motivations and barriers to minimising household food wasteby. Resources, Conservation & Recycling, 84, 15-23. doi: 10.1016/j.resconrec.2013.12.005

Porritt, J. (2011). The trap of materialism. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/DtwXryPNciM

Shah, A. (2014). Consumption and Consumerism: Global Issues. Retrieved from http://www.globalissues.org/issue/235/consumption-and-consumerism