#where to eat in BGC

[beingjellybeans]

Nostalgia and comfort over Filipino food at Lorenzo’s Way, BGC

We Pinoys have a special relationship with our homegrown food. No matter the number of new cuisines we are exposed to, we almost always go back to Filipino food, whether these come in the form of heritage recipes that we grow up with or more exotic viands from various regions. When I recently attended an event in Boni High Street, I was pleasantly surprised when we were served lunch at…

[inkedtae]

elixir of the damned ⇾ bgc. [M]

⎡sun bright, sun light burns the flesh of those that bite. moon’s gleam, night’s scream as shadows linger in lonely blight. but in the dark where spirits wail, a witch will rise— her power prevails⎦

⌁ pairing; vampire!chan x witch!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; vampire au, s2l, some angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 19.5k

�� summary; leech, nightcrawler, monster— chris is a vampire aching for sunlight. when he swims to a witch’s hidden island, badly burned, she offers him a secret remedy to survive daylight; he must drink her blood during her cycle, unleashing her true power and binding them for life.

⌁ warnings; graphic depictions and consumption of blood, graphic depictions of severe wounds, dom!chan, sub!reader, masturbation (f.), voyeurism, degradation, slight humiliation, rough sex, period sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, rough oral (f. receiving), body worship, spanking, teasing, slight edging, cum eating, blood play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 prefer ao3? keep reading here

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a special thanks to dee ( @awrkives ) for making this sexy banner for me, and to my ride or die beta reader, jen ( @anobodyslove ) for consistently supporting me and reading over all the nonsense i write. i am nothing without you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪  please enjoy this final Chantober fic!

On the brink of winter, Elderwood is a haze of greys. Roads are bleak black. Sidewalks are cracked and chipped. Streetlights illuminate no more than five inches in diameter, dim and distant. Seemingly void of life, the little town exhales a puff of condensation as it inches towards November. In a matter of days, the saturated warmth of autumn reds will wither, the cold air frosting  over every morning, until all pigment completely fades.

It’s depressing to watch the world around him drain of colour as he wanders the streets. Still, Chris is grateful for the consistency. One thing he can always count on is the changing seasons. He may not be getting older, but the world is.

The wind whips against his muscular frame. It should make him shiver, but he can barely feel the chill, only aware of the wind because of its force. The only time he ever felt the cold was midnight on a particularly wet February two years ago. It was pouring down on him as he walked back to Jisung’s house from the shore. The wind was knocking down street signs. The earth was drenched and cold. Chris felt the chills on his skin, the faint prickle of goosebumps. He inhaled and pretended his lungs worked, filling up with oxygen. Pulling his shirt off, he exhaled and pretended a cloud of air was breathed out. The chills running down his spine made it easy to pretend he was alive.

Now, Chris pretends he can feel the breeze blowing through his muscle tee, still exhilarated by the memory.

There are only two moments when he forgets he’s a vampire. One is when he can feel the cold, and the other is when he’s feeding. The taste of bitter iron and copper staining his tongue makes him feel real . With every gulp, Chris can feel the consumed blood run through his veins, drenching his heart and organs. There is the lightest hue of pink in his skin once he’s done. It lasts for a few hours before it fades and he grows hungry again. As much as it annoys him, Chris looks forward to every meal.

In a matter of days, he will be closing in on eight years as a vampire.

Leech, nightcrawler, monster— Chris cannot block out the voices that chime in every time he thinks about that word. They loop in slow circles around his mind on a daily basis and taunt him between his insecurities and mistakes.

He’s not sure how it happened. He stopped sleeping. It was hard to keep things down. He didn’t like to eat much before swim practise anyways. Even a bite of food would sit like a rock in his stomach. He’d have to excuse himself five minutes into his laps to empty his stomach in the nearest trash can.

“Knocked up?” one of his teammates teased from the pool.

Chris wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. He glared at the diver, eyes wet and red, before clearing his throat, swallowing thickly, and diving back in himself.

Hand on his stomach now, Chris yearns for that disgusting feeling that burned his chest and scratched at his throat. He hates throwing up, but it seems so humane now to get sick, to feel sick.

Once he attempted to starve himself in hopes of emulating something similar to an illness. All it did was make him irritable, almost rabid. He thought it would at least be similar to sleep deprivation but it instead sharpened his supernatural senses for blood.

More than anything though, Chris misses the sun. Every morning, he senses its warmth against the boarded windows of Jisung’s basement. For a handful of minutes, he can bypass his inherent fear of the sun to imagine beams of light cascading over him. He imagines the heat kissing his flesh, returning his admiration, and basks in the feign brightness.

Sand invades his shoes.

Chris opens his eyes to find the sea before him. The waves crash against the shore, inches away from his toes. He inhales sharply. Salt and seaweed plague his tongue. He swallows breathfuls of the scent anyway, chasing nostalgia.

He took his first steps here, had his first kiss by the rocks at thirteen, learned to swim, to build extravagant sandcastles and raced along the shoreline with Jisung and Changbin. How many summers had he guarded the lives of beachgoers? How many bonfire bashes had he patrolled?

Chris gazes out at the horizon. His enhanced vampiric senses have sharpened his sight, refining the mesmerising image of the serene scenery. Even the far island of Crow’s Nest looks clearer. It has been bogged down by heavy fog for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the island seems so hazy, Chris is only reminded of its presence by the crows circling around it. He smiles to himself as he recalls the countless times he, Changbin and Jisung dared each other to swim towards it, each one boasting about how they would be the one to swim the closest only to rush back to shore.

Fuck— it all feels like a life time ago.

The ocean laps closer to Chris’s feet. He surveys his surroundings. Fog settles over the quiet town. Silence replies to his inquisitive stare. He turns back to the sea and considers the horizon. It must be nearing four or five in the morning, dawn slowly approaching. The sky is mostly cloudy too.

He wonders if— No.

His vampiric instincts shudder at the thought. Chris fights through it, resisting the urge to turn around and hurry back to Jisung’s basement.

I have time , he mentally hisses.

The sun won’t be up for another hour or so, and given how considerably cloudy it is, he might have an extra fifteen minutes to collect his clothes and rush back into the safe darkness of the basement. His enhanced speed would get him there within ten minutes anyway.

Chris tugs at the hem of his shirt while kicking off his shoes. He feels the wind push around his muscular torso. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, swallowing the scent of the salty sea, and resists the urge to gag. Determined not to let the suppressed reaction discourage him, he unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his briefs. For a second, he braces himself, expecting a chill upon his full nudity.

Then the reality of his being sets in.

He huffs an annoyed groan and marches into the water. He’s so frustrated he doesn’t feel it at first. However, as he continues to wade further into the ocean, the water now lapping just above his waist, Chris shivers .

Cold— ice cold. The sea welcomes him home.

Chris chuckles, relief blossoming in his chest. He caresses the surface of the water as another chuckle tumbles out of his full lips. If he was still human, tears would prick his eyes from the sheer relief of finally feeling something. Embracing the biting chill, he dives in.

Under deep blue darkness, the world muffles around him. He points his hands in front of him, the same way he was training eight years ago, and propels further into the ocean. Seaweed dances beneath his feet, the current moves around him. Being undead gives him an advantage as he can remain submerged for longer now.

Twirling, swirling, he swims and swims— faster than he could before his shift. The rush of the waves propel him further into the water, caressing his toned body. Chris suppresses a smile as he watches fish dart and algae float around him.

When he finally surfaces, he lets out a heavy breath on instinct, but he doesn’t care. He pushes his hair back and wipes his nose, heaving anyway because in this still moment, Chris is teetering on the edge of humanity for the very first time in eight years.

Looking back to the shore, he finds that he may have gotten carried away. The mainland is almost a figment of his imagination with the amount of distance he has created.

And Crow’s Nest is completely visible.

Chris looks between the shore and the island, then lets out a full bellied laugh, one he hasn’t been able to muster in years. Changbin and Jisung are never going to believe him when he tells them he got this close to Crow’s Nest .

Not only is it far, but most believe the island is haunted. Townies for years have claimed to witness figures lurking between the trees and flickering lights throughout the night. Someone once swore they saw a figure flying over the island on a broomstick amongst the crows. Throughout the years, many sceptics have tried to travel to the island, only to be deterred by the current and pushed back to shore. Changbin once told him that one person did make it onto the island but was never heard from again.

Chris was not completely convinced by the tall-tales of Crow’s Nest, but he still constantly felt unsettled by its presence.

However, surveying the island now, he cannot remember why he was so scared. Sure, the myths were strange, but they were myths in the end.

Vampires were once a myth , a little voice murmurs.

Stifling the sinister voice, Chris looks to the sky and finds it’s still a swirl of charcoal grey and slated blue. His smile returns before another chuckle bubbles from his eased chest. Floating upon the surface, he lays back, allowing the current to guide him for a moment. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the fading sensation of the cold upon his pale skin.

While Chris knows he has more time to revel in this rare human moment, he cannot help the anxiety festering in the base of his stomach. What if he never feels this way again? What if he has to wait another eight years to feel something, anything again? And yes, this has been a cathartic experience by himself, but some of his favourite human memories are shared with his loud, chaotic friends. He can imagine Changbin complaining about how deep the water is and Jisung making jokily suggestive comments about how naked they all are. He would never be able to convince them to go skinny dipping in the middle of October at dawn. Changbin is too much of a whiny baby to handle the cold and Jisung sleeps as deep as the dead— Chris would know being undead himself.

So, while he may feel a fraction of his humanity again, he cannot forget that he is still alone.

A sense of deep danger surges through him, silver eyes snapping open. Amber light spills across the once frosty charcoal-blue sky.

The sun is rising.

His vampiric instincts rage in his chest, as if scolding him for being so reckless.

Chris internally curses at himself. He’s about to swim back to shore when he notices rays of light shining against the sand, inching towards his clothes.

Fuck .

How long had he been floating? When did time start to move this quickly? The last eight years have felt like eternity, but it’s as though the last two hours flew by within twenty minutes.

Chris lets out a shaky sigh and considers his options. He can try to make it back to shore and sprint home, grabbing his clothes later (if the current doesn’t swallow them). He can try to dive deep enough in the water to evade the sun, but risk drowning over and over for the next twelve hours. Or…

A murder of crows circle the island to his right.

Crow’s Nest.

“ Shit ,” he mutters under his breath.

Chris dives. He uses all his strength to fight against the current. The closer he’s gets to the island, the harsher the ocean becomes. The waves are not forceful, simply persistent with their suggestion to turn back. It’s as if the sea is warning him against reaching the island.

He fights through it still, pushing himself to swim faster.

Though he does not have a pulse, Chris is heaving by the time he can walk onto the shore. He runs a hand through his hair and spits the excess seawater out of his mouth. Leaning on his knees, he takes a moment, for the first time in eight years, to catch his breath.

Vision blurring, hands shaking, Chris mutters a string of vulgar curses. The swim has depleted his energy. Thirst— No, hunger gnaws at his chest, his gut, his very being, tearing through his innate instincts to find shade. His senses instead sharpen for a hunt. The scent of crow, frail and small, immediately overwhelms him. He can nearly taste the thick blood that pumps under their onyx feathers.

“ Ah!” Chris hisses, jolting forwards as the light nips at his ankles.

The sun .

Using the last bit of his strength, Chris dashes towards the trees. However, as he’s about to cross into the safety of the shade, the sun strikes, scorching his skin.

Chris screams, collapsing to his knees. His back stings with a relentless hiss. Scurrying forward, he manages to make it into the shade with only a few more minimal, yet painful welts on his thighs and calves. He chokes back more groans as his pale skin bubbles and burns from the intense heat.

He shifts further into what he thinks is the shade, trembling and whimpering, when the breeze kicks in and rattles the already loose leaves from the trees. Chris looks up, watching a gap form and give way for another attack from the sun.

Bright rays blaze his face. Another fraught scream tears through his throat and he tries to shield his eyes with his arm. Only one eye could be saved, the other feels as though it is melting into his skull.

Pain, pain— aching pain. Chris screams, his voice cracking as he channels that last of his strength and throws himself against the tree stump with unnatural speed.

Hiccuped moans tumble from his wounded, cracked lips. He heaves, voice nothing more than a wheezing shattered mess. His flesh deteriorates, once eternal body now crumbling under the bright light. The rotting smell of his dead body simmers around him, brewing nausea deep in his gut.The sand bites into his burnt skin, like salt on a fresh wound. Whimpering, he grits his teeth and attempts to bear the pain.

It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not tha—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, the pain overtaking his mind. He tries to repeat the phase again but can barely get past the first syllable.

Chris knows he can’t stay here. The sun will move, the light will shift, the fucking wind will betray him. He is not guaranteed safety if more leaves fall and the light seeps through again. Yet, he cannot move. Without blood to sustain his movements or renew his vampiric healing abilities, he might just die anyway.

So, Chris simply stares at the clutter of copper and gold leaves around him and suppresses whimpers. Is this the sickness he was previously craving to feel? Is this the humanistic pain he so badly yearned for? Chris cannot help but curse at himself over and over as his vision slowly blurs.

Is this really how it ends , he wonders. Wet from the sea, hot from the sun, eight years of demonic hell inch to this painful end.

Coughing up bile, he spits it over his shoulder and exhales deeply. Well, at least, he was able to experience a final moment of humanity, even if it was alone. And when he sees Changbin and Jisung again, he’ll tell them all about how he swam to Crow’s Nest and wasn’t immediately devoured by the monsters that they believe lurk within.

And if nothing else , he thinks as the darkness slowly closes in on him, I had one last moment in the sun.

“What have you done to yourself?”

A soft flowery voice caresses him. Chris mentally leans into the feminine allure of the voice, allowing himself to be wrapped in her gentle tone.

Then, the voice suddenly solidifies shattering the warm cocoon Chris found himself giving into, as she repeats, tone firmer now, “Are you insane?”

Chris tilts his head, choking on more bile as a surge of pain ripples through him. A curvy figure dressed in a thin, white sundress rushes towards him. He can barely make out her face, his sight almost completely gone, but her scent— fresh rain, lavender and sage— overwhelms him. For a second, he sees himself strolling through a field of wildflowers after a rainstorm, following the full figured beauty into the warmth of the light.

“Wow, you’re really naked,” she suddenly mumbles under her breath.

Voice raspy, Chris asks, “Are… you an angel?”

Soft hands cup his face; delicate, sweet, and gentle. Chris tries to regain some semblance of his sight, eager to take in her ethereal features but the pain hinders his focus.

And then, all at once, darkness claims him.

Dawn is still. While the sun peeks through clusters of clouds, the sky shifts from pale blue to rose-gold. The wind, once flowing through the small cottage through the open windows, disappears. Even the crows, who often guard your little hideaway, fall silent.

You freeze mid-chop and turn towards the backdoor. A murder of crows still lingers around your backyard, but they seem rigid, as if they are not sure how to react.

Furrowing your brows, you set down your knife and abandon your half-chopped eggplant. You wipe your hands on your apron, making your way to the door.

A loud buzzing rings through your ears, stopping you mid-stride. You furrow your brows, senses finally flaring.

Abandoning the back door, you move towards the front instead. The moment you pull it open, you feel it— the shift in the air, swirling with panic, fear and… pain ?

A loud scream suddenly echoes through the morning fog, taut and sharp.

Chills run down your spine.

You’ve found many injured animals while hiding in Crow’s Nest within the last decade. You’ve repaired broken bones, mended mangled wings and even helped beached sea creatures find their way back into the ocean. However, nothing you have encountered has ever sounded so huge.

Shaking off your nerves, you step out and shut the door behind you. The wind picks up, colder than before. It ruffles through your white sundress, forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself. Another frail scream echoes, this time starling the crows back into motion. Hawthorne, your clingiest crow, lands on your front porch with a concerned tilt of his head, as if coming to check on you. Your face deadpans as more crows settle on the rickety, oak wood and peer up at you.

“You literally saw me from the garden,” you sigh. Stepping around them, you ask, “Do you know where that sound came from?”

Poe squawks before fluttering into flight, and a few other crows follow after him as well. You trail behind them, pulling your wand out from between your breasts. You assume that whatever washed up on your island must be harmless enough for your wards not to alert you upon its arrival. Still, you keep your twelve-inch mahogany wand, the polished ebony wood twisted and glittering like silver stars, steady before you.

Rotten vanilla and burnt, parched oak intoxicate your next breath. The scent envelopes you in despair, as you draw closer to the source. Heaving, whimpering, coughing, the broken sounds of pain become clearer with every step.

And then you see him— extremely pale and teetering consciousness. His face, which might have once been a handsome blend of soft masculinity, is grey and blistering. Arm, shoulder, ribs; the left side of his body is peeling skin, almost as if dusting and rotting all at once. The edges of the wounds are lined with black. It’s as though he’d been charred under open flames.

“What have you done to yourself?” you whisper under your breath.

You draw nearer, trying to make sense of this… being? You’re not quite sure what he is. He most definitely cannot be a human. He should be bleeding and the welts would be blistering, eager to reverse the damage.

His eyes squint open and you almost miss it. The right one is a rich chocolate, purely humanistic and warming. The left, however, is a blinding silver. Swimming with thirst and desperation, even exhausted, that gleaming grey eye conveys more threats than promises.

Vampire .

Dawn, light, burns, it all starts to make sense.

“Are you insane?”

He chokes on bile, resting his head back against the tree trunk.

As he tries to find his voice, you take a moment to scan his frame, looking for more wounds. It’s then that you notice just how naked he is. Guilt and shame fester in your chest at the realisation that, despite the wounds, he does not look so bad, perhaps even… attractive.

Your attention lingers below his waist. The sight heats your face. “Wow, you’re really naked,” you whisper more to yourself than him.

“Are…” he starts, summoning your attention back to his mismatched eyes, “you an angel?”

The question startles you. After a few blinks, you swallow thickly and clear your throat.

Wraith, nightshader, monster— you’ve been called many names throughout your life as a blood-witch. Your previous coven conjured most of the insults, but the mundane town of Elderwood has never been a friend to the supernatural either, despite its mythical origins. Ridiculed for your magic, banished by family and supposed friends, you didn’t think you’d ever meet another paranormal being, let alone be confused for an angel.

Cupping his face, you decide that he’s delirious. Scorched by the sun, thirsty for blood (if his nearly translucent skin is any indication), he probably took one look at your white dress and assumed he was dying.

You gasp as he suddenly falls limp in your hands. You’re about to check his pulse when you remember he’s a vampire. Muttering curses, you stand up.

“Create some shade,” you order the crows. As they cluster overhead, you add, “We need it dark enough to move him.”

More crows fly in to help, clouding over the wounded vampire to shield him from the rising sun.

Deep breath in and out, you centre yourself. Your lungs carry his festering scent, the faint notes of sweet vanilla and sturdy, dry oak soothing your erratic heart.

You open your eyes with a heavy, steady exhale. Holding out your wand, you dig your heels into the ground. Magic flickers from your fingertips and warps into the wand, waiting for your direction. Only, you’re not sure if you’re making the right choice.

Healing animals, saving helpless lives is much of what you do on this little island, besides tending to your magical garden, brewing potions and crafting talismans. You’ve always felt grounded when you’re able to help someone, anyone . The only other time you feel as accomplished and useful is when you update your journal. Keeping a detailed grimoire of new spells, potions, thoughts, and observations has been your only other source of stabilising your sanity amidst such a solitary life.

But, a vampire is not some other helpless animal. You don’t know a lot about the blood-demons, only that they have been damned upon their own moment of desperation. He clearly made naive deals without much consideration of the consequences. And the fact that he wandered out in daylight does not help his case.

He could be recently turned or just simply stupid and desperate. Either way, you wonder if this is a good idea. Moving him would mean inviting him into your home. Is that really the wisest decision? It would mean that he would have access to the little cottage without your permission, even if you reinforce your wards. Your invitation would be enough to welcome him in every time.

Still, you know you cannot heal him out here. The sun will shift and only shine brighter throughout the day. The crows can only fly for so long as well. And while your magic is malleable, it is not infinite. It will not be able to sustain a shield weaved of your powers without an anchor like the hearth of your cottage to truly ground and replenish your strength. The only way to save him would be to bring him into your sanctuary.

Or, a little voice mutters, you can just let him die.

You recognise that internal voice as your mother’s. It carries the same sharpness and disdain for your intuitive decisions. You’re not surprised it has reared its ugly head in a moment of uncertainty and distress. It often has a habit of kicking you while you’re down, or coaxing the worst out of you.

Shoving the vile voice back to the farthest corner of your mind, you wave your wand. The handsome vampire levitates under the allure of your magic.

“We move as one,” you order. “And, be careful.”

The crows mutter amongst themselves, but follow your commands. Together, you slowly move further into the forest.

Once you step foot onto the porch, the cottage anticipates your needs. The windows and curtains shut and candles flicker to life along with the hearth. You push open both front doors to accommodate his broad frame. Guiding him into your living room, you wonder if he was an athlete or swimmer prior to turning. His lean yet muscular figure indicates one or both hobbies.

Shame rises in your chest again. You have no idea what has gotten into you. When did you become so perverted and disgusting? How could you check out a wounded man so casually like that, like he’s not unconscious and on the brink of death? 

Swallowing your shame away, you lay him down on your soft, velvet green sofa. He sinks into the comfortable cushions, still and frail. Draping a handknitted, midnight black blanket over him, you notice his skin becoming grey. And even the parts that have not been touched by the sun begin to peel. 

You mutter a curse and rush to the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, you look between jars of carefully crafted salves and mud masks. Aloe, honey, shea butter, coconut– what the fuck would heal the undead flesh of a vampire? If he was conscious, you’d give him a jar of blood from your preserves and hope that with enough consumption, he’d eventually heal himself. 

The cottage attempts to help you. It pushes open drawers of loose ingredients. Even a few stray crows, who managed to sneak in before the house could shut the door behind you, fly from book to book, trying to inspire you to just look up the information you need. You wave off the house and ignore the crows. You need something quick and complete. You don’t have time to brew something or search through old pages. 

Shifting its approaches, the cottage offers salves you’ve already made and saved from different cabinets around the kitchen. It hovers the jars before you, continuously suggesting a variety of creams as you wave them off. 

You’re about to wave off the next suggestion when the name catches your eye: Sunveil Balm . Golden yarrow and rosemary oil, lunar lilac extract, white ash bark powder, dewdrop resin, the essence of morning fog and the rare but potent dust of golden pearls, you remember crafting the balm for a bat with scorched wings. It stayed out in the sun for much too long one blistering summer and received several burns. A few generous swipes of the salve repaired the damage within ten minutes.

You snatch the gold-shimmering cream, darting back to the living room. With a wave of your hand, the jar twists open. You dip into the pot and scoop out a good amount before gently tilting his face and slathering the soft, creamy balm over his left cheekbone and temple. 

Mismatched eyes of brown and grey snap open. A loud scream tears through his throat as the wound hisses under the golden salve. He instinctively brings a hand up to his face to wipe it off, only for the salve to burn his fingers. 

“Shit,” you murmur before shouting, “Get me blood, now!”

The cottage complies, hovering various jars of animal blood in front of you. It’s the human blood that catches your eye, though. You know that if you want him to recover quickly, you have to supply him with your best stocks. Human blood, however, is rare for you. Without a coven of well-connected witches, harvesting human blood from your remote little island has proved to be a difficult and daunting task. You only have about five large jars left. 

He trembles into the sofa, choking on his own bile. 

You sigh, realising you’ve made it this far. You have already invited him into your home and made the decision to save him. If that weren’t enough, you’ve just deepened his pain with fresh burns.

With another wave of your hand, you twist the jar of human blood open, then snatch it from the air. “Shh, shh,” you calmly whisper, snaking your arm under his head to support the lift of his neck. He tries to swallow thickly, but chokes on the smell of fresh, cold blood. You bring the lip of the jar closer to his mouth and administer small, careful sips.

You watch as his eyes roll back from the taste. Arousal pools between your thighs. You curse yourself three times over for the way your body reacts. It’s been ten years of using your wand as a vibrator or making do with your fingers. You tell yourself that it’s simply pathetic desperation, a chronic need for human interaction that triggers this sort of reaction to him. Shame and regret still tighten in your chest, encouraging the continuation of your internal insults and curses.

A croaky groan echoes within the jar, pulling you out of your thoughts. The vampire sits himself up and takes the jar from you. He starts to down the blood in large gulps. His chest heaves, throat bobs and rogue trails of blood leak from the corner of his lips. 

You stand and turn away from him, much too aroused by the animalistic sight. Trying to ground yourself, you take shaky breaths in and out, and focus on the length of your breaths, the sound of the exhale. You don’t realise he’s done until you hear him clear his throat. 

Turning back to face him, you find his skin has solidified back to its normal pale, white colour. The black soot around his wounds remains along with a few remaining welts, however life (or lack thereof) has returned to his undead body. 

“More?” He quietly asks, voice deep and husky. 

You nod and hold a hand towards the kitchen. Another large jar of human blood shoots into your grasp. The vampire blinks as you wave the lid open, and lower the glass down to him. He trades you the empty one, letting his attention drift up and down your frame. 

Your shoulders roll back, chest puffing forward under his curious gaze. 

You are pathetic , you think to yourself.

Embarrassed by your actions, you leave him in the living room with his meal and return to the kitchen. Hawthorne and Poe perch on the counter by your recipe books. They cast disapproving stares in the dim candlelight as you enter.

You roll your eyes and whisper, “He was dying.” When they continue to silently judge, you add, “I happen to recall a time when two little birdies got into a fight for the fourth time and begged me to help them even when they promised not to let it happen again. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so judgemental.”

Both crows tilt their heads downwards in shame. 

“Who are you talking to?”

You squeal, jolting as you turn to face the vampire. He stands in the archway of your kitchen, blanket wrapped around his waist. He clutches the soft fabric with one hand by his hip and the empty jar with the other. You resist the urge to look at his fully healed chest, knowing it will only further arouse you, and fixate your attention on his face. 

While the blood has completely reversed the damage of the sun on his skin, his eyes still remain discoloured. You draw closer to examine it, getting within a hand’s reach before remembering that you two are still strangers, he’s still naked and there’s still steaks of blood staining his chin. 

He raises a brow at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Does he think I’m into him , you wonder as panic fills your chest. You clear your throat and take a step back. 

“Your eye,” you start, pointing to your left one, “It’s still silver.”

He reaches up to touch it. Understanding shifts his features from arrogance to self-caution. 

“Do you need more blood?” you ask, wondering if perhaps more consumption would help.

He shakes his head. “I’m full,” he replies. Stepping into the kitchen, he holds the empty jar out for you. 

You take it and place it on the counter by the other one he finished. You turn back to face him, regrettably letting your gaze flicker down his defined chest again. It’s buff and broad, the perfect addition to his strong shoulders. His waist is slim, toned and narrows down to delicate hips that you are sure have some unforgiving moments. Internally cursing yourself for your lack of self-control, you note that, at least this time, you’re lusting after him while he’s conscious and not in active pain. 

He suddenly clears his throat, beckoning your attention back to his face. A shy smile settles on his lip and he raises a brow. 

Great , you sarcastically think, now he’s going to think I only helped him because I think he’s hot . 

“I’m Chris,” he introduces, holding out his hand. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.”

You bite your lip. Maybe he was tired before or you were just too preoccupied by the gravity of the situation to catch it the first few times he spoke, but he has a thick, lazy accent that comforts your reclusive soul in ways it probably shouldn’t.

You offer your name, accepting his hand. The chill from his skin is all encompassing and it takes everything in you not to shiver. After a couple of good shakes, you release his hand to reach back and grab a clean tea towel. You hand it to him and gesture to your chin. “You’ve got a bit of blood,” you carefully inform. 

Chris scrubs his face harshly. You thought the knotting brows and darkening eyes were an indication  of embarrassment upon the mention of the little mess he made of himself. However, from the way he drags the tea towel over his newly healed skin, you wonder if he is upset, perhaps hateful. 

“Thanks,” he mutters again, catching your lingering gaze. 

You take the tea towel back when he’s done and toss it to Poe. The little crow catches the stained cloth and flies it over to the dirty pile. A little amused smile plays on your lips as you watch Chris look between you and the crow. He parts his lips to ask something, but he cannot find his words.

“Let’s have a seat,” you softly suggest, nodding towards the archway. “You must be exhausted.”

Chris nods, letting out a heavy breath. He steps to the side to let you weave around him and lead the way back to the living room. His steps are so light and gentle as he follows. You probably wouldn’t have heard them if you weren’t paying such close attention, sneaking a look behind you. 

His gaze focuses around your hips, or rather the sway of them. You catch him biting his lip before turning to face the front again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you try not to let the little gesture go straight to your head. You’ve received quite a few stares when you lived with your coven once upon a time ago. Most would either linger around your breasts or rear. Sometimes it was due to the sheer size of your voluptuous body and very rarely was it done in admiration when it came to staring at your arms or stomach or thighs. Your backside, however, always received that same carefully longing attention. 

So, he doesn’t like you , you tell yourself. He just likes what he sees .

You take a seat on the black leather armchair by the fireplace, sinking into the comfortable cushions, and nod to the emerald couch he previously laid on. 

Chris sits across from you. Shifting in his seat, he adjusts the blanket to properly cover his hips and crotch. Your eyes meet and, for a brief second, you swear you catch the lightest, faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. 

Shifting uncomfortably in your own seat, you offer an apologetic smile and say, “I don’t think I have any clothes for you.”

He returns the gentle gesture with a small grin of his own and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can try to get the ones I left on the beach later tonight.”

You raise your brows at the new information. Leaning over one of the arms on your chair, you attempt to peek into the kitchen. “Hawthorne?” You shout. 

Chris looks back at the archway only for Hawthrone to dart out. He flies over head, startling Chirs as he ducks his head to avoid the fast bird. 

“Go to the mainland and see if you can find some clothes on the shore for me,” you order once he lands on the arm of your chair. “And take Tenny and Poe with you.” 

Hawthorne squawks. He takes flight again, heading to the front door when you tsk at him. He returns to your side, waiting for instructions. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask then nod to the back of the cottage, “We have a sun sensitive visitor. Take the back door.”

He caws again and zooms right over Chris’s head. There is a ruffle of feathers, followed by more cawing before the slam of an open and shut window sounds. 

Chris swallows thickly, sitting back into the couch. “So you talk to birds,” he says as a way to break the silence. 

“Yup,” you nod. 

He nods along with you, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Your attention falls on his cleanly shaved armpits, the flex of his bicep. You cross your legs and press your thighs tightly together at the thought of being caught in a headlock, or cuddling under his arm and inhaling his thick, sickly sweet scent.

“Um,” he starts, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blink at him upon meeting his gaze. There is a knowing look in his mismatched eyes, and the faintest flicker between your own and your tense thighs. But he does not comment on your suddenly rigid posture. Gesturing to his face instead, he asks, “What was the–”

“Sunburn cream,” you answer, cutting him off. “It’s called Sunveil Balm. I guess it doesn’t work on vampires.”

He tentatively nods. “And what are you?” He registers the bluntness of his question the moment it leaves his full lips, and panic floods his eyes. Quickly, he adds, “No offence. It’s just– the magic–” he cuts himself off, pointing to your hands. 

A little smile plays on your lips with a slip of a chuckle. “I’m not offended,” you reassure, shaking your head. “I’m a witch. A blood-witch.”

“What makes a blood-witch different from a witch?”

“What makes a vampire different from a demon?”

Your voice is light and teasing but your playfulness falters at the sight of his concerned features.

“I-I’m a demon?” he asks, confusion creasing between his brows. He looks so lost, you’d think he’d never seen one before. It’s as if he didn’t conjure darkness to trade his soul away. 

Perplexed yourself, you nod. “Well, yes. How did you not– No,” you shake your head with a few blinks, then look back at him, starting again, “How long have you been a vampire?”

“About eight years.”

“Eight?”

He confirms with a nod. 

What the fuck?

Now, demons are tricky and conniving. They always make a deal that falls more in their favour than their summoner’s, but they have some decorum, especially towards each other. Upon their summoner’s shift into a vampire, the demon must have visited and informed him of his new, undead state. You recall reading about countless accounts of demons shadowing their newest additions and teaching them how to hunt, run and hide in the shadows. It’s common practice.

But more than that, you wonder how a vampire of eight years would miscalculate the rise of the sun and self-inflict such terrible wounds. Given the fact that he used his last bits of strength to find shade, you have to assume it wasn’t done on purpose. But, you also have a hard time believing that he’s naive enough to not know when the sun will rise during this time of year, especially after eight years of being undead. From the few books you’ve read on vampires during your studies as an apprentice, you know that they have a biological clock, an inherent instinct to not only avoid the sun, but fear it. 

Chris, pretty eyes round and youthful face uncertain, looks like he woke up one day, never went to sleep again, and was never told why.

“Am I missing something?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” you reply. “This doesn’t make sense. How did you turn? And why were you out this late, anyway?”

He bites on the inside of his cheeks and averts his gaze. “It’s complicated.”

Furrowing your brows, you’re not sure which question that was supposed to answer. You decide to take it one step at a time, asking, “Did you want to get burned?”

“No,” he immediately replies, meeting your gaze. 

Had it not been for the firm eye contact, you might have doubted him. 

“So, what is it then?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, running a hand through his damp hair. “Complicated.”

You raise a brow, lingering your attention on his head. Recalling your thoughts about his physic earlier, you wonder if he really is a swimmer. If he perhaps ventured too far out into the sea and exhausted himself in the process. However, noting the way he nervously averts his gaze, you decide to redirect the conversation to something that’s hopefully less complicated.

“You don’t need to tell me why you summoned the demon,” you start, knowing the reason must have been dire for him to turn to the darkness for help. “I just don’t understand how you didn’t know that you, technically, are one.”

His face scrunches in concentrated confusion. He thumbs his nose and tilts his head at your words, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s been cursed or simply a pretty face. 

“I didn’t summon a demon. I just…” he trails off, averting his gaze as he searches for the best way to word his transition, “ became a vampire.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s what happened.”

“Explain the process,” you order, sitting back in your seat. “How did you know you were a vampire if no one told you?”

There is a twinge of challenge in his narrowing eyes. He flits his gaze up and down your relaxed frame and tongues his cheek. He then leans his elbows on his knees, broad shoulders now on full, flexed display under the warm glow of flickering candle lights. 

You swallow thickly and force yourself to maintain eye contact. 

“Do you always use that tone?” He suddenly asks, voice low and deep.

Barely above a whisper, you reply, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He smirks as newfound understanding glimmers in his silver eye. “That’s better,” he says before sitting back into his seat. 

You’re not sure what’s more lethal, the way he leans forward, every curve of his muscles contrasted perfectly in the shadows of the dim lights, or the way he leans back, legs spread and chest open. Both are equally as inviting, enticing you to shed your inhibitions and completely lose yourself against him. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he starts, shattering your focus on his sprawl body. “I was feeling sick for weeks. I could barely keep up with my training, and–”

“Training?”

“I was a swimmer.”

Knew it – Your eyes flicker to his shoulders for a split second.

“I was the fastest on the team. I even had a scholarship,” he says. A faint smile hovers over his plush lips at the memory. “I stopped drinking. I stopped eating. And on the day of the championship, I was terrified to leave my dorm. I nailed wood and bedsheets over my window and hid under the bed. My friends found me at one point, much later in the night, and I…” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “I attacked them.”

You remain still, expression neutral. He watches you closely, as if waiting for a gasp or blink of acknowledgement. 

“I just remember being really, really thirsty. I chased them through the courtyard until they talked me out of ripping them apart. And–” he cuts himself off with a little laugh. 

You raise your brown trying to fight off your own smile at the sweet, deep rumble emitting from his buff chest.

“Sorry, I just remembered one of my friends’ screams– Changbin. He’s a complete wimp and was squealing the whole time. You’d like him. Everyone likes him,” he explains. When you return his sweet smile, he continues, “Anyway, they talked me out of killing them, helped me hunt a rabbit, which took too fucking long for three grown men, and then made fun of me while I drank it’s blood.”

“They sound like idiots,” you joke, fighting your own laughter at the image he crafted for you. 

“They are,” he nods, voice thick with nostalgia. Then, he clears his throat and adds, “Anyway, there weren’t any demons or witches or anyone else. Just us and the internet.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “While that sounds like a terrible disaster,” you tease, much to his amusement, “that’s not really how vampires are made.”

“I wasn’t bitten either.”

“That’s misinformation,” you dismiss. “No one gets bitten to turn. Anyone who has been bitten by a vampire and survived merely experiences more drastic symptoms of rabies then dies. They are bats after all.”

Judging by the constantly confused expression on his face, you deduce he has not discovered he can turn into a bat yet. You hold off on that nugget of information for now, returning to your explanation, “Vampires are the result of humans making deals with some sort of demon. While possessions are common, demons do not want your body. They are always after your soul. Whatever remains is the demonic shift from humanity to deviance. You may still have your body, but your connection to the supernatural is your only thread to the living.”

Chris nods, sitting up in his seat. You regret to find that it doesn’t make you want to straddle him any less than before. 

 “I can understand that, I just don’t know what that has to do with me. I swear I had no reason to summon anyone from any realm or world or wherever the fuck these things come from.” His voice wavers with sincerity, eyes distressed with confusion. He takes a second to breathe in deeply, trying to ground himself, only to clench his jaw, never exhaling. “I just want my life back,” he mutters. 

Me too , you think as you gnaw on your bottom lip.

While your mother discouraged you from being yourself, and so-called friends betrayed you, there was a life back between the Mountains of Cleo that was waiting for you to reach your full potential. Working alongside the greatest witches of the century, charting stars and researching the full scope of potential power within the moon, you were on track to finally securing a position within the Arcane Court , and earning the respect of your family for once. 

You wish to return to that moment before everything had shattered around you. Work was stolen, lies were told and reputations were ruined. You never thought you'd be forced to defend yourself against people you loved, people you considered your found family. However, you did expect your biological family to believe the worst about you. 

Looking back at Chris, you notice he seems lost in his own thoughts too, gazing at the polished hardwood floors aimlessly. His explanation seems genuine and you really do believe him. He seemed to have the world at his fingertips, on the cusp of achieving all his dreams, before his life ended. 

He suddenly meets your gaze. The angle of his head blends his brown eye into the darkness, the silver one gleaming brightly in contrast. You know you should be scared, and you try to find a reason to feel that way, looking for even the faintest hint of danger. Instead, honesty greets you. If you hadn’t known he was a vampire, you would have assumed he was human from that look alone. 

“I want to help you figure out what happened,” you announce. 

Chris blinks at you. “What?”

“Vampires are made by demons,” you repeat. “If you are a vampire, then you were made. And if you didn’t bind yourself into a contract, someone else must have done so on your behalf. You could be in danger, could even be hexed. I want to help you find out what’s going on.”

His throat bobs, brows knit and he licks his lips before asking, “Why would you help me again?”

“I’m curious,” you shrug. And when his stare does not waver, you add, “And this is the longest I have spoken to someone other than a bird in the last ten years, so I might as well make the most of it before sundown.”

At that, Chris smiles. You notice he has a way of making it look so easy, that gentle, boyish smile. It’s full of intrigue and amusement and even admiration as his mismatched eyes twinkle with delicate notions of mischief. 

“I’m going to look into making another salve for some of your scars,”you say, standing from your seat. “The crows will be back with your clothes soon. You can go up to the bathroom and shower in the meantime, if you’d like I mean.”

Chris stands with you, glancing at the stairs. “Thanks,” he murmurs as if he doesn’t trust his voice. 

You ignore the heavy emotion laced in his tone, to save him the embarrassment, and continue, “It’s the third door on the right. The house will lead you.” 

As if on cue, you hear the soft echo of shutting doors and the whispering squeak of a single door opening. 

Chris’s ears twitch at the sound. He swallows thickly and gives you another nod of gratitude before heading up the stairs. You watch his back flex as he rolls his shoulders back. Now that you are going to help him, you really need to stop practically panting after him. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable in a tiny house he can’t leave for the next twelve hours. 

Letting out a heavy breath, you make your way to the kitchen and wave all your relevant books on burns, salves and blood-beings towards you. But the distant spray of the shower rattles your focus, plaguing you with images of his naked body caught between water and steam. Shaking your head, you force him out of your thoughts.

You have work to do– a purpose to finally follow.  And you won’t be deterred.

Despite the brightness of your flowy white dress, which cinches at your waist and beautifully accentuates your curves, your little cottage is a sanctuary of moody shades and warm textures. Chris surveys the polished dark wood floors, adorned with a large, red rug that captivates his attention, on his way towards the stairs. A piece of onyx fur casually drapes over the exotic rug, adding an extra layer of softness beneath his cold feet. Leafy green plants cascade from the ceiling and trail their long vines over the edges of the shelves. They bring a subtle sense of  life to the space, even in such dim lighting. The deep violet walls bring out the vivid colours of the flowers—magenta, indigo, and plum. He assumes, based on your determined personality, that each bundle of petals serves some sort of purpose. Between flickering candles, well-worn books, and vials of mysterious substances, you've crafted a harmonious blend of oak table sets and plush, comfortable seating, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels entirely your own– warm and beautiful.

As Chris enters your bathroom, he finds that it is no different. Only, instead of a cosy ambiance of lived-in comfort, you’ve created a refreshing forest oasis. Dark green tiles line the walls, casting the room in deep, earthy hues. The floor is a mosaic of midnight green and jade patterns that seem to shift with the light, an intricate dance of natural tones underfoot. From above, more plants with long, draping vines hang over the obsidian sink, suspended in delicate macrame nets that sway gently with each movement in the room. Chris’s throat dries at the swan faucet poised elegantly above the sink, its neck curved in a graceful arc. In the corner, the shower nestles like a hidden grotto, glossy tiles and rainfall shower head turning it into a misty forest retreat, with aged brass fixtures catching the light. And finally, his gaze drifts to the grand, black bear claw tub—a magnificent centrepiece that seems plucked from a woodland dream.

He swallows thickly, inhaling the subtle scents of eucalyptus and lavender. Upon his exhale, the shower head turns on. He peers around the bathroom again, wondering if the house is watching him. When only the steady spray of the shower echoes against the dimly candlelit walls, Chris rolls his shoulders back and takes a step further into the room. 

The door clicks shut on its own.

Chris shakes off his uneasiness and drops the blanket from his waist. He’s not sure why, but his hands shake as he steps under the shower. A part of him hopes to feel stark cold, just as the ocean was a couple of hours ago. But the water is…water– Chris cannot feel much of a temperature, even with litres of human blood spreading through his body. Still, the strong pressure beating down his head, shoulders and back ease the tension in his once wounded muscles. 

Suddenly, the water stings with the faintest hint of coolness. It gets colder and colder, nearly replicating the frostiness of the morning sea, before Chris realises that the house is adjusting the temperature for him.

“This is good,” he mutters, tipping his head back. 

The house slightly warms the water, silently asking if he’s sure. 

“I like it cold,” Chris reassures. A ghost of a smile hovers over his full lips. He wonders if you put the house up to this or if it is simply trying to make him feel welcome. Either way, he’s grateful for the consideration. 

Consideration . Chris ponders over the word, mulling over every syllable, every decision you’ve made while he was unconscious. You’re a witch with angelic intentions, that much seems to be clear.  But he still cannot help wondering what it was that made you consider saving him? He’s just a stranger, afterall. No, he’s a demon . And yet, you brought him into your home, created salves and offered him jars of blood. 

Why do you have stores of human blood, anyway? Is it part of your practice as a blood-witch? Do you conjure spells that include elements of blood? Or do you merely harvest litres of it like a collector of sorts?

Questions lap round and round his mind as he reaches for your honey-infused shampoo. It smells faintly of your wild, flowery scent. Chris cannot help his smirk at subtle notions of rainfall and sage amidst that lavender. With a playful smile and inquisitive, bold eyes, you are the epitome of life and purity– and you smell like it too. 

He leans into the faint scent as he lathers his seasalt drenched hair with the silky, sweet soap. After rinsing the suds out, he grabs the matching conditioner and finds it is heavily imprinted with your scent. Perhaps you use it more often, or in larger quantities than the shampoo, but Chris is not all that curious why. He continues to lean into it, moaning softly as he combs it through his slightly curled strands. 

You’re incredibly enchanting, and Chris wonders if you’re aware of that. From the sway of your hips to the glint of intrigue in your alluring gaze, you are a vision of beauty. You radiate confidence, even when you’re perplexed and unsure. You stand in your own light, take control of a room and demand answers. Had Chris met you in college, between frat parties or music classes, he is certain he would have pursued you. Bossy, bratty, brazen, you command attention within a few words and a firm tone. And when he tested your limits, correcting your ordering tone with him in the living room, and you yielded to his tug of power, he swears his cock twitched. 

Maybe eight years of solitude has made him desperate, or the near-death experience has renewed his connection to the living, but Chris cannot deny that he wants you. He scrubs his body now and imagines your hands over his chest, along the width of his shoulders and trailing down his arms. He imagines your face inches from his and your warm breath fanning over his lips. He imagines your naked body, smirking when he recalls the way your gaze lingered over his in the kitchen. 

Do you like him too? Is that the real reason why you’re helping him?

A series of gentle taps rap at the door. 

Chris snaps his attention to the black wood. He focuses his enhanced hearing, hoping to pick up your heartbeat in the hall. Instead, a pair of rapid pumps and fluttering wings greet him. He assumes it’s the crows with his clothes and quickly rinses away the soap. 

The water shuts off as he steps back out into the bathroom. A soft, grey towel hovers in front of him. 

Chris smiles at the ceiling. “Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel and wrapping it around his waist. As he makes his way to the door, another smaller towel gently lands on his head. Chris chuckles and ruffles the soft cotton through his clean hair. 

The door opens for him as he approaches it. 

I can get used to this . 

His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, wet and littered with sand. Looking up at the house, Chris asks, “Um, can you do me a quick favour?” 

The candles momentarily shine brighter in reply. 

Chris bites his lip. He glances back at the shower, realising that the house has already done so much for him. He might be pushing his luck with another request. But then the lights shine again, as if reassuring him that it’s okay to ask for more. 

Throat bobbing, Chris asks, “Could you help me clean my clothes?” 

A wicker basket emerges from a door down the hall. It hops over to Chris from side to side, in a manner he can only describe as gleeful. Once in front of him, it shakes as though it is asking him to drop his clothes into the hamper. Chris tentatively bends down and tosses the sandy clothes in. The basket returns to its spot, disappearing behind its door, cheerful and almost giddy. 

Chris smiles to himself. The house must have your personality, or perhaps just aspects of it– playful, helpful, thoughtful. You bleed into every crevice of the warm cottage and Chris, for the first time since turning, is delighted. 

A quiet chirp from the crows pulls his attention back to them. They caw a couple more times before flying over to the edge of the stairs. 

Chris wonders if they are asking him to follow them, looking between them and the cold bathroom behind him. 

They caw again, hopping in place. 

He glances down at his towel and raises a brow. “I’m not really–” he starts, only for the crows to cut him off. 

One of them, Poe perhaps, lets out a long, almost exasperated squawk that leaves no room for refusal.

With a roll of his eyes, Chris follows after the birds. “Alright, alright,” he sighs. “Stop nagging me.”

The crows fly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Chris takes his time, following the scent of wild lavender and sage. He barely makes it to the archway when he sees your dress flowing around you with every step around the kitchen.

You’ve pulled your hair up, neck on full display. Moving around the dark kitchen, you trade your attention between a hovering book and your breakfast on the stove, all while sneaking sips from your steaming cup of tea. Chris detects notes of chai, cinnamon and anise stars amongst hearty eggs, and fresh tomatoes and chives. 

It takes you a minute, but you soon notice his tall figure entering the small space. Your eyes don’t remain on his for too long before trailing down his chest and lingering around his waist. He’s starting to realise that you seem to have a habit of that and it doesn’t bother him at all. If anything, he finds himself puffing out his chest and tightening the tension around his stomach under your watchful gaze. 

“They haven’t returned with your clothes?” 

Fuck, that voice– light, airy and sweet. Chris averts his gaze and bites on the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan. 

Clearing his throat, he replies,“No, they did. They’re just dirty. The house is cleaning them for me.”

You flash him a knowing smile and Chris swears his breath would hitch if he would breathe. “Yeah, it likes feeling useful,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your tea. You then nod at one of the indigo stools before your gleaming marble-topped island in the centre of the kitchen. 

Chris takes a seat, ensuring his towel stays put as he adjusts it around his spreading legs. As you turn back to your black iron stove, Chris takes a moment to really take in the kitchen. 

With deep crimson walls that cradle the space in a comforting embrace, the space excludes warmth. The soft candlelights that hover above cast playful shadows on the deep charcoal countertops, almost mirroring the crackle and pop of the hearth in the living room. Hanging between the candles are clusters of copper pots and pans, adding notions of rustic charm. Chris then realises that this might be the first room in the cottage without plants dangling from the ceiling or over surfaces. Instead, the shelves are lined with jars of spices and herbs and… body parts. He catches pickled eyeballs, dusty toes, fingers–some with matted fur–, and about three cases of teeth. 

“They were donated,” you clarify. 

Chris blinks his attention back to you, finding a guilty smile playing on your lips. 

“Well,” you start again, “ Most of it was donated.”

He teasingly raises his brows at you, suppressing his own smile. “I suppose that makes it okay then,” he jokes, subtly testing your boundaries again. 

There is a flicker of surprised intrigue in your gaze. “It seemed okay when it was saving your life,” you shoot back with the same level of teasing wit. 

Chris cannot help the excitement in his chest. Do you know how exhilarating you are? Is that why you keep staring at him with those enchantingly mischievous eyes?

He bites his lip, conceding to your wit. “Learn anything new,” he asks, nodding to the levitating book.  

You plate your breakfast with a sigh. The stove shuts off on its own as you round the island and take a seat next to him. Chris stiffen, adjusting his towel around his crotch. The once floating book rests on the countertop between the both of you. 

“See for yourself,” you reply before eating.

Chris notes the title: Origins of Vampires, Bloodsuckers, and Incubi , then scans the first few paragraphs. Besides accounts for the first sighting of vampires and the fact that they are apparently extremely lustful beings, it does not inform Chris of anything he does not already know from you. A deal needs to be made with the devil, his soul must have had to be traded as payment, and his body begins to reject all things human.

Furrowing his brows and sucking in his cheeks with a little hiss, Chris shifts forward in his seat to get a better look at the book. There is an extremely long passage about consistent erections, and the next page is filled with a list of the best hideouts to escape the sun during the day.  Chris is more concerned with the inconsistency of the author than the fact that he has yet to get an erection since he turned years ago.

“Nothing new,” you finally reply after a few bites of your food. “Nothing useful either.”

“May I?” Chris asks, reaching for the edge of the page. 

He flips the page when you nod. The list of hideouts takes up the next three pages and Chris resists the urge to roll his eyes. Information about vampiric cycles, peak slumber and feasting times, and tips on how to hunt fill the remaining pages on vampires before moving onto bloodsuckers and incubi. Again, the information is not anything Chris is not already aware of from the sheer experience of being undead for nearly a decade. He knows that around noon, his body tends to shut down and he seeks the darkest, coldest part of the basement to lay still and close his eyes. He’s not exactly asleep but he’s also not exactly awake either. The stuff about peak feasting times does not really apply to him. Just like when he was human, Chris is always hungry and ready to consume something. 

With a heavy sigh, he shuts the book. “That was a waste of time,” he mumbles as you finish your breakfast. 

You wave your empty plate and cup off to the sink, then shrug at him. “Well, we now know this book is useless,” you say, voice light with hope. “We can cross it off our list.” 

Chris raises a brow. “How many more books are on this list of yours?”

Your gaze is shifty and Chris starts to get nervous. He murmurs your name carefully, merely trying to get you to be honest, but then he notices the way you tremble at the sound of his low, deep voice. He can’t help the smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Cold?” he teases before he can stop himself.

Your eyes meet his with careful conviction. You lick your lips, as if debating how sharp your response should be. Attention flitting down to his chest momentarily, you finally reply, “Not at all.” 

With that, you wave off the useless book and summon two more. One is for salves and creams, the other is an encyclopaedia of vampiric traits and rituals. It sounds just as useless as the last one but if it’s on your list, Chris is willing to indulge. 

“You can get started on this,” you push the encyclopaedia towards him, “while I look into treating those scars.” 

“I don’t mind the scars,” he shrugs. “They kinda make me feel human.”

When you meet his eyes this time, your gaze is not filled with caution or calculated intrigue, instead they round with empathy. The sincere reaction triggers another pressing question Chris cannot seem to shake.

 “Why are you here?” 

Your face folds in confusion. “What?”

“You’re here on this haunted island all alone. Why? Don’t you have a coven or something?”

You pause for longer than usual and Chris worries if he used the wrong term, or perhaps merely asked a more personal question than you’re willing to answer. 

But then you clear your throat and adjust your posture in your seat. Staring down at the counter, you let out a heavy sigh and say, “I did and now I don’t.” Again, you take a beat lick your lips. “I wasn’t wanted there, so I needed to go.”

Chris scoffs. He doesn’t register the bluntness of his gestures until you glare at him.

“Have something to add?” you question, that usually sweet voice of yours now sharpened. 

It really shouldn’t but the sharpness makes his body buzz with excitement. Chris is fascinated by your darker edges. They contrast so beautifully against your usual lightness, enchanting him with supple seduction. 

“I think that’s bullshit,” he replies. 

“I think the fact that you just so happened to lose track of time is bullshit,” you remark. “But I have the common courtesy to keep my rude opinions to myself.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Chris can’t help but tease. “But I was referring to the fact that you would ever be unwanted. If you weren’t such a little…” Chris trails off just to watch your nostrils flare and smirks, “ witch , you would have known that.”

A flicker of regret flashes in your gaze, but it doesn’t take long to harden again with a clench of your jaw.

“Maybe you should’ve added that sooner.”

“Maybe you should’ve given me the chance to.”

“How is any of this my fault?” you ask, voice still irritated but a chuckle manages to slip past your sweet lips. 

Chris smiles at the girly sound, suddenly feeling… warm?  

“I never said it was,” he answers. He keeps his voice tempered and gentle, watching as you bite your lip again. 

There is a shift in the air. Chris catches the sudden thickness of your scent, the newfound depth it carries and you shift in your seat again. Furrowing his brows, he leans forward to hold your gaze and asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, yet shoot up from your seat. You push that book towards him again and point to the living room. “The house made you a little nook by the fire. Try reading as much as you can. The sooner we find out about you, the sooner you can return home.” Your voice sounds as sweet as it normally does, but carries a certain weight to it. Chris has trouble placing it as you continue, “If you get thirsty or need anything else, just ask the house. It’s happiest when it can provide.”

Inhaling sharply, Chris collects the book and stands. He holds his towel in place with his other hand, the same way he did with the blanket not too long ago, and starts to make his way to the living room. When he gets to the archway, he pauses to glance over his shoulder.

You’re still watching him, captivated by the broadness of his back. 

“I think the house takes after you,” he says, turning to face you. “You seem content providing as well. So, I really can’t imagine anyone not wanting you around.”

You shift your weight and clench your jaw. With a thick swallow, you shake your head. “You don’t know me,” you mutter, face contorting with shame.

“And you don’t know me,” he shrugs. “But here we are, a vampire and a blood-witch. Is that a common pair amongst the supernatural?”

You shake your head. 

Chris smiles. “And yet you saved me. And you continue to help me. And I might not know you the way the house or crows do,” he chuckles, watching a smile play on your lips, “but I know that I can comfortably go into the next room and not have to worry about you suddenly opening the window and burning me alive. And I think that’s a good sign when you’re getting to know someone, yeah?”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. Chris does his best to ignore the way they press together and jut out. “Your bar is way too low for strangers, Christopher.”

He tongues his cheek. “ Chris ,” he corrects. 

A mischievous smile spreads across your soft features and Chris wonders if he may have given you some ammunition to tease him later.

“Happy reading, Chris ,” you say. 

The way you emphasise his name almost makes him shiver. 

“Happy conjuring, little witch.”

A renewed sense of pride blooms in his still chest at the way you shyly avert your gaze upon hearing your new nickname. Chris thinks it has a nice ring to it, and you look absolutely adorable when you’re flustered. He allows himself one last once over of your curves, then pulls himself towards the living room.

True to your words, the house has provided a long, wide chaise of midnight blue velvet. It sits before the fireplace with a soft amber blanket draped over the back. Chris settles into the plush cushions, sinking into comfort and props his feet up. He throws the blanket over his waist to replace his towel and asks the house to dim the fire. 

Flipping open the book, Chris starts to learn more about himself, pushing every tempting thought of you out of his mind.

Two weeks go by in a blur and you find that you are no less infatuated by Chris than when you first met him.

 He has such an easy way about him, smiling effortlessly. His eyes are still mismatched as if the sun had burned the vampiric silver of his left iris into his retina. No amount of blood has reversed the damage. However, you don’t mind. In fact, you find yourself feeling relieved when his eyes remain the same pair of brown and grey every time he takes a sip of animal blood. You like the twinkle of mischief that seems to glow so brightly amongst the two colours. Its allure is deliciously dangerous with promises of subtle destruction. You especially enjoy how they squint when he laughs or smiles with his white teeth, still gleaming with joy and lightness. 

You’ve gotten used to his presence, and you think that maybe he has gotten used to yours too. Just two nights ago, he finally told you why he was out so late the night you met. You instantly empathised with him, knowing all too well how powerful the yearning for connection can be. It’s the reason you promised to help again, desperate for a semblance of real, tangible interactions too. 

“And your parents?” you asked, after he told you all about how he hides out in his friends’ basements. “Do they know?”

His jaw set. “They think I died,” he sighs. “Well, they think I’m missing, but it’s been eight years and they bought a headstone so…”

Regret tightened in your chest. “I’m so–”

“My little brother took my old room,” he continued, cutting you off . “I snuck in one night, just to… see, I guess? He still has some of my stuff there, all dusty and untouched. He’s so big now, almost as tall as me,” he chuckled, a small smile settling on his lips. “He plays baseball though. I don’t think I’ve seen any of them go near a swimming pool in years. ”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You wanted to just swallow your previous words, the regret of mentioning his parents wrapping tighter around your heart. 

“My mum saw me once,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. A muted sadness greets you, but his little smile remains on those pink-stained lips. “She was bringing groceries in one night and caught me staring behind some tree. She dropped the bag and called out to my dad. I ran before either of them could see me again,” he paused to swallow.“ I still can’t get the sound of her sobs out of my head.”

You blink the memory away, pulling your dusky plum coloured comforter up to your chin. A part of you wishes you had asked him why he never went back to his parents or let them believe he’d gone missing. Clearly, the thought of them moving on without him still weighs heavy on his heart. But you couldn’t find your word at the time, blinking back tears as he hung his head and spoke so quietly. Besides, you are sure, based on his caring, selfless personality, he likely thought he was doing them a favour by shielding them from his new reality. He was practically brimming with self hatred when you met. 

And you realised, in that vulnerable moment, it was never about feeling the sun or the cold or even the sensation of swimming again. It has always been about being human . Chris craves his humanity more than he values his life. You both know that he was well aware of when the sun would rise, that he fought through his inherent fear of it for the chance to feel near-human again. He even keeps his remaining sun-scars and winks his mismatched eyes because they are consequences of feeling that pain. And as you read more and more about vampires together, the hindrance of potentially accessing his full abilities does not surprise you. To his core, Chris is human, so he is constantly rejecting his vampiric turn. 

That realisation shifted your focus last night. You moved from books about vampires to those about demons. Flipping through pages and pages of information, you found multiple passages about soul-trading. You discovered that some demons demand pure souls in addition to the ones they have already swindled from their summors. This detail, likely lost in the fine-print of most deals, implements a vampiric gene into the summors’ genetics. The variant remains dormant, passing through the bloodline until it finally finds a pure soul to claim.

Chris still can’t believe that one of his ancestors would stoop so low, but you find that reaction in itself is just another testament of his purity.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him, you stare at your star-speckled ceiling. You enchanted it to reflect the night sky on your first night at Crow’s Nest . Actually, you had enchanted the ceiling of the living room, having slept down there until you were able to slowly build your little cottage and refine your new sanctuary. You were terrified of being found and snatched back for sentencing by the Arcane Court. You’re well aware that blood-witches don’t simply break blood bonds and live to tell the tale. You remember using whatever magic you had at the time to unshackle yourself from the bounds of your coven, hop on your broom with your life magically crammed into a knapsack, and escape into the same dark night.

And as you lie here now, sinking into your silky sheets, you find that staring at a shimmering night sky can still ease your nerves all the same. You try to identify constellations and search for the moon between the clouds. You curse under your breath when you finally catch a glimpse of its glow– waxing gibbous . 

Tomorrow is the full moon. 

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to get lost in the stars again, but it’s no use. All you can think about is that damned elixir. 

“I found something,” you muttered to Chris.

He laid in his little nook by the dimmed fire, one hand clutching a book and the other folded behind his head. Peering over at you, a little smirk tugs on his lips. “A new blood recipe?” he asked, knowing you have been testing out some new blends of spices in his blood. 

You shake your head and reply, “A solution . ”

You feel your skin grow hot from the memory of having to explain to him what this solution entails.

At its core, it is simply a recipe for vampiric vitality. And after hearing about his parents and how they have tried to move on from losing him, how he had tried to move on, you remember feeling hopeful. Maybe this could be the key to reclaim his life, to possibly see them again without shame.

However, the summary still gives you pause. It reads:

“The Elixir of the Damned is a rare, potent potion crafted to primarily shield vampires, and other sun-sensitive creatures, from the deadly effects of daylight. By harnessing the mystical properties of a blood-witch's full-moon blood, the elixir enables these creatures to walk under the sun without harm, preserving their strength and powers. Beyond sunlight protection, the elixir grants a surge of energy, reduces the need for frequent feeding, shortens sleep cycles, and reverses their natural nocturnal schedule.

The thick, midnight violet elixir is a luminescent liquid concoction of moonlight essence, ground sage, sunroot and the dust of two diamonds: obsidian and sunstone. The mixture must be thoroughly stirred and refrigerated for a minimum of twelve hours before use. Upon a full-moon, the elixir must be mixed with the menstrual blood of a blood-witch and consumed immediately. For best results, pour and harvest the menstrual blood directly from the source.”

You have the stupid thing memorised, having read it countless times, before finally telling Chris. Though he can’t breathe, you’re certain his breath hitched at the explanation. You remember parting your lips to further explain when he suddenly agreed. 

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” he argued. “I’m willing to keep it strictly professional if you are.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you found yourself replying. “I can do the same.”

And yet you lay here, naked and squirming at the thought of his mouth between your legs because he insisted, and you quote, “If we’re gonna do it, we might as well do it right.”

Do me right , you wanted to reply. Just bend me over the couch and do me right now . 

Instead, you continuously agree and nod and pretend that your arousal isn’t sticking between your thighs as your clit throbs for attention. 

You cup your crotch now, unable to take it anymore. He’s fucking hot– so fucking hot . You have been trying not to stare but he wears these tight tank tops that showcase his muscular arms all the fucking time. You mentally curse his stupid friends for sending such revealing clothes through the crows. He sent them a letter with Poe a day after you agreed to help them and you wonder if he specifically requested these pieces or if this is his usual style. 

Either way, you cannot stop staring. Every ridge and crevices of his buff chest and toned stomach is outlined, completely captivating your attention. You are constantly trying to maintain eye contact, but even that feels too much sometimes. He is always teasing and joking with you, gazing at you with such consuming warmth, you cannot help but feel hot . 

A little gasp escapes you as you spread your legs and drench your fingers with your arousal. Sticky, wet, you need him. Maybe it’s been too long without a good fuck, or you are simply obsessed, but it really doesn’t matter. You need a release right now or you might not make it through the night. 

You start slow, rubbing circles over your needy clit. It doesn’t take long for you to overheat, however. So you pause your movements to shove your blanket off.  Now fully naked and exposed to your cold room, you return your hand between your legs. 

A wet squelching sounds as you rub and rub your fingers round and round. You test out rhythms, squirming under your desperate touch–slow–fast–slow–fast, and bite back a whimper. 

What would Chris do, you cannot help wondering. 

Administering featherlight touches, you know he’d play with you to start. He’d keep his pressure light and quick, wanting to watch you chase after his hand after every fleeting touch. Then, you push down harshly on your clit and bite into your lip harder to hold back a moan. You just know he’d be rough too, forcefully pressing down until he hears you whine his name. 

“Chris,” you let yourself whisper. “Right there, baby.”

A quiet moan slips out with your words and you’re not completely mad about it. It was silent enough and you’re certain he’s too busy sipping on the warmed seven herb spiced blood you left out for him to pay much attention to you right now. 

As much as you enjoy imagining him playing with you, you cannot stand the anticipation anymore. Your needy hole clenches repeatedly, aching to be filled. You shakily gasp and decide to fully give into your desire. Grabbing your wand, you place the handle against your clit and will it to vibrate. You use your other hand to finger yourself, shoving three ambitious digits in. 

“ Oh!”  

You bite your lip, panic sprouting in your chest at the sudden spike in volume. Glancing at the door, you’re relieved to find it still shut. You lay back against your pillow and pick up your pace. He’d be unforgiving. He’d be rough and reckless.

Your body trembles at the thought. 

“Chris,” you whisper into the room. “Please don’t stop fucking me like that.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you imagine him leering over you, smirking and groaning. You imagine his strong frame ramming into you, his relentless grip keeping you in place. Would he want you to hold his gaze? Or would he bury his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and nibble on?

The pleasure only increases. You tense up. The vibrations rumbling from the hilt of your mahogany wand intensifies. Your fingers eagerly move in and out, tight walls closing in on them. 

“ You’re gonna make me cum,” you mutter, breathless and whiny. 

Cum for me , baby , a whisper of a voice orders. Be a good little witch and cum all over my fingers .

The sound is so deep and husky, but also murmurous and hazy. If you had time to focus on it, you wouldn’t have automatically assumed it was internal and perhaps investigated. But the constant pleasure is all too consuming. Working you closer and closer to your release, you cannot register the source of any sound besides that of your fast fingers and vibrating wand.

That pretty pussy looks so delicious . 

Your orgasm catches you off guard, suddenly rippling through you. You squeal lifting your head from your pillow to almost hunch inwards and cum. 

“Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris,” you whisper between whimpers and you rapidly draw every last surge of arousal out. “Oh my god ,” you heave, tossing your wand aside. The stimulation is nearly agonising when paired with your still moving fingers. 

After a few more thrusts, you lay back into your bed, heaving. Your hand slides out and up towards your clit. A single brush of contact makes your body tremble. You retract your hand all together, swallowing a moan. Your legs come together, eyes droop from exhaustion and fatigue. 

You have no idea how you’re going to remain “professional” tomorrow. The sheer thought of him down there coaxed one of your most powerful orgasms. How will you be able to keep your moans at bay, or your body from rolling into his mouth? 

Click.

You snap your attention to your door. It’s shut. Holding your breath, you try to listen for footsteps. When that proves useless, you squint at the gap between the door and floor for movements of shadow. Still, silent, the hallway is empty. 

With a shake of your head, you rest back into your pillow and wave yourself clean. You then tug your comforter back over your spent body and shut your eyes. You just need to get through tomorrow. Once the elixir and ritual is complete, he can return home and you won’t have to see him until your next cycle. 

Chris stands in your room, arms crossed over his chest. It looks warmer under candlelights than it did last night beneath glimmering stars. Unlike the darkness of the bathroom, or warmth of the living room and kitchen, your room is a collection of cool tones, invoking quiet serenity. The walls are a hazy blue, trimmed with crown moulding around the baseboards and ceiling. One wall of the room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books, plants and a plethora of magical objects, like stones, crystal balls, and the occasional skull. A chestnut vanity, large wardrobe and oval mirror sit on his left side by an open window. Sheer violet curtains dance with the gentle wind. 

Underfoot, a thick, handknitted rug of pewter, amethyst and onyx yarn stretches over polished, dark walnut floors. Chris curls his toes into it, attempting to ground himself, as his eyes follow you towards your four-poster bed. It must be a queen– rather fitting for you– since it takes up a substantial amount of space in the centre of the room. The gauzy mauve curtains surrounding your bed part as you approach it. Your matching greyish-plum comforter pulls back, as if welcoming you to silky starlight silver sheets. You wave it back into place then turn to him.  

“It’s almost time,” you say. 

The slight tremor in your voice draws Chris back to the events he witnessed last night. You keep talking now, gesturing to your bed with one hand, while clutching onto the small vial of a deep, inky violet elixir in the other. He sees your pretty mouth moving, but does not register your words. All he hears are your delicate, fragile moans. 

Chris didn’t mean to linger or leer last night. He doesn’t usually go to the second floor when you go to bed, not wanting to disturb you. But he had just come back from collecting some ingredients for the elixir around the island, heard you calling his name and got curious. Once he realised what you were doing, he just couldn’t tear himself away. He remembers the way you squirmed and begged. He remembers the way you worked your fingers in and out of your perfect, needy pussy. He remembers how you held your wand, the one laying on your nightstand right now, and wonders how often you use it for that purpose. How often do you use it thinking about him ?

“Did you hear me?” you ask.

Chris’s eyes widen. “What?”

You tilt your head and give him a serious look. “Chris, do you still want to do this?” 

“Of course.”

“Listen, if you’re having second thoug–”

Chris quickly cuts you off with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, I want this,” he quickly reassures. The eagerness of his statement dawns on him the moment the words leave his lips. Chris immediately tries to save himself from further embarrassment, adding,  “I want to feel normal again.”

You nod, inhaling deeply.

Chris’s attention flickers down to your full chest, watching it rise under your silky black robe then fall as you exhale. He meant to meet your gaze again, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking in your frame. From the curves of your waist to the roundness of your stomach and thickness of your thighs, you are a vision of temptation. 

Your fingers trace the ribbon of your robe, drawing his focus back to your face. You bite on your lips, nervous eyes peering at him cautiously. 

“Are you okay with this?” Chris asks. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”

You swallow thickly. “I want you to feel normal too,” you replied, lips slighting relaxing into a soft smile. “It’s not about changing my mind. I just…” you trail off with a sigh. 

Chris remains silent, giving you the space to collect your thoughts. 

Rolling your shoulders back, you hold his gaze and confess,“I just haven’t been naked in front of someone else in a really long time.”

One of the things Chris has come to find so admirable about you is how unapologetically honest you are about yourself. You do not mince words or circle difficult topics. You stand your ground and say what you mean, uttering every syllable like you are reciting a declaration of love, sincere and unwavering. He catches the way you fist your hands to keep them from trembling and he finds that defiance all the more endearing. 

He tries to bite back a smile at how strong and cute you’re being. Fuck, he’s wholeheartly ready to devour you and show you just how wonderful you are. 

Without another word, he tugs the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He can’t help smirking when you gasp at his bare chest. He’s caught you staring enough time to know you like what you see. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulls them down with his briefs and steps out of them, fully naked in front of you. 

“Now, you’re not alone,” he smiles. 

Eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, you slowly drag your gaze down his frame. You shift your weight and he catches the way your legs press tightly together. The image of them spread and glistening with your arousal flashes between blinks. 

You take another deep breath then untie the knot of your robe. The delicate silk slips off your shoulders, revealing the epitome of supple seduction and plump perfection. 

Chris, already salivating, swallows. Your gaze trails back down to his crotch and he’s certain you are seeing exactly how he truly feels. His cock hardened last night the moment he saw you all needy and whiny. He tried to jerk himself off, hoping to soften again but failed– even after cumming three times.

“Does it bother you?” He gently asks, not moving to hide his erection yet. 

You shake your head. 

“I can put something back on if it does,” he tries again, wanting to be sure you know he is not ashamed of his desire. You’re incredibly hot and you must know it too with the way you constantly tease him with low-cut, form-fitting dresses. It’s partially why he asked Jisung to send him tank-tops and sweatpants when crafting a letter for Poe to send. 

“It’s fine, Chris,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches at the memory of your whiny voice saying his name. 

A little smile plays on your lips as you toss him half a shrug and add, “It was bound to happen at some point tonight. Might as well get over the awkwardness now.”

Chris glares, but the smirk on his face does not hint towards conviction. “Oh, yeah? Get this kinda reaction often, little witch?” 

You bite your lip then teasingly quirk a brow. “Why,” you shoot back. “Jealous?”

He tongues his cheek. “I just wanna know how many members are part of your little fan club.”

You turn towards the bed, displaying your round rear, and reply, “There’s room for one more.”

Chirs suppresses a groan. He tightens his jaw and follows after you. As you lie back into your propped, plush pillows, Chris meets your eyes. All notions of uncertainty have been replaced by carefree mischief. He sits on his knees in front of your legs and offers a small smile. 

“I already recited the spell,” you say, holding out the vial. “All you have to do now is pour it over me and… harvest the blood.”

Chris takes the tiny glass bottle, nodding. “If you ever need me to stop–” he starts, only for you to cut him off with the spread of your legs. 

A richer, more musky aroma of your usual rainwater, sage and wild lavender scent instantly overwhelms his senses. Laced with your menstrual blood, it evokes the earthiness of damp soil and the sweetness of blooming flowers. 

His jaw goes slack, eyes darkening. He can feel his fangs poke out and involuntarily takes a long, slow breath. His lungs do not work, heart still and cold, but he swears he feels them filling from the sheer smell of you. 

Your soft voice cuts through his primal desires, as you whisper,“I trust you.”

With that, Chris uncorks the vial. His free hand settles on your thigh. He smiles to himself at the softness, having only imagined the feeling of it for the last two weeks. He knew you’d feel so delicate, rubbing his hand up and down your warm skin. 

He looks back at you and meets your confident gaze with a little nod, confirming that he’s ready too. Then, he brings the tiny glass bottle to your blood-glistening lips and pours the elixir. It looks a lot like violet-coloured lube and feels that way too as he uses his thumb to rub it around your pussy. 

Your hips stiffen, core clenches at the sudden sensation and Chris darts his attention up to your face again, concerned. However, tentative notions of pleasure greet him. Your brows furrows, and eyes flicker with shy delight. You bite your lip, and that’s when Chris catches the rapid pounding of your heart. 

As he continues to rub the elixir over your clit then drag it down to circle your needy hole, Chris wonders if this is what you imagined him doing to you last night. 

“I think it’s good now,” you say, voice wavering. “We don’t have all night, you know?”

Chris smirks at your little joke. You have a tendency to be rather bossy and he’s been trying to subtly reign in your sassiness with challenging looks and sharper words every now and again. But then you go and test his patience with shit like this– speaking to him like he works for you. It excites and enrages him all at once. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be taking that tone with me, little witch,” he warns, applying pressure with his thumb against your clit. 

Your breath hitches before you clamp a hand to your mouth. 

Chris stifles his laughter. You’re a good girl down to your core. You just need the right person to remind you of that sometimes. 

Now that you are behaving, Chris lowers himself towards your delicious pussy. You smell divine, leaking of blood and drenched in the glow of the elixir. He cannot hold back any longer upon another strong whiff. Tongue flat, he drags it between your lips with a deep, full-chested groan. He repeats the slow action again and again, lowering himself further against the bed until he’s lying down on his stomach. 

He pulls back to loop his arms under your thighs. Pulling the top part of your pussy up, he dives back in. You taste like the ocean breeze on a sweltering summer day, purely refreshing. His tongue circles around your lips and clit, gathering all the leaked blood, which adds a metalicy sweetness to your arousal. A part of him wishes he was able to taste you without the juicy influence of the elixir, wondering how the flavour of your blood would change. 

Chris tongues the entrance of your hole, hoping to ease you into the–what did you call it?– harvest?  

However, upon the first real sip of your menstrual blood, something profoundly primal snaps in the depths of his chest. Unbound by his inhibitions, he growls against your core and shoves his long, wet tongue deep into you. 

A tiny whimper cuts through the loud sound of his slurps, but Chris pays it no mind. He laps and laps tongue-fulls of your blood, swallowing with eager delight. His fingers press into your soft skin, still Chris does not worry about bruising you. Instead, he shakes his head and lets out a series of pleased groans. 

Your hips roll into his mouth and he welcomes the gesture with another slurp of your blood. He can feel the magical substance rush through his body, warming his once cold skin. Every swallow fills another organ and Chris is addicted to that rush of awakening nerves. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, shoving his face further into your sex. Legs wrapping around his head, Chris is only just realising that you’ve been whining and moaning this entire time. He focuses his enhanced hearing on your fragile voice, humming approving groans. 

“Give it to me just like that,” you whimper. “Please, please , Chris.”

Again with those little demands , Chris thinks. At least you remembered to say please this time. 

A mixture of your arousal and blood pools at your entrance, drawing Chris back to his task. His vampiric senses igniting all over again, he does not attempt to hold back. In and out, he shoves his tongue between your tightening walls, gathering as much blood as he can. 

But, it’s not enough. His tongue is only collecting sips. Chris needs gulps . 

He adjusts his grip on your hips, now pressing you firmly into the mattress and latches his lips over your entrance. With a deep breath, Chris begins to suck. He suctions his mouth and siphones your blood out. He swallows mouthfuls of elixir tainted blood and arousal, mismatched eyes rolling back at the satisfaction of such unholy hunger. 

The more he draws, the darker you taste. Chris cannot describe it well, but he thinks it’s the taste of magic, fizzing on his tongue like sparkling water.

“ Oh, fuck ,” you cry, voice breaking as you cum.

A hint of lightness settles on his tongue upon sucking out your orgasm as well. Chris moans in delight, gulping down two more mouthfuls before finally pulling away with a wet pop .

Your legs are hyper-extended, trembling over his shoulders.

Chris glances up at you, curious to see if you’ll own the fact that you just came on his face or if you’ll get all shy and bashful. Your pleased features are laced with exhaustion as you pant. Tired eyes meeting his lustful ones, you quirk a brow. Chris licks his lips, taking the gesture as a silent question of if he is satisfied. 

Physically, Chris is full. He is not sure he can down even the tiniest of sips. Sexually, however, he is just getting started.

“You alright?” he asks, sitting himself up on his knees again. 

You nod, but Chris shakes his head. You know better than to respond like that , he thinks. 

“Talk to me, baby.”

The term of endearment was not intentional, but Chris also does not hate the way it sounds. It slipped out last night too as he talked you through your orgasm. He can tell from the way your lips part and eyes slightly widen that you’re waiting for him to correct himself, but he refuses to. Instead, he holds your eyes without a notion of panic or regret. 

“I’m okay,” you finally mutter between heavy breaths. “I…” you hesitate, attention flickering down to his crotch momentarily. “I need more.”

Chris smirks. “What do you say?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Your lips quiver, desperation seeping into your gaze. “Please fuck me, Chris. No– don’t look at me like that. I know you want this too.”

Chris was trying to hide his smug smile, but upon your demand, he lets it take over his features. You’re a fucking brat, and he has extended the last of his generous patience. Before he can think twice, Chris smacks your sensitive pussy. 

“When,” he smacks it again, “are you,” smack , “going to fucking” smack , “learn?”

Your hips jolt up with every hit, moans trembling as they tumble from your beautiful lips. Your face is a crumpled mess of pleasure and pain, desperate eyes boring into his.

Cupping you with one hand and harshly rubbing, Chris places his other by your head and hovers over your shaking body. “Listen to me, little witch,” he whispers, nudging his bloody nose against yours. “If you talk to me like that again, like I’m your little pet , I will fuck you even after the sun comes up, do you understand?”

You nod eagerly. 

Chris tightens his grip on your crotch, baring his teeth with an annoyed growl. “Use your fucking words,” he orders. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, voice quiet and meek. 

The little whimpers you subsequently let out don’t do much to ease the throb of his cock. In fact, they only intensify it. You sound like wounded prey and he’s tired of fighting against his instincts. He’s been stifling the beast inside for the last eight years, filling himself with self-loathing instead. He’s done hating the power, fully embracing his new supernatural form. 

Releasing his hold on your crotch, Chris immediately aligns and shoves himself between your walls. A loud hiss escapes his blood-dripping lips, fangs on full display, at the tight pressure around him. Fuck, if he hadn’t seen you skillfully fingering yourself last night, he would have believed you were a virgin.

You moan with him, clutching on his shoulders. “Oh, god ,” you groan, enchanting eyes fluttering shut. “ Fuck, fuck– Chris, you’re h-huge. What the actual fuck?”

Chris’s previously irritated resolve wavers upon your squealing voice. He pauses his shallow thrusts to give you time to adjust. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as your nails dig into his warming flesh. “I-I know you need this too.”

Shifting down to his forearms, Chris buries his face in the crook of your neck, and fondly inhales your scent. “Don’t be sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I waited two weeks for this. Another minute won’t make a difference.”

You let out a breathless giggle, wrapping your arms around his head. A delighted hum sounds from your lips and Chris feels the vibrations of it against his face. He smiles to himself before licking and kissing your delicate skin. 

Your heart is beating so fast. He can feel the thumping pounds against his tongue and can’t help but chuckle. Your skin suddenly grows hot and he realises he has embarrassed you. Yet, instead of pushing him off, you clench tighter around him. 

“Please don’t laugh at me,” you whine. 

Chris smirks at your tone and wording, glad to see you’re finally following his orders. Still, he decides to test it again, wondering if it’s just a fluke. 

“I’m not laughing at you, little witch,” he lies.

Instead of calling him out, you remain silent.

Chris pulls back to gauge your features. Though pouting, you refrain from glaring at him too hard. Filled with pride, Chris kisses your cheek, down to your jaw then up to your chin again. 

“Good girl,” he mutters once his lips are hovering over your mouth. 

Your gaze flits between his eyes and blood-stained lips. Chris makes the conscious choice not to kiss you, unsure if the taste of your menstrual blood will be as delicious to you as it is to him. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him anyway, panting beneath him even when he remains motionless inside you.

But then you simply arch your back, pushing your full breasts against him, and mutter, “I’m ready now.”

Chris dips his head back down to your neck. He kisses and sucks on your hot skin, gently thrusting into you. He takes his time, with his hips and lips, dragging the process out only to forcefully shove it back in. 

You’re already trembling, sweet voice hiccuping moans. Chris scratches his fangs over your collarbone just to hear you whimper his name. 

“Please, Chris,” you cry. 

He kisses the slightly wounded area and quietly chuckles to himself. “Do you need something, little witch?” he teasingly asks.

“F-faster, please?” you quickly ask. “I’m not telling. I’m asking– begging! Please, please , Chris!”

His cock twitches. He groans at the sound of your desperate, whiny voice, physically incapable of torturing you any longer. With supernatural speed, Chris’s hips snap into action. He thrusts harshly, fisting the sheets beneath you. The bed creaks and slams against the walls over and over again, overtaking the slapping sound of his hips meeting yours.

Your body shakes and jiggles under him, and he is obsessed with how amazing your skin feels rubbing against his. Your nails scratch at his back, before finally sinking into his shoulders. You brace yourself against him, the sounds of your broken, sobbing moans encouraging him to continue.

"You have no idea what your voice does to me,” Chris groans, lips smothered under your jaw. “I could listen to you all fucking night.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. Chris groans even louder, addicted to the way you’re clinging onto him. 

“Only you can make me sound like this,” you whimper then warn a thrust later, “I’m gonna cum!”

Chris lets out a low, satisfied growl, relentless with his speed and power. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers in a deep, breathless voice, “ Cum for me, sweet girl. ” 

He can feel the erratic beat of your heart against his chest. Your pussy tightly clenches around him, gripping harshly onto his cock. As you cum, squealing his name like a practised spell, he chokes on his own moans. His hips push deep inside you, tensing as he finally unloads himself. Ropes and ropes of his cum fill you up as he growls in response to your meek moans.

Chris thrusts a few more times, wanting to ensure you’ve exhausted your orgasm. Then, in two swift motions, he lifts, pulls himself out, and rolls off you. He lands on the bed with a little bounce and content sigh. He expects to see the night sky on the ceiling, like it was last night, but instead finds the sea. And there, between the lapping waves, Chris catches your reflection.

Raising a brow, he tongues his cheek and looks at you. “Enjoy the show,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes, heat crawling up your neck to spread across your cheeks. “I did, actually,” you definitely reply as a last ditch effort to save a semblance of your self-respect. “You have a great butt, by the way.”

Chris laughs. He throws his head back and lets out a full-chested roar of a laugh. He can’t remember that last time he did that without you around. The last two weeks have made him feel more human than he probably ever had in his life. You’re absolutely remarkable and he’s lucky to have met you, even if it means he had to lose his soul.

Lifting his arm, Chris nods at you, silently ordering you to lean into him. You shift closer and hug his waist without another word, much to his surprise.

“You’re so pretty when you're doing as you're told,” Chris praises.  

“I’m pretty always,” you retort. 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Just take the compliment,” he chuckles.

“You’re not fucking me,” you practically whine. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“You’re impossible,” Chris mutters under his breath. But he still holds you close, tracing soothing circles around your shoulder.

You both bask in the silence while he gives you a second to catch your breath. Once he hears your heart beat normally again, Chris asks, “Does it work right away?”

You hum with uncertainty, waving your hand to summon the book. It flies towards you then hovers over your faces. After flipping through the pages, it lands on the recipe for the elixir.

Chris tilts his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this the right book?” he asks, as he skims through the paragraphs. 

You flip the page, mumbling, “Yeah.” 

There are only a few books in your personal library that Chris cannot read, having been written in an ancient language he has tried and failed to understand. However, as he stares longer at the page, Chris finds that he can read every word. 

You gasp, sitting up. The book moves with you, hoving in front of you instead of on top of you now. Not that it even matters, since you grab the book from mid-air and pull it into your lap.

Chris sits up beside you. He brushes your hair off your shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong? Did we do it wrong?”

You bring a hand to your mouth as if you cannot believe what you’re reading. “We fucked up,” you whisper. 

A smirk plays on his lips. “Does that mean we get to do this again?” 

Setting the book down, you rub your face and choke back a chuckle. “No, I mean,” you start, turning to face him. “We really fucked up.”

Chris’s smile falters. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently running his hand up and down your bicep. “It’s alright, little witch. Take a breath,” he whispers, making sure to keep his voice light. “What happened?”

Your eyes shut, brows knotting, and lean into him. “There is a disclaimer at the end of every spell, recipe, ritual– Whatever it is, there is always a disclaimer that outlines the side effects or possible consequences to alterations.”

Chris nods, urging you to continue. 

“The magic we were using is called sex magic. It usually uses the sexual energy created between the participating parties to harness power. In our case, we were only meant to use it to make you sun-proof, for lack of a better word.”

“I can think of three better words,” Chris can’t help but tease. 

You fight off a smile, glaring at him. “Keep them to yourself,” you demand. 

Chris pauses, wanting to tell you to behave but he can’t move his lips. His voice has diminished too, like his body is physically incapable of ordering you around. 

Guilt flashes in your eyes. “When we had sex, with the elixir and spell tangled in the initial act of harvesting my blood, the purpose of the ritual shifted,” you continue, shoulders tensing. “It may have bound you to me.”

“What?” Chris asks, trying and failing not to sound annoyed. “What does that mean?”

“Witches often have familiars and demons are often serving creatures. They get summoned and must fulfil the summoner's request to be released. The spell has been documented to intertwine the two when more than the required act was performed,” you explain.

What about the crows , Chris wants to ask. He thought they held the role of a familiar. 

You shake your head. “They’re more like co-inhibitors. It is their island afterall.”

Chris retracts his arm from you, setting his jaw. He knows he did not say that out loud so how the–

Shit, did I just read his mind?  

Your voice is clear in his head. Blinking, Chris swallows thickly. “Is that normal?”

You hesitate. “I’ll look into it.”

“How could you have missed this?”

“I was a little busy trying to find all the ingredients,” you argue. 

Chris deadpans. “ I found the ingredients,” he corrects. 

You bite your lip, face crumbling with remorse. “I’m sorry, I–” you cut yourself off with a sigh then start again. “Honestly, I was too busy thinking about you eating me out. It’s why I made you go out and get those ingredients last night. I wanted the house to myself to just let out some of my–”

“Temptations?”

“ Frustrations ,” you correct with a playful glare. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

Chris sighs. He rubs his face and slumps back against your pillows. 

This may not have been what he wanted, however while he wants to be upset, he cannot find it in him to be disappointed. You’re a great friend, a better lover and he’d be insane to reject you. The only real downside about this newfound connection is his inability to put you in your place. You tend to get a bit too cocky and mouth off when he lets one too many sassy comments slide. 

“I don’t want this going to your head, little witch,” he warns, meeting your gaze again. 

You try to hide that mischievous smile and not being able to correct it is already driving him crazy.

“No promises,” you tease. Leaning over him, you stroke his chest and add, “But you have permission to keep me in check whenever you please.”

Chris tongues his cheek. “You had to have known that I would hate the way you said that.”

Your little smile is enough confirmation. 

Chris shoves you back into the bed with a gentle push of your shoulder. “You clearly haven’t had enough,” he murmurs, stationing himself between your legs again. 

“But the elix–”

“To hell with the fucking elixir,” he growls. “I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck your mouth clean.”

The way you shiver at the sound of his voice arouses him all over again. Shifting off the bed, Chris stands at the edge and gestures for you to adjust yourself so your head is hanging off the mattress. 

And with a simple tug of your chin, he’s determined to stay true to his words.

You eagerly oblige him. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[agena87]

Forest Divinity set

This is the kind of set I've always wanted to make but never thought I'd be able to (not that I ever tried). And now it's here!

I'll be honest, and don't pretend I meshed everything 'cause that would be a big lie; anyway those of you familiar with Baldur's Gate 3 would know I'm lying, anyway (plus, I do give credit where it's due), for most of those are converted (often edited/frankenmeshed) from said game.

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What to know:

-9 different pieces that can all be worn at once (though some of the face piercings will be hidden by the mask, so maybe you won't put those on; but if you want, you can. No overlapping textures!) -BGC -Male & female, teen to elder -Disallowed for randoms -All occults (except werewolves) -Colour tagged

Antlers: -22 swatches -Polys: 2770 | 2306 | 1916 -Found in: Occult brow (if you don't find it, you need to use this mod by Crilender) Antlers accessories: -145 swatches -Polys: 6622 | 5424 | 3872 -Found in: Right brow ring Mask: -145 swatches -Polys: 4087 | 3255 | 976 | 488 -Found in: Glasses Spine headpiece: -22 swatches -Polys: 4624 | 1710 | 828 -Found in: Hats Earrings: -121 swatches -Polys: 1204 | 992 | 296 -Found in: Earrings (bet you couldn't guess that one! /jk) Eyebrow piercing: -88 swatches -Polys: 429 | 212 | 105 | 73 -Found in: Left brow ring Nose bridge piercing: -105 swatches -Polys: 128 | 88 | 52 | 52 -Found in: Left nose ring Skull nose piercing: -22 swatches -Polys: 520 | 366 | 90 | 54 -Found in: Right nose ring Septum: -9 swatches -Polys: 256 | 178 | 106 | 62 -Found in: Right lip ring

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TOU

🔸 Don’t claim as yours 🔸 Don’t re-upload 🔸 Recolours are OK (even including the mesh), just credit me and redirect to the original 🔸Obviously, if you do recolours, DO NOT PUT BEHIND A PAYWALL OF ANY KIND (no EA, no adlink, no whatever). And don't post it on Curseforge under any circumstance. 🔸 Edits are also OK, but the same rules as for recolours apply! (credit me, no paywall, no Curseforge) 🔸 Eat broccoli! 🥦 🔸 Enjoy! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

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DOWNLOAD Patreon - always free SFS (.rar or pick'n'choose)

[wampabampa]

Ding ding ! Order up !!

I finally finished it! After putting it off for three weeks! She is done!

Riley Moa! The fiery little diner owner of Home! Riley came to home with a dream..a dream to cook!

Unfortunately for her Howdy ruined everyone’s taste buds with soap and wood chips…but she shall prevail!

As a puppet she was primarily used as a background character(a lot like the Joyful siblings and Ms. Beagle), only ever being more than a bgc in one or two episodes. Her puppet version has a pot of coffee glued to her hand cause what diner doesn’t serve its patrons coffee?!

Personality wise she has no clue what’s going on, she’s just there servin eggs man.

“Oh Julie threw a bowling ball through the window? Where? ..Huh?? Here? Rlly?? When? Just now!?” She tryin her best man🥄😔❤️

Other than zoning out 200% of the time, Riley is mighty argumentative! Always having something to say when it comes to food specifically. She just can’t let people think your mashed potatoes are supposed to be bubbly! Horrible, awful, blastfomus! (Has sent howdy hate mail saying his products are, and I quote, “the most uncool stuff ever” ) (her hate mail was lost thanks to Barnaby) (sad) Maybe one day she’ll teach that caterpillar a lesson or two, but until that day comes, keep cookin Wambs!!

She is also a sugar lover! Loves sugar so much that she refuses to bake unless necessary in fear she will eat all the sugar!! She pays Poppy to bake her diner treats for her 😔🥄❤️ get that bag Poppy

I am horrible at like actually explaining a character so ima stop there and let it progress as I post more😔 doodle time + color sheet + fits ref

☀️Note🪲 her colors have changed compared to the fits ref sheet! The first img is her new colors

[purplesurveys]

1858

Do you know anyone who has divorced and remarried the same person? What do you/would you think of someone who does that? I don't think so. In theory I wouldn't care, but tbh I don't encounter divorce all that much. It's not legal here so I can't say I understand the complexities of it all that much.

Do you say goodnight to anybody before you go to bed? If so, does it feel weird if you go to bed without saying it to them? No one, unless we count the dogs. Yes, I need to say goodnight to them otherwise I'd feel bad. I also have this whole routine with them where I pinch their cheeks and tell them how handsome they've been today, before I head up myself to turn in haha.

Do you have a favourite role of Johnny Depp's? If you don't like him, what is your favourite role of an actor you like? I do not have a favorite Johnny Depp movie. But to answer the other question, I loved Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting. Okay, him and Robin Williams because he was also terrific as the therapist.

Why did you/your parents choose to live where you do now? Would you move right now if you were able to? Why/why not? If so, where would you like to go? It's a quiet village, and it remains conveniently close to my grandma – meaning while we have a place of our own, it still allows us to reach her quickly for any emergencies. We also wanted to get out because of all the alcohol problems going on the duplex; and because, simply put, living as 12 people in a home designed for 5 was just too suffocating.

I can't move out now if we're talking about my dream location (BGC) because it's too expensive and I want to save up quite a bit more if I want to be able to afford that lifestyle. If any other place than BGC though I think I could already start managing.

If someone broke into your house and robbed you, what could they take that would piss you off or upset you the most? To what lengths would you go to get it back? Has something like this already happened to you before? The dogs, including Kimi's urn. Also my phone tbh, since all my memories are there.

The phone will probably be easy enough to give up, but I won't stop fighting for the dogs, I imagine.

Was there something you were afraid of as a child that just seems silly to you now? Alcohol. I thought it was poison based from how horribly my elders managed their drinks. When I tried it out for the first time and learned to enjoy it, that's when I discovered that it really just depends on the person.

Do you like coffee? I love coffee, which is proving to be torture for me right now because I went through a recent health scare that requires me to skip coffee :(

When did you last make up a baby’s bottle? Never.

Do you eat your dinner at a dining table, coffee table or just off your lap? Either at the dining table or living room couch. Much infrequently, my room.

Did you go to high school with your current best friend? Yes. I even went to college with her, albeit for different degrees.

Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? Technically, no, because my parents refuse my help; but I send them a cut from my pay every two weeks nonetheless.

How many cars can fit in your driveway? Around 3.

Have you ever slapped someone in the face? Yes.

Last person you took a nap with? I guess the overnight with my workmates last month counts as a nap? We had an event with a 2 AM calltime so we went ahead and booked a hotel nearby, but we didn't start turning in til 12 AM.

Does seeing your mother cry automatically make you feel sad as well? Sure.

Have you ever given up on someone, but then went back to them later? Kind of, yeah.

Is your last ex currently in a relationship? I neither know nor care. I haven't for a while now.

Do you think the last person you kissed has feelings for you? No, they don't.

Have you ever been punched in the face? Nope.

Are you the type of person who seeks out revenge? The most I do is visualize it in my head for that brief feeling of satisfaction, but I have never acted any form of revenge out.

Have you ever been asked out by someone you didn’t want to be with? Yes.

Who is the last person to call you gorgeous? I can't remember.

Do you think a lot before you fall asleep? Nah, I just go through IG reels for some funny memes lmao. I never want to be back in that phase where thinking keeps me up at night.

Would you rather have your parents catch you having sex or smoking weed? Sex, I guess. They'd have a much more violent reaction with anything related to drugs.

Do you like it when people call you babe? No.

Would you ever get your nipples pierced? Never.

Does it bother you to get shots in the mouth? Does it hurt? Well so far, no. I've gotten shots in the teeth twice for wisdom tooth extractions, and they both felt like nothing. I guess it's a matter of the dentist and if they'd be heavy-handed or not.

Ever ride in a limo? When did you last do so? Never been in a limo.

Do you have a lot of self-discipline? I'd say for the most part I have it in check, but I'm awful in a few contexts lol like how I always get food delivery even WHEN I DO NOT HAVE MONEY

Have you ever been to another country’s capital city? I have been to two – Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur. I'm not counting Singapore, lol.

What’s something that has upset you lately? Hearing of instances of pet neglect/abuse.

What’s something you don’t think people take seriously enough? Education. I could very well go on and on about this. It's very frustrating.

Have you ever dated someone who had a child from a previous relationship? Nope.

What’s your favorite kind of soup? I love a good creamy mushroom soup, or miso soup.

Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Once with my family, on our trip to Ilocos over a decade ago.

Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? Probably :)

Do you have any important anniversaries you celebrate? [trigger warning: suicide] It's important to me, but April 7 is the day I discovered BTS; I've also associated it as the day I was pretty much saved from killing myself, because I already had had plans to do so that month.

What will be the next concert you attend? Not a concert but I am thinking about going to Kim Soo Hyun's fanmeet next month.

Have you ever seen a horseshoe crab? They’re scary, right?! Yeah, I see what you mean.

When was the last time you had a hangover? May last year.

Do you own many pairs of shorts? I wouldn't call it many. It's like, 5 pairs.

Who was the last person you texted? Hans.

When was the last time you felt like letting it all out and having a cry? I cried every day, January to February of this year. I thought it was never going to end. I'm very happy I managed to get myself out of that rut.

When was the last time someone made you feel like an idiot? Ooh that was like last week when I was asking a question sincerely and my mom answered me like I was the dumbest. I haaaaaaated it and wasn't able to hold back either – I remember asking her to please don't talk to me like I'm stupid.

Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? Sure.

What was the last restaurant you made a reservation at? Circles.

Would you rather read a book, or listen to the audiobook? Read.

What is your favorite book? I haven't found it yet.

What is something you're insecure about? Mmm, maybe the bumps on my forehead. They're not a lot, but it still bothers me because it used to be clear.

What do you consider your biggest accomplishment? Moving on from my breakup allowed me to heal and soar in a way I've never done before. Hans and Angela always remark on it.

Who knows you the best? I don't know. I want to say Andi.

Will anyone be visiting your house any time soon? I don't think so.

Scroll through your camera roll quickly without looking, then stop it with your finger. What's the first picture your eye lands on? Jungkook.

Have you ever been chased by a dog? Only in a playful context.

What's your favourite kind of soda? Ooh, I don't like soda.

Do you have a drink with you right now? What is it? Just water.

What was the last app you opened on your phone? Photos, because you asked me to check my camera roll.

Is your voice high, low, or somewhere in the middle? It's ever so slightly on the low side.

Are you wearing any rings right now? Nope.

How many beds are in your home?F Four.

What is the last thing you ate? Paella.

Who is your favorite person to spend time with? Angela and Hans.

Are you considered a "clingy girlfriend"? When I was in a relationship, I used to be.

Are you good at multitasking? Yes, especially at work.

When's the last time you went to a nightclub? Around three weeks ago, but it was for work because it was an event that was held in a nightclub.

[angeaxscoro]

I need to watch BGC tour vlog and where to eat next cause I honestly lost in Venice Plaza two times, Com'on I just need to change my address but I lost lol.

[ireceived-p8250000]

May 4-9, 2014

I practiced driving with my brother Marvin. He had another motive for helping me—he bargained not just for a little money but also for our dad's gun. He needed it for reasons he didn't share.

While driving, my boyfriend kept texting me. I opened one of his messages, but Marvin took the phone away, lecturing me about the dangers of using phones while driving. I had another exam at the end of the month for my non-pro license, so I needed to focus on learning every bump and curve.

We drove quite a distance, and I noticed how smooth the sedan was. It had a feature where it slowed down if you stopped. We eventually stopped to eat at a traveler's eatery, a turo-turo. Marvin knew some people there, and they were curious about me. He introduced me as his sister, though I was actually his sister-in-law. I didn't like how his friends looked at me, and I asked for my phone back. Marvin gave it to me, and after some brief, disinterested answers, his friends stopped trying to chat with me.

On the way back, I practiced successfully parking my new car. Marvin also put a bumper sticker on the back to signal other drivers not to hassle me.

Monday, I helped my friends with their experiments. Luckily, we found Dom's old seminary classmates, and they helped ensure the experiment's success. We ate out and then went home.

Tuesday, Mansoor and I woke up at 5 a.m. and took the bus at 7. We had a full ride to Quezon City, arriving at noon. Our first stop was Diliman, where we explored books at OBookau Ukay. We wandered around before checking into a hotel. It was cheap and had a pool. We shared a bed and explored Cubao X and the old cities, enjoying the nightlife.

We got a bit drunk and went swimming in the hotel pool. Back in our room, things got heated, but we didn't have protection, so we improvised. We tried watching some adult content, but it wasn't enjoyable for me. I told him, "We'll figure it out."

"It's fine. At least we're learning together," he replied.

Wednesday morning, we had another swim, had breakfast at a local place, and then checked out. We went to Makati, visiting Silverlens Gallery, The Met Manila, and Ayala. We explored BGC, which was tiring, and then headed to Pasay at night. We stayed in a motel for a few hours to shower and rest before going out for dinner.

Thursday, we returned to Baguio early in the morning. Over coffee, we discussed our intimacy and decided we weren't ready to go all the way yet. We were happy to take things slow.

When I got home, the fighting was still ongoing. Dad was forcefully telling Roxanne to leave. He was very stubborn, dealing with things his way. This led to a fight between Dad and me. I told him we didn't need him, which made him act childishly, complaining to my mother. I tried to protect Roxanne, who was crying and said she would go to a friend's place for a while. I told her we would find a dorm for her, and I’d pay for the first two months.

I tried to apologize to Dad, but he wouldn't be convinced about Roxanne. On Friday, we went apartment hunting. Most places were far from her school or just bed spacers. One of her friends referred us to a place near her university. It was good, not too crowded, though a bit pricey.

On Saturday, we saw the place. It was decent—2k a month, including utilities. It was a bedspace, shared by four girls: two in college and two working. Quietly, Roxanne and I went home to pack her things. She would be moving Sunday, and Mansoor and I volunteered to help.

[thehungrykat1]

Sakagura and JETRO Presents The Art of Japanese Liquor

The Japan External Trade Organization (JETRO) recently hosted an exquisite Japanese wine and sake pairing dinner called The Art of Japanese Liquor at Sakagura in Bonifacio Global City. Together with industry partners Philippine Wine Merchants, Hightower, and Mitsukoshi Fresh, JETRO introduced its VIP guests to some of the finest sake and shochu cocktails in the country, paired with the freshest seafood and wagyu dishes from Sakagura.

The exclusive dinner event happened last February 1, 2024 at the new Sakagura izakaya and sake bar located on the second floor of One Bonifacio High Street Mall in Bonifacio Global City. The Hungry Kat was one of the few selected guests invited to this one of a kind sake pairing to promote the unique Japanese liquors available in the country.

Indulge in the art of Japanese cuisine at Sakagura, which opened its doors to the public only late last year. This new premium sake bar is from The Nikkei Group which also owns and operates popular brands like Nikkei Nama Bar, Sunae Asian Kitchen, and Terraza Martinez, among others. Sakagura offers a selection of premium sakes from renowned Japanese breweries which you won't often find in other Japanese restaurants.

It was just our first time to visit Sakagura so I was happy to find some familiar faces including the evening's host Gail Sotelo and Nikkei Group marketing manager Monica Modomo.

Guests were ushered to their seats where a medley of premium Japanese cocktails will be introduced and served throughout the evening, all paired with lovely dishes from Sakagura.

The Art of Japanese Liquor actually started even before we got to sit down. Guests got a small taste of what was to come with their Welcome Drink, the Aperol Spritz blended with sparkling sake.

I love drinking Aperol Spritz which is an Italian cocktail, but Sakagura gives it a unique Japanese twist by using sake instead of Prosecco.

We also got to chat with The Nikkei Group owner Carlo Lorenzana together with JETRO Manila Director Makoto Sudo who works with retailers and restaurant owners to connect them with the best Japanese wine suppliers available.

Mr. Sudo-san, as he is fondly called, welcomed all the guests to The Art of Japanese Liquor and gave a brief introduction to Japanese wine including the differences between sake and shochu.

All these premium Japanese liquors are available at Mitsukoshi Fresh BGC, one of our favorites supermarkets where we can always find amazing Japanese products at very reasonable prices. JETRO has worked with Mitsukoshi Fresh to bring these authentic Japanese liquor to the Philippines

Our table was very excited to explore these colorful Japanese cocktails. Joining us were Ms. Heidi Ng, a journalist who also happens to be a classmate of my husband back in Ateneo; Ms. Jackie Lorenzana, owner of The Nikkei Group; and Attorney Karen Jimeno who we have seen countless times on the news for her cases and advocacies.

We started our adventure with the Nihon Sidecar which is made with Daiyame Sweet Potato Shochu, lemon juice, cointreau, aperol, and brown sugar. This is a sweet and refreshing cocktail that can be enjoyed any time of the day.

Our delightful beverages were paired with a sample of the best bar chows you can find courtesy of Sakagura Executive Chef Yonemoto Kazumasa. Chef Yonemoto crafted the evening's dinner from the day's freshest catch.

I heard that Sakagura flies in their seafood straight from Japan every week, so we knew we were getting the best quality items as if we were eating in Tokyo. The Sakagura Sashimi (P1,680) is a platter featuring the Chef's Choice of the day's best sashimi cuts like Toro Tuna, Salmon and Hamachi sashimi. 

We can really tell by the color and tenderness of the sashimi that these are really fresh. We got to explore some of the restaurants in Tokyo and Osaka last year and I have to admit that dining at Sakagura is as close as you can get to actually being there in Japan.

There were several other cocktails to try on the menu. The Yuzu Margarita is also made with Daiyame Sweet Potato Shochu together with Arette Blanco tequilla, lime juice and simple syrup. This is a more powerful combination for those that want a stronger cocktail.

We had this with the Hamachi Tataki, a harmonious mix of tender hamachi, refreshing cucumber, and smooth avocado, finished with a tangy yuzu mayo and kosho.

Next up was the Sakagura Martini which brings together Kakushigura Barrel Barley Shochu with Masamune "Malola" Junmai Ginjo Sake, Tanqueray Gin, and Takara Mio Sparking Sake. Now this is a combination that really gives a strong kick.

The Assorted Sakagura Handrolls (P2,250) is one of the restaurant's unique specialties. This is a culinary mosaic made of the finest ingredients. The handrolls are each made with kani, uni, hamachi, salmon and tuna, all prepared with their own ingredients. The Salmon handroll is the perfect blend of tender trout, creamy avocado, and rich cream cheese rolled to perfection. On the other hand, the Uni Ikura handroll comes with Hokkaido's sea urchin, ikura, and Nikkei sauce.

To make the evening even more special, the Japanese Wagyu Skewers (P980) was a savory complement to all of the Japanese cocktails. These tender wagyu cubes were grilled perfectly, with each bite bursting with flavors.

The last drink I tried was the Kagoshima Gimlet which combines Kakushigura Barrel Barley Shochu with lime juice and simple syrup. After having a taste of all four cocktails, I think my personal favorite would be the Sakagura Martini for its rich and strong mix of spirits.

It seems that they were saving the best for last as Sakagura brought out the highlight of the evening, their signature Miso Bone Marrow (P750).

This beautiful slab of glistening bone marrow is served on its own individual griller and perfectly paired with uni butter onigiri. This is a dish that speaks volumes of the intricacy of Japanese cuisine. You can eat both items separately, but better yet, slather some bone marrow on top of the hot onigiri for a more indulgent experience.

For dessert, we had out choice of Hokkaido Mille Crepe Cakes (P380) in both matcha and chocolate flavors. This was topped off with some ice cream for a fantastic finish.

We would like to thank Sunny Ku of Mastermind Asia Communications Inc. for inviting us to join this special evening filled with delicious Japanese food and drinks. We really love Japanese cuisine so we absolutely enjoyed The Art of Japanese Liquor. Thank you to JETRO and The Nikkei Group for hosting this fabulous event.

Sakagura

2/F One Bonifacio Mall, 28th Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig

(0956) 029-4791

www.nikkei.com.ph/sakagura

www.facebook.com/sakaguramanila

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

8.25.23 Friday

12:03 am

I still have windblow trap... Just got back from Montana and we had our first practice call... Well, Mia did good... Me? I had 3 out of 10 calls that I wasn't able to put memo but I went back to finish the memo... I had a hard time on navigating the tools while talking over the phone, I got panic and nervous...

So, meaning my calls were flop calls only 3 somehow succeed today... This call center agent thingy is really weird, stressful and challenging for me. It is hard at first to multi-task meaning you talk, think and navigate tools on screen all at the same time. IT IS REALLY HARD ANGELS!

I feel somehow intimidated on the new girl there which I don't like, I only want Coach Melai as our girl coach other than her, I'm not welcoming unless a foreigner girl...

I don't want any girl Filipino coach who will enter that Montana room where we learn the skills, other than Melai only...

Kevin and the other guy were there as a new mentors...

Coach John was there as always... Melai is on her rest day until tomorrow and she will go back on Monday...

Coach John told me these act if I forgot to put memo after the call, it is terminable and I told him I wanted to do this job, why other women can do and why I can't... I told him can you make a way not to terminate me, I mean I wanna stay for the job... I feel hurt and irritated and somehow intimidated... I told him what about a "blow" I need money and I wanna do the job.

I feel so angry on the nature of the job... I know Mr Gokongwei is partly probably an owner of some plans on a particular company handled by Iqor... Here in call center is different... Many fakes and liars... Sometimes you will say who done it???

I can't accept it that why those Filipina women there can do it? Why, I can't??? I just need help angels that I wanna acquire skills no matter how slow I'am...I wanna be untouchable but how angels? I'm really asking coach John... Can I give you blow??? I just don't like being kick-out...

First I can speak English doing the job in call center can give you complex... 2nd it gives an intimidation coz why other women can do it? And why other older people can still do it? Why, I can't????

The obstacle on the phone is the way of talking of your customer or their talking styles... Some customers are not clear on their way of delivery of their words... Some are super slang... Sometimes words are not clear... An obstacle....But why they can,why I can't?

Hoping to reach the foreigner owner there.... Can I stay for the job? I feel irritated and angry... I feel intimidated..

10:06 am

I have favour on my angels if my baby John die, I also want to die... Coz I know there are rituals in this world....I wasn't able to go up that is the sad part ...

My baby John is not eating since Thursday crime, I hate some people in the Church Of Christ who got the ritual of endless life....

10:32 am

Probably he wants bread... John wants to eat bread probably and their df.. Whew!

10:40 am

Special thanks to Robby...

The new guy in the classroom from wave 563... He is originally from BGC... For calming me last night while doing my practice calls ...

11:07 am

Early morning today John is barking on me around 8am.... He will lick my feet and bark and if he can can lick my face he will do that...He is trying to awaken me that's his character, then if I'm up already I will embrace him and he will wag his tail...

11:25 pm

Will go home now... Funny this coach John he is nice and plastics as well for telling me that I have a language barrier, I will really wanna end-up with an american...

I'm not mad on Coach John but telling that phrase to me that I have "language barrier" it is ouch in my part.... I had 7 calls today then I figured out that all of us had 7 calls today or some...

It is somehow weird that these people are having a weird behaviour on me...

This job is somehow degrading in my part but it challenge me so much... It is not easy coz you are talking over the phone... Not all calls are smooth,not all americans are intellectual... Not all americans are clear on delivering their words... It gave complex on me... It hurts my ego but if I can end-up with a wealthy man and put up my own call center hahaha aside from my Pet Store I want it that way or probably will put up an English Tutorial Business... To save my dying ass....

Most specially, I had have windblow trap that is overlapping in my head angels...

Coach John feels it so much that he is better coz he master everything there... Though, in a way he is good but telling me that I should watch English movies to remove the language barrier....It is a serious kick on my face... Coz customers over the phone even they are americans some are not good on pronouncing their native language.

Coach John wanted me to dig deeper on my customer's lives....But this is job and job and an important job but just a job professionally.... But in a way my customer on 7th wanted to cancel their 4 lines and I just confirmed it if she wanted to really cancel the 4 lines and she said yes! I asked why? Coz it is no longer connecting on the other device. So I just made a shortcut probe to my customer that if that's the only reason that "she will no longer use it"... My customer said yes! I'm not gonna use it anymore... For me? That's it....

[beingjellybeans]

From Samosas to Lassis: A Culinary Journey at Swaadisht Manila, Uptown Mall BGC

Swaadisht is a Hindi word that means “delicious” or “tasty.” The term is often used to describe the flavors and spices of Indian cuisine. Indian cuisine is known for its wide range of flavors, aromas, and textures, and is heavily influenced by regional variations, religious and cultural practices, and historical events. Swaadisht is an important aspect of Indian cuisine, and is a reflection of…

[withlovelica]

divine cream puffs of baristart coffee

Pluviophile [ ploo-vee-uh-fahyl ] noun. a person who enjoys rain and rainy days, and who is fascinated by the sights, sounds, etc., of rain

I may be a self-confessed pluviophile but these passed days the rain has been more of a hassle than a source of comfort. We have had bad weather for weeks and quite frankly, it has affected my mood and it is not the good kind. But, what can you do? :) Let's just keep hoping the sun finally shows up and stays for a change.

Despite the struggle, I am tremendously grateful for a few minutes of warmth in BGC where my dad and I celebrated my mom's 70th. HOORAY! Amada is (or could have been) 70 today!

Happy Birthday, Mommy!

We were conversing what my mom would be doing to celebrate her day! Dad says she would have invited all her Manulife friends and threw herself a grand celeb. I MISS HER.

Lunch was at Baristart for the second time.

Baristart is a Hokkaido based concept cafe along 26th street in Bonifacio Global City. It boasts of their artisan coffee splashed with a hearty serving of ultra-premium Hokkaido BIEI jersey milk and Hokkaido cream puffs (think of Beard Papa only better). I am kidding, I love Beard Papa and Baristart's in the same league with their unique blend of flavors. (what I tried today was so good).

I particularly liked this humongous colorful illustration of Baristart coffee right outside their restaurant, although the seats were not as comfortable, the people-watching game here is strong! Lalo na if you are alone, it is not as awkward as it is. I like that because I particularly enjoy eating alone...and watching people haha. Okay, enough. That's my dad by the way (in the photo on top) hehe, I made him pose to get my point across. OKAY ALREADY.

To adhere to my "diet" of eating chicken for lunch and fish for dinner, I ordered Karaage (P380.00). My a la carte plate consisted of six pieces of chicken, a complementary wasabi sauce, and a small portion of salad on the side. It was spot on! and as expected, the sauce stung the sinuses. I was asking dad if we eat wasabi for the sensation than the flavor. I mean take away the tingle and you are left with nothing right?

Dad had a mouthful of Hokkaido Carbonara (P520.00). I should have ordered this one.

My husband says I have a knack for not selecting the specialties; according to him, I order the "weird stuff, yung hindi dapat in-oorder". I do not know hehe. I choose what I know, in this case, I needed chicken and there was Karaage hehe. I will be more adventurous next time. OR when need be.

and...here we are, the Crème de la crème (chef's kiss)...

The food was ordinary haha give me more time I promise I will have something exceedingly good to say. It is just that I have my particulars in order when it comes to Japanese food but this, is something my dad and I keep coming back to:

the coffee + the creme puff.

I can just order this and leave.

please excuse my plans and handwriting hehe, I realized there is nothing aesthetic about my handwriting hahaha I should just give it up.

I had Caramel Flavored Latte (P225.00) and split a Banana Puff (P 250.00) with dad which tasted like Banoffee pie. These two make a perfect team. I enjoy Banoffee but always felt it was incredibly filling; yet Baristart's version nailed the right consistency, flavor and blend. Basta, ang sarap.

Yup. So there you have it, Baristart and a few seemingly sunny photos of BGC.

Please pray for us, we need the sun.

BYE. :)

Love, Lica

______________________________

Baristart Coffee Philippines is at Unit 5 ground floor Meridien Tower Two, 1201, 26th St, Taguig, 1634 Metro Manila | 10 AM - 10 PM | 0921 843 2015

[yolttusi]

11:20 ( 05/01/23 )

Finally, May has begun! After being liberated from everything, I desperately needed a break, so the first thing I did when I got home was watch a K-drama, eat ramen with cheese, and go to sleep happily until waking up in the afternoon. But before that, I went back onto BGC last night and ran into the cats I regularly see on the streets! They are the same cat that I feed cat food to. Adobo is the name of the first one, and Tapa is the name of the second! I gave them their names out of boredom and because they were the same cats who were clinging to me. My stomach growls at the mention of their names. In addition, for the entire time I have lived in Manila, I have insisted that stray cats eat properly to the point where I use this route solely to distribute cat food. People in my immediate area thought that was incredibly cool of me. But all I wanted to do was help cats because I honestly love them and want to. I'll continue to go down this Street merely to run into them once more. I'll meet you around Tapa and Adobo! I appreciate you for always being there for me whenever I experience unpleasant days.

[kristinemaebsnapshots]

O2 Rooftop Bar

Sunday BBQ @ O2 Bar BGC We’re the first customer to arrive and we’re able to choose our desired table with a nice view. As we enjoy the view and our meal, unfortunately, it suddenly rained. When the staff and the manager noticed that it’s raining, the first thing that they did was to assist us to transfer in a covered area along with our orders. Then when we are already in the covered area, that’s the time that they decided where we can seat and continue eating. I must commend how they handled the situation. When the rain stopped, a staff approached us and offered us to transfer back to our previous spot so we can enjoy the view instead of dining near the bar which is just an improvised spot. Supposedly, there are no tables on the spot we are currently located. Since what we came for is the view, of course, we agreed to transfer. The staff and the manager are attentive to the needs of their customers which is really a plus. 

At night, there’s also a live DJ so you can enjoy the nice view of the place and chill at the same time.  If you want to check out the place, it’s just across from SM Aura and located on top of Dusit D2 Hotel.  6.05.2022 | 📸 @kristinemaeb

[purplesurveys]

1833

What's for dinner tonight? Too soon to tell, it's only 8 AM; I don't even know yet what food I'm craving today haha. I'll be in BGC this afternoon for an event though, so I'm already thinking of picking up Shake Shack – either that or Salad Stop.

Do you prefer cold or room temperature drinking water? Cold.

How many different things have you had to drink today? Just water and coffee.

When you read a book, do you use a bookmark or simply dog ear/fold the top of the page? I remember the general range of the page number I stopped on – like if I paused on page 67, I'll mentally bookmark it as simply the 60s – so I can read a bit of a recap and remember better where I left off the next time I read again.

What's the nearest city to you with a population of at least one million? QC.

During the pandemic, did you use reusable or disposable masks? Disposable ones.

What is your favourite local restaurant? It's a spot that serves Korean food. Authentic-anything restaurants are hard to come by here because *everything* is in Metro Manila, so I'm really happy we have this lovely nearby Korean spot where the owner is actually Korean, so everything is super quality.

Have you ever been harassed while minding your own business walking down the street? Yeah of course, by men.

Do you own a gun? Have you ever thought about getting one? Um, no. And no.

Do you know anyone who owns a gun? As far as I know, no. I'm better off not knowing.

What year is/was your 10 year high school reunion? Will you (or did you) attend? It should be next year, 2026, if we're even organizing something. I might! It depends if my friends from the batch wanna go though.

Do you cut your sandwiches into triangles or rectangles? I just keep the square sliced bread as is.

Have you ever seen a panda in real life? Where was it? I don't think I have.

Are there any postcards hanging around the house? If so, where are they from? Nope.

Does it snow where you live? No.

When was the last time you took a flight? Where did you go? Discounting the flight back home, it was a flight to Kuala Lumpur last June.

Is there a flight path over your house? Yes.

Does your neighbourhood have a lot of hills? No, it's gotten very urbanized here and you'll want to go to the provinces if you want to chance upon hills.

Have you ever had Covid? What was your experience like? Yeah it finally caught my ass last year, around October. My case was nastier than most others' – started off with a fever, then I started losing my voice, my sense of taste, then my throat started to stage a fucking rebellion and raised absolute HELL for a week. The throat was the worst part. At the peak of it my body felt like a combination of being composed of glass + an actual corpse and I was like 30% convinced I might actually die lmao.

It definitely took its sweet time hanging out, so it was a relief when my throat started to feel normal again and when I realized I could already sit up.

Do you have any alcohol in your house right now? We have a few bottles of wine.

Do you tend to keep alcohol around the house for when you might want it? Yes, or when I have friends come over.

Has a romantic partner ever given you a pet as a gift? No.

Do you ever talk on the phone with friends? I really only ever do this with Angela, and even then it's not all that often. I ultimately prefer just texting/messaging each other.

What was the last thing someone said to you in person? "I don't know, I'll need to ask" after I asked my sister if her friends like anything from Starbucks. I'm driving her and her friends for their little get together/lunch out today, and since I plan on getting coffee to-go, I asked her to ask her friends what they'd want too so I can include in my order.

Are you hungry right now? What would you like to eat? Tbh not really, right now I just want coffee.

How far away are your parents right now? My mom is like 20 feet away, in the other room. My dad is 15,000 kilometers away.

Do you believe in aliens? Yes.

Have you ever been bitten by a spider? I don't think so!

Do you own any clothing made from animal products like leather or fur? I don't think so.

What's the best vacation you've ever been on? Thailand with my friends :)

[yuppielionheart]

Sobra Cafe, Sobra Experience

This is my second time to dine in Sobra Cafe. I really had a great experience last time so when my friend asked me to accompany her in Sobra Cafe, I didn’t hesitate to go with her because I know that they serve good food. 

My friend drove from Imus to Alabang just to dine at  Sobra Cafe and she indeed got a “SOBRA” experience.

It was a Sunday night and the only available seats were outside of the cafe. We took the outdoor seating and made our order, everything was good until the weather suddenly changed. Raindrops started and then the group behind us requested to be transferred, then the other customer transferred on their own to the covered seatings. We couldn’t transfer as there are no other available seats for us to transfer on our own and we already have food on our table, and since they were assisting the group behind us, we assumed that they are just going to assist them first and then us for the transfer because it’s evident that we’re starting to get wet due to the raindrops. 

Unfortunately, no one assisted us and we tried calling their attention but no one came. So I personally went inside and asked for a “bill out” as it’s starting to rain and our food is getting wet.

I’m not sure if it’s the manager or supervisor who approached us after. He told us that he’s going to check upstairs if there’s an available seat. I firmly said right away that we’re leaving. Then my friend asked why no one assisted us, then the guy from Sobra Cafe said that it’s because we didn’t ask. 

Like what? You already knew the situation, shouldn’t you at least initiate to ask if we’re okay or if we would like to transfer? Then later on, he said that they can’t transfer us because they don’t know if there are available seats, and he added that he doesn’t want us to get wet but he wants to check first if there are available seats.

I told him that we and the food already got wet. That’s what happened. If I didn’t stood up on my own and went inside to call their attention, no one would. I already had an experience before in a rooftop bar in BGC wherein suddenly it rained. 

The first thing that they did was to assist us to transfer in a covered area along with our orders. Then when we are already in the covered area, that’s the time that they decided where we can seat and continue eating.

See the difference?

I really got pissed when the guy from Sobra cafe said, “Then I apologize”. The way he said it, insincere and with emphasis as if that he HAS TO APOLOGIZE JUST TO FINISH THE DISCUSSION BUT INSISTING IT AT FIRST THAT THE REASON WHY WE DIDN’T GET TRANSFERRED IS BECAUSE WE DID NOT ASK. 

He said that they’re losing customers when it’s raining because they don’t have an umbrella. And yes, indeed you will continue to lose customers with that kind of service. 

I know that you’re not a five star dining restaurant like the others that I’ve been but at least, have a good customer service as we are a paying customer.

It’s unfortunate that this is the kind of SOBRA experience that my friend got after driving from Imus just to have this kind of dining experience after her birthday.

[heysarsii]

grazie mille!

Got treated out for dinner by my mentor together with my previous teammate at A Mano in BGC. Yes, Albert is back from AU. AGAIN. For the nth time. But this time, he was here for a vacation. He was here since December last year and will be flying out next week. He went back several times last year for a series of business trip so we were only able to meet twice. So when he messaged that he wanted to meet, how can I say no? And yes, I got the goods (ube and chocolates!). IYKYK.

Have you ever tried freshly made pasta? I haven't. So, this was a first of many. And I was too excited. Do you also know that Italians order pizzas per person? They don't share it. The whole pizza is just for one person. No we didn't order one for each of us but I saw it before when I went to Boracay this year. Fun fact! 😂

Refreshing my basic Italian, I know that Grazie Mille means "a thousand thanks" or in our words, "thank you so much". (Another fun fact but definitely irrelevant, my ex and I were studying French and Italian respectively before the pandemic) A Mano means "by hand" in Italian. Hence, everything on their menu is freshly made by hand especially the pasta, mozzarella, and pizza dough.

I just want to talk about how I loved everything that we ordered. I'll try to not make this sound like a review but who's complaining? Don't get me wrong, they have expensive menu items. Like for a pasta it costs around P600+. I was browsing through the menu and also looking at the tables around us thinking how the serving would be for the cost of each item. But they have huge servings I guess cause we still had leftovers.

We got mozzarella balls, squid ink pasta, 4 cheese pizza, fettuccine alfredo, and for dessert, he ordered us each a serving of their burrata gelato.

Bear with me cause I got the Italian menu items off of their Zomato listing. Don't worry, I was looking at the English translations so it's pretty much accurate. Albert was laughing at me because my Italian was weak and I told him I won't eat something if I don't understand it. Let me try to share and describe how the experience was while it's still fresh in my memory.

Mozarelline Fritte - We had this for appetizers. This wasn't the usual mozzarella balls that we know where there is a cheese pull whenever you slice or bite into it. The inside was hot and a bit gooey because it was also freshly made. It also is not tasteless like the common mozzarella that we can get in grocery stores. It's milky or creamy and a bit sweet and salty. Pair it with their salsa and I swear Albert was laughing at how I reacted at my first bite because it was that good. I think this costed around P350+ for 5 balls?

4 Formaggi Pizza - This was also good. I like how the dough was chewy and there was a certain bite to it. The combination and ratio of the cheeses weren't overpowering. Drizzle in their chili honey and you're good to go. I wish their honey could be a bit more "honey-er" because it was just all chili but it's bearable. This one, around P600, too.

Tagliatelle al Nero con Frutti de Mare - This was the squid ink pasta. The squid ink, of course, was just incorporated into the pasta itself and not the sauce. Albert said that it was oil based but there were chunks of tomato and I thought that adding the breadcrumbs wouldn't make any difference but I'm glad that i tried it because it did!!! So good! And don't get me started with their pasta because it was soft yet chewy and it has this certain way for the sauce to cling but you can still taste the squid ink and not in an annoying kind of way. They also have a generous addition of seafood to it. I picked this one when we ordered. Teehee. Good job, Sarsi!

Fettuccine Alfredo - This one was served in an unusual way because it was served in a platter and they will mix it up for you. So apparently, the sauce for alfredo is just butter and cheese. 14-month old Parmigiano-Reggiano to be exact. The smell of this once they serve this is heavenly! I was arguing with Albert and Mel that it smells like leche flan because it smells too creamy but they got weirded out. 😂

Burrata Gelato - A crowd favorite. This was heavenly too. 🥺 It was so good that even if I said I wouldn't get anything sweet, I still indulged in this and actually finished it. You can add toppings into this like honeycomb or nutella but it's already good on its own. I kid you not when I say that a single plain serving will cost you around P200+. But seriously, get this instead of their tiramisu.

Of course, we didn't just had dinner, we also had a lot of catching up to do because we're all too lazy to type it in chat. I'll try to share that in a separate post because there were discussions on different topics overheard that just made sense and are too funny and is such a waste not to share.

Eating at places like this is still out of my comfort zone. I mean I can l, but I have this mindset that I have to check if this is worth what I earn per hour. And I guess it's also true, that you won't know until you try so you just need to think about it hard and take a risk.

It's experiences like this that I really appreciate and understand that standards exist for a reason. You can have a dupe of something but it's not going to be the same. Not even at par with the quality of the real one. Like it can look and smell the same but you just know that it's not. I know that dupes exist to make it work and accessible for others, and yes, do absolutely that. I now understand how Italians are easily annoyed and offended at people sharing dupe recipes of carbonara and alfredo, or just any Italian dishes. It's just different.

I remember telling Albert that "I'm happy na walang sayang sa kinain ko tonight" (even if I didn't pay anything for it — Thanks Albie!) because everything was good. Makes me want to go to Italy to try it first hand. Recommend this for when there are celebrations with important people in your life and you feel like splurging. Make sure to make reservations early because they get packed easily and are only open for lunch and dinner. Definitely worth every buck.

I feel like I shared a lot today. Oh well. Ciao!x