#why do vegetables spoil so quickly :(

[yandere-daydreams]

See I want a vaguely medieval fantasy where gojo is the crown Prince more occupied with jousting and feasting than seriously ruling and geto is the slimy Court wizard who is actually doing most of the ruleing, and who is advising him to keep the cute little commoner who came petitioning the crown to give aid to their famine striken village.

After all what better way to help them then by keeping them safe and spoiled wrapped up in silk sheets between them.

Oh yeah and they'll send some bread or something too.

tw - non/con, unbalanced power dynamics, rampant corruption kink, and forced marriage. i go buck wild so quickly on this one and i apologize sincerely for that.

i mean,,, suguru would just be so slinky about it,,, talking up the value of your commoner's naivety to satoru,,, encouraging him to wait until your quickly approaching wedding day to finally take your innocence and fully bask in the spoils of regalitiy,,, only to let himself into the chambers where you're being imprisoned safe-kept every night and have a taste of the ""virginity"" he's been grooming satoru to be oh-so-excited to take. it's partially satoru's fault for being raised on stories of knights and princes, for caring more about things like duel tournaments and throwing big, elaborate banquets than he's tried to when it comes to domestic policies and the work that always seems to land on suguru's shoulders, instead. not that he minds. he prefers to be in control, but he's not above a little pettiness, every now and then.

and, when satoru does get his fairy-tale wedding and you inevitably break down to him about why exactly his favored advisor's taken it upon himself to visit you so often, his response will come in the form of an airy laugh, an 'i should've known' smile, a promise that he's not mad - just a little disappointed he didn't get to you first. of course, suguru will be called to your wedding quarters and, of course, he'll slowly and meticulously demonstrate everything he's learned about your delicate and so sorely mistreated commoner body while satoru watches on, only interrupting his hands-on participation is called for. it's only when you're on the verge of losing consciousness that suguru explains that you do have more than one virginity up for the taking if satoru is willing to break from tradition, many of which suguru was kind enough to leave more-or-less in-tact. the overeager newlywed that he is, satoru is quick to take him up on the offer, but only under suguru's careful observation, of course.

oh, and if it crosses him mind, suguru might mention that they did end up sending a few wagons of bread and root vegetables to your village, but only after most of your friends and neighbors had already died, moved on, or were otherwise deemed unsalvageable. condolences, sorrows, etc. etc. you seem to be doing well enough for yourself, though - truly, a show of King Satoru's absolutely limitlessness benevolence.

[babybatss-blog]

DOMESTICS

Sirius black x reader, 1100  words

summary: all you wanted to do was cook Sirius some chicken for dinner, but perhaps things don’t always go your way.

c/w: established relationship, alcohol consumption, swearing and crying, argument between Sirus and Reader. Practically just tame, basic relationship angst that turns into fluff :)

The classic casual Friday night is always a big step in any intimate relationship. Stepping out of uncomfortable outfits and delicate table foods into comfy hoodies and junky snacks creates a whole new level of intimacy with a partner, and can be quite nerve wracking for at least the first few instances. 

But you and Sirius are way past that.

On the first date, you stayed the night at his for two whole days. You met his best friends on that second day, and he met yours just four days later. James said you were funny, and Lily said Sirus was smitten. He admired your comfortableness with him while you appreciated his lack of care towards your groggy state every morning, and a week in you both shared your deepest traumas with each other. On some random Wednesday your parents turned up unannounced in your apartment, which is when he met them both shirtless and slightly hungover (though he concealed the latter expertly).

So, two months later it is entirely expected to have Sirius lounging on your couch, watching some Netflix overproduced action show and as you cook dinner. Usually he prefers taking control of the kitchen because he “likes to spoil his girls”, but he did not impose when you insisted it was your turn to give him some love. The kitchen smells like a variety of spices and mouth-watering flavours, and despite the simple dish you are preparing the kitchen looks like a professional chef is making a world-famous meal. Plates, pots and pans are spread around, ingredients spilled on any and all surfaces and your state decreased to completely dishevelled, huffing and puffing at every slight inconvenience to come your way. “This needs to be perfect for him.” You think, anxiously managing every element with not a moment to spare. Unbeknownst to you Sirus has now snuck over, and softly places his chiselled chin on your shoulder as you peer over the cooking meat.

“Looks raw.” He states nonchalantly, arms creeping around your waist. “I know. It’s not done yet.” You explain bluntly, words leaving your mouth slightly more harsh than you intended. But you don’t take them back, as your focus is entirely taken up by the meal in front of you.

Wait, I thought it was done? What’s it meant to look like if it is done? What does it taste like? What more does it need?

He soon releases you, walking away to the bathroom as he calls out. “Sorry for not wanting to be poisoned I guess!” You huff, opting to not fight back in fear of putting too much energy into something that doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. You and Sirius are both painfully stubborn when you want to be, and are often laughed at by your friends for getting in ridiculous arguments. Once, you needed to go on a walk and clear your head after the two of you debated which Barbie movie is the best.

As he returns from the bathroom he subtly side eyes the chicken, seeing you have now placed it on a plate ready for serving. Against his better judgment, he calls out, in a half cough half word amalgamation which complains “still raw”. Would it be smart for you to reply? No, of course not! But do you do it anyway? Obviously!

“WELL WHY DON’T YOU COOK THEN MR PERFECT?!” You snap, eyes erratic and wide as you face him. He scoffs, hands placed on the kitchen counter opposite you.

“I’d be happy to, but you didn’t fucking let me!”

”Didn’t let you? I’m not your mother, I’m sorry I wanted to do something nice for you!”

“Well it isn’t nice if I’m too sick to go to work tomorrow!”

“Relax hard ass, you start work at three!” The argument quickly escalates past the point of reasonable, as Sirius’ arms flail widely about and the vegetables are left to burn in the oven.

In a closing statement you call Sirius a “spoilt brat” and he storms off, slamming the bedroom door behind him so he can no longer hear you if you try to apologise. Tears well in your eyes as you look around, realising what just happened truly as your brain finally processes. How can your worst argument be about some stupid chicken? You rush to repair the damage of your distractions to the meal, pulling the vegetables out of the oven as your salty tears fall within. You can barely see through your exaggerated sobs, mad at yourself for all manner of things.

Why did you let his simple comments go to your head? What if he’s right, and the meals a disaster? Will he despise you now for going so off the handle? Is this the last night of your fleeting romance?

You quietly serve up the food as these thoughts run through your head, wiping away gushing tears and snot as you go. Once it’s done, you tentatively go over to the closed door of the bedroom and knock a few times. You hear some shuffles, and the door is opened to reveal an unimpressed Sirus. “Sorry…” You mumble, eyes glued to the wooden floor between you. He pushes past you in silence, grabbing his plate and sitting down on the plush couch. As much as you would like to beg for forgiveness and list all the reasons you should stay together, you don’t deem that important when he pats the space next to him to sit down, handing you a sympathetic yet weak smile. “I know you didn’t mean it.” He finally gets out, eyes drilling into your still shy figure. “I just was trying to help.” “I know. But I didn’t want you to have to worry. I wanted to spoil you; you know?” His hand falls onto your thigh, the other placing the chicken in his hungry mouth. You join him in eating the meal, and reluctantly admit what you wished wasn’t true.

“It’s not fully cooked.” You pout, tears still glossing your eyes. He chuckles, placing his plate down and enveloping you in a hug. “That’s fine gorgeous. UberEats it is.” You pull back and quickly peck his lips, a smile forming on both your faces as you respond.

“Only if it’s Mexican.”

“Deal.”

[riaki]

ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴡᴏ | ᴀᴋɪ ʜᴀʏᴀᴋᴀᴡᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

syn: as strong-willed as he thinks he is, aki can't help but indulge you every once in a while. he's too weak for you. or, aki shotguns you.

in the past, aki would’ve never admitted to being an addict.

whether it be the cigarettes that are always a few inches away from his twitching fingers, tucked in his pocket— or the alcohol he lets himself indulge in as a sort of tradition he'd treat himself to; a toast to the next day he lives to see, he likes to think his resolve is a little stronger than an itch in his lungs here and there.

still, it's not like he refrains from doing it— his policy is that he's going to end up in the grave soon one way or another, so in his eyes, it's just one rusted nail in the coffin that's a sliver away from being sealed. you’ve complained about it before, but he just can’t rip himself away from the smoke. it’s too bad he can’t turn you pocket sized and carry you around in his palm; you’re a great substitute to the hit of nicotine in terms of soothing his constantly buzzing mind.

his leniency towards those types of things dashes when it comes to you, though. like the breaking foam of waves that crash against a rocky shoreline.

“i said, no.”

aki thought he’d already been firm enough with you the first time, but evidently not. even so, no matter how much you pout and whine— he is not letting you take a drag from his cigarette.

normally, he wouldn’t care. it’s not like he’s never shared one before— he used to steal drags from himeno all the time, until you expressed your disdain and he stopped immediately. it’s not that he doesn’t find your jealousy cute— quite the opposite, in fact. he just doesn’t want you getting any stupid ideas.

you’re certainly not making it easy for him, though.

“come on aki, please?” it’s not uncommon for you to plead like that. since you’ve started dating, aki, or rather, you, have found that the best way to melt his strength of will is to beg.

aki likes taking care of you. it’s in his nature; whatever spirit of a big brother that was left in him after he lost his family gradually nurtured and bloomed in your relationship, especially with someone as… irresponsible as you.

as such, it’s his (self appointed, you’d argue) job to make sure you’re in good health. and he’s very quickly picked up on the fact that learning to say no to you is the one and only lifeline keeping this relationship from drifting off into an irreversible spiral of spoiling you to no end.

in this particular instance, you approached him one morning with a poorly hidden agenda; the balcony door slid open as warmth from the apartment mingled with the chilly early morning breeze. aki was immersed in his newspaper and halfway through a cigarette when you’d spoken up, with the request to ‘have a taste’. he’d immediately said no and left you looking like a sad wet cat on the porch to make breakfast.

he’s regretting that decision thoroughly, now. you won’t stop bugging him, and even though he finds comfort in the sound of your voice, it’s the last thing he wants to hear right now. not because you’re annoying, but that he knows if you say his name in that tone a few more times he’ll fold.

“why not? you do it all the time! i just want to give it a try.” you sighed softly, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the cold marble of the kitchen counter, watching him wash dirty carrots. the vivid green leaves bob up and down beneath the pressure of the sink water as he scrubs them clean, before looking down at you.

“it rots your bones.”

“your bones are fine!”

“i already told you i’m not going to let you. just give it up, love.” he murmurs, turning his attention back to the vegetables in his hands. “cutting board, please.”

you oblige and lean over the counter, grabbing the wooden board from where it leans against the counter wall and hand it over to him. his hands are wet, so you don’t let go until you’re sure he has a firm grip on the board. he uses his other hand to turn the faucet off, droplets clinging to the reflective metal.

“aww, don’t be like that. what’s the harm in just one hit?” you protested, hauling yourself onto the countertop, legs dangling over the edge as your heels hit the cupboards. aki rolls his sleeves up again, revealing the pale bandages on his arms as he shakes the water clinging to his fingers off and grabs a knife and begins to cut into the carrots, dicing them up.

“don’t be stupid.” he scoffs, not looking at you. you watch his arm move up and down with each motion, the thud of the knife hitting the dull cutting board. "i always am." you grumbled under your breath, but he just ignores you.

“you know that’s not how it works. how do you even think people get addicted in the first place, [name]?” he murmurs, holding the carrots in place with two fingers on the leaves.

“it starts with one hit. just one cigarette. and then it turns into one pack, and then some.” he knows the process all too well.

you sigh forlornly, propping your elbows up on your knees and supporting your chin in your hands, kicking your feet in the air as you study the cozy kitchen. the potted plant you’ve been taking care of sits in the corner, tear-shaped leaves drooping beneath the shade of the cupboards. aki’s mug of cold coffee sits on the counter next to the sink, half full and calling your name. it’s the only thing he’s allowed you to be addicted to. and him, of course.

“you’re such a hypocrite.” you grumbled half-heartedly, rolling your eyes before letting your gaze drift to his profile again, studying the slight purse in his lips as he rests one palm over the blunt edge of the knife and cuts with the other one. you’ve always liked watching him cook; he’s good at it, and there’s something grounding in watching him sprinkle pepper and salt over a simmering pot of homecooked stew on a lazy weekend off.

he finally spares you a glance, peering at you through his dark lashes. his silvery blue eyes reflect a soft shine under the glow of the warm kitchen lights.

“i’m not.” he replies, nose wrinkling slightly as you grin in return and raise an eyebrow.

“sure. why don’t you prove it then, aki?” you challenged, leaning forward to stare down at him. even though you’re perched atop the counter, you’re still barely taller than him. not that you mind, though. you both know all of him belongs to you.

aki frowns, before shaking his head. “i don’t need to prove myself to you.” he mutters under his breath, giving you a resigned sigh. his topknot is messier than usual today; probably because you insisted on doing it for him.

he doesn’t even need to look at you to see the pout weighing on your lips; it shows through your voice when you speak again, as he dumps the carrot chunks into a plastic bowl and cleans his knife off on his apron.

“you’re no fun.” you complained, letting your hands fall to the edge of the marble as your fingers curl around the countertop. the sound of the city drifts in through the crack in the balcony door; the sound of trains whizzing by and the bustle of workers on their morning commute filters in through the breeze, a soundtrack to your morning. aki just bites his tongue and sighs.

you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even notice him step away from the cutting board, dumping the carrot bits into a plastic container and leaving the knife behind on the wood to stand in front of you. your knees graze his middle as he reaches behind you, looking for something on the kitchen counter and your breath catches for a moment when he leans in—

until he pulls back again, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. one end of the box is torn, a hole where he taps his finger on the other end and a cigarette slides out, a bundle of drug and addiction. you're about to be excited when you notice the brand label on the blue cardboard— wild raven, the same one himeno smokes. you know it's petty to be upset over such a thing, but that doesn't stop you from pouting like a petulant child (again), crossing your arms over your chest and nudging his shin with your foot.

aki is observant; it's not like he doesn't notice this. he just ignores it in favor of searching for his lighter, leaning over you to reach the elevated shelf of the counter where he last left the lighter you gave him, decked with worn stickers that rubbed off and left papery residue over time. the material is cold against his hands as he rubs his thumb over the cap; the feeling is familiar.

he clears his throat and your attention snaps back to him, like a moth drawn to a lamp. his expression is unreadable, but you try your best to decipher it anyway. you're only able to catch a hint of uncertainty in the slight frown on his lips before he speaks again and you're distracted by his smooth voice.

"i'll make a compromise. come here," he murmurs, tapping his index finger against the film and coaxing a stick out. it slips from the box and he catches it between his fingers, tipping the lid off and thumbing the spark wheel absentmindedly. not enough to strike a flame by any means— but it's enough for fireworks to go off in your gut as you look up at him again and scoot closer on the counter.

"what are you going to do?" you asked curiously, eyeing the cancer stick as he rolls it between his fingers. it slides down his knuckles and he catches it between his middle and index finger, lighting the tip with one swift flick of the lighter.

"you'll see." he answers simply, tearing his gaze off the cigarette to look back at you again as he slots it between his lips. suddenly you're mesmerized; the only thing you can focus on is the curve of his lips and the way the cig balances between them. you hear him breathe in as he leans a little closer to you, standing between your knees as he slowly inhales.

you're mesmerized. there's always been this draw when it comes to aki— something you can't place but that you recognize to be alluring; right now, the only thoughts running through your mind aren't about the cigarette so tantalizing close within your reach like a forbidden apple, or the wet carrot chunks left unattended in the plastic strainer. the only thing on your mind is how close he is, and what he'd taste like if you kissed him right now.

unfortunately for you, there's a stick of paper and drugs blocking your path.

fortunately for you, aki seems to have read your mind.

in one swift motion, he takes his cigarette out his mouth and leans forward, using his free hand to tilt your chin up. he notices the way your lips part like it's muscle memory whenever his own lips are close— it makes him smile; a minuscule, amused twitch of his lips as he exhales the smoke into your mouth. it curls in mini storm clouds like some sort of deathly mouth to mouth, and aki's fingers gently press into your chin to make sure the smoke settles in nicely, trapped between two lovers in a haze.

and before you can even process what just happened, the sensation of his lips pushing hungrily against yours floods your brain, sending a jolt of tingling electricity down your spine as the blaring alarms going off in your brain from the unfamiliar sensation of the smoke are silenced.

a fire spreads through your veins like molten lead as he kisses you, a veil of smoke drifting into the air, curling and snaking about like an oriental dragon made of vapor. it's as if you've been burned by the cherry itself; your cheeks feel hot and you can feel aki's fingers tremble slightly as they find your face, his thumb barely brushing over your cheek gingerly it's as if the slightest hint of pressure might make you vanish into thin air. he tastes like rich coffee and sweet smoke, and something bitter.

you're acutely aware of the way his other arm snakes around your waist, trapping you against the cold marble counter as your teeth graze his bottom lip and his fingers curl into your side. it's something straight out of your wildest dreams until the smoke clogs your throat like cobwebs and you rapidly pull away, coughing as your eyes burn and you cover your mouth. a rare laugh escapes aki's lips, and you shoot him a glare, to which he only ignores, letting it burn away.

it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts as you stare up at his face, pleasantly dusted strawberry red under the glow of the kitchen lights, the tips of his ears pink with a crude mix of want and embarrassment.

"you could've given me a warning next time." is the only thing you're able to get out, the rest of your words dying on your tongue as you cough again to soothe the itch in your throat, rubbing your eyes as you sulk.

it's such a childish thing to do, and yet aki can't help but find it endearing. he's in over his head, and he knows it's far too late to turn back now.

he grabs the ashtray he keeps on the cluttered kitchen counter, smushing the glowing red cherry of the cigarette into the ashtray, extinguishing the life from the ash as it fizzles out, and your hopes go with it.

"wait— you're not gonna do it again?" he glances down at you, blue eyes sharp with a sour expression on his pretty face. it's like you squeezed lemon juice onto his tongue.

"no. like hell i'm letting you get away with more," he says firmly, shaking his head as he steps away from you again. he has a sixth sense for when you're about to complain, so he puts a hand over your mouth to stop the noise from escaping before you can start.

even with the way you're glaring daggers at him, just the fact that you can stand to look at him after he violated your personal space like that makes his chest constrict. it's as if his heart is trying to burrow out of his chest and find its way into your palm. he looks away again to hide the flush on his face.

even then, it was a mistake to keep his fingers over your mouth, because he can feel the very instant your lips curve into a soft, doting smile that only worsens this touchy predicament he's found himself in.

"pleeeeease, aki?" even though your voice is barely audible, it's too much, and you can tell. before he can even blink, he finds himself staring up at you with his chin on your chest and your fingers tangled in his hair, newly loose with his hairtie around your wrist. it would've been cute if not for the shit-eating grin on your smug face.

aki groans and hides his face in your shirt, reluctantly letting you pull him closer. as much as he'd like to ignore the effect you have on him and continue preparing a warm lunch for the two of you, his willpower has melted away like the wax on a candle, no fight left in him to protest as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"you're too much." he grumbles irritably, voice muffled.

you only smile, and although he can't see it, he can hear it when you speak, and it makes his heart pound wildly between his rotting lungs.

"you love me." and he hates how you don't even realize just how right you are.

aki doesn't consider himself a hopeless romantic. but if there's one thing to ever be addicted to, you're it.

[dearramiel]

𝐓𝐚𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 | 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

✧ - fluff in the beginning of the story, will eventually get dark, undertones of off setting steve, he's kinda stalking her in the beginning, anxiety/paranoia, steve is 28, reader is at least 21, yes I want to be steve's housewife(a lot of those undertones are present throughout the story so steve has a housewife kink), we listen to stevie nicks and honestly it was by pure coincidence, domestic vibes,

You look beautiful..

In that cute little dress, you'd make the prettiest housewife in town, if you'd just let him in. But all he can do is look, as you walk down the driveway of your house, a little empty basket on your arm. He figures that you're running Saturday morning errands. He shuts the blinds of his window, quickly running out of his own house.

"Y/n!" His voice calls out to you, you whip your head around and spot Steve Harrington jogging towards you, car keys in hand. The rattling of his keys come to an end when he catches up to you.

"Steve, Good morning!" You greet, your voice melting his insides.

"Morning, Sweetheart." He says, trying to ease his nerves when he notices the visible reddening on your face, or the way your smile gets bigger.

"Heading out to the markets?" Steve asks, to which you nod.

"I need to pick some stuff up for dinner today." You reply.

"In that little thing?" He motions to the basket.

"Well I'm only making something for myself, my mom and dad are out on vacation.." You giggle, "Unless, you want to join me?"

The older male is a little shocked, is that even a question?

"I don't wanna bother, but I also wouldn't want a little lady like you to be all alone." He grins. "How about I drive you there?"

The next two hours were spent with you trying to politely decline Steve paying for your groceries. You couldn't deny what it made you feel. You felt like you and him were together, walking around the market places as you picked fresh vegetables and canned goods, shoulders bumping by accident, accidentally brushing your fingers against his, even eying a dress.

All which Steve noticed, encouraging you to try them on in a makeshift dressing room that looked to be an extra storage room, mirrors in place where you could twirl in the dress. After deciding on a couple, you step out, showing Steve who was sat on a chair.

"What do we think?" You say, "it's a little long but maybe I'll grow into it." You joke. Steve doesn't speak for a solid second or two, his heart is racing because you look gorgeous.

"I think you look amazing. You should definitely get it." He smiled, looking at how it hugged your upper body, hoping one day he would see underneath.

"There's another, but I'll save it for later." You say, twirling another time to really show him everything. And again, he's nearly speechless.

"I'll be back." You say, going into the room to change back into your own dress. Carefully untying the little bow, blushing when you remember Steve's face.

Once out, you see Steve with the old lady, the owner of the shop. He's smiling to her as he gently pushes her hands full of change back to her, where she then bows her head to him, smiling ever so gratefully. The act is enough to make your pulse pick up, she hands him a bag big enough to fit the articles of clothing on your arm.

Steve noticed you close the door of the dressing room. "Here." He opens the bag, to which you then put everything in.

"You didn't have to, you know ..pay for it.." you say, feeling bad that he's practically been spoiling you all day. You weren't fortunate to have the money he did, and you definitely didn't want to make it look like you were trying to take advantage of his generosity. Most of what you did have was hard earned money coming from your parents, the house you lived in from your grandparents. It's why you pushed them to take a vacation for themselves.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, besides, I think that little dinner will make up for it." He suggests, a sweet smile on his face. You return it.

"Well, thank you for doing this." You play with your fingers, forgetting that he's holding everything. And he doesn't mind because it plays more into his fantasy.

"It's really not a problem."

It's 12 p.m by the time you get back home, Steve has walked you to your front steps, promising to stop by at 6:30 for dinner with you. The thought has you excited, almost throwing yourself into the shower before remembering that you already had, prior to stepping out.

After the excitement settles down, you realize that an unsettling feeling begins to wash over you. Being alone in a big house comes with perks like those, paranoia.

It leaves you feeling unnerved, and it's hard to shake off. It's not the first time you've felt this way, but it's also never been so intense.

You figure that the only way to ease the tension that begins to weigh down on your shoulders is by putting a vinyl into its player. A sense of relief comes down as Stevie Nicks plays throughout the living room, spilling into the kitchen. It helps just enough that you're able to focus on what you want to make, especially now that you want to impress Steve.

You settle on spaghetti and meatballs, after that, a pie to go as dessert.

1:00 p.m. becomes 2 p.m., which becomes 3 p.m., 4 p.m, and then 5:30 p.m, cleaning, cooking, and baking had you distracted, you wash your hands before quickly rushing upstairs to your room, bag in hand, the dresses Steve had bought you now on your bed. You figured that wearing the one he hadn't seen you in would be perfect.

You weren't sure why you were trying to impress Steve, maybe it was the growing crush you had on him, whatever it was, it began to make you feel a little insecure. Trying to live up to his standards, he was known to have any woman wanted, and they were usually really pretty.

You shake away your nagging and negative thoughts, choosing to put on very light makeup, a little bit of eyeliner, lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow, going for a natural look.

You slip out of your dress, embarrassed as you think about also changing your undergarments. It's not like Steve would see you in your underwear anyway.

But.. just in case...

You pick out a matching white lace bra and panties set, then slipping the dress on. You button up the dress, until you reach the last two buttons, leaving a very visible sight for your cleavage. Your chest on display, collarbone showing. Your hair is simple, a low messy bun with some loose hair scattered everywhere aside from your face. By the time your done, it's barely 6:15 p.m, giving you 15 minutes to yourself. With those spared minutes, you slip into your black flats, hanging the other dress in your closet, walking to the kitchen, serving two plates of food, two cups of water, and taking the pie out of the oven, setting it on the counter for it to cool off.

Setting the plates and cups on the table, you're finally done.

Then the ring of the doorbell has your heart jumping out of your chest. You smile and pat down your dress, quickly rushing to the door, opening it swiftly, face heating up when you see him.

Steve Harrington in a suit, holding roses in one hand, the other in his pocket, and you can tell that he's nervous.

He's not moving, stuck in a trance as he looks at the dress you're wearing, down to your legs, before looking back up to your face. An innocent smile on your pink lips, Steve finally moves.

"Hey Sweetheart."

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {VII}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR B ased on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: I meant to post this, like, a week ago...but I have to admit that I've been pretty down lately. It's not been a good mental health week. I apologize for the delay! Now that the school year is in full swing, I may only be posting one chapter a week instead of two. Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Gwyn,

Emerie and I missed you this last tea. She told me all about her recent travels and now we must wait to hear all about yours once you return. Selfishly, I am glad you will not be gone for long. I swear, I am living vicariously through you and Emerie. I absolutely adore hearing about all the two of you see and do beyond the borders of Velaris. I will not spoil all that Emerie told me for I am certain you wish for her to tell you herself.

I will, however, briefly mention something that I shared. In all honesty, I’m a bit embarrassed about it. No one will ever know about it with the exception of the two of you. There is…a man. This man keeps popping into my mind and just yesterday he popped into my carriage as well. Although, I believe I am to blame for that. It was storming and I offered him shelter. However, that is not the issue. The issue is that, on multiple occasions now, I have felt towards this man. I do not need to tell you how troubling that is. 

I have not acted on these feelings, of course, but when he is near I lose all sense of myself and my duties. It seems silly. I do not know him, not truly. Perhaps I am simply lonely and find him handsome, that is all. At least, I hope that is all. 

Please burn this letter once you have read it and write back soon.

With love,

Nesta

Nesta

The sun is shining and the air is warm but I am absolutely miserable. I have been dragged to yet another social dinner alongside my husband. I am on his arm pretending to be the most loyal, loving wife, but inside I am raging. I feel like a caged animal ready to attack, only my target is my husband and that will simply not do.

Apparently, such thoughts are frowned upon.

Unsure of what this dinner is actually for, my mind has already become vacant once we reach our chairs. We are seated across from a few of Tomas’ business partners and their wives, high ranking members of the ton like ourselves. I let the men talk and for once I am grateful for it. If we women were to talk, I would have nothing kind to say to these women. In fact, I would surely say something to them that would get me smacked by the man on my arm.

My husband has never liked my sharp tongue. I figured that out quite quickly. 

It had been less than twenty-four hours into our marriage, the morning after our wedding, our consummation, when he first struck me. He entered my bedchamber and was appalled that I was still nude from the night before. I asked him why he did not like my body, while he was ashamed of my nakedness when it was he that stripped me bare the night before. His response was to throw a nightgown at me and tell me to cover up. He said that no woman should be bare in daylight that is not a whore.

I refused to put the gown on.

And then he hit me.

From that moment, not even twenty-four hours after we had said our vows, I knew my marriage would never be one full of love. 

We eat and the food is decent. The roasted chicken is flavorful and the vegetables have just enough crunch to be satisfying. Tomas does not allow me to drink the wine, but I long for it, just to help me get through the evening until I am safely alone in my room once more with only the company of a good book. 

Unable to make eye contact with the women across from me, my gaze drifts further down the table and my breathing halts. 

I hadn’t even realized he was here. I was so deep within my own thoughts and misery that I hadn’t taken account of who else was present with the exception of those seated across from us. He must have arrived after we did.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, his eyes swivel to mine. 

Lord Cassian is dressed in all his finery and it suits him, strangely. He is always dressed finely, but I still imagine him as a man that is naturally a bit unkempt. I would like to see that version of him.

I give him a polite nod.

He returns the gesture. 

I turn to Tomas to see if he notices my distraction but he is in an enthusiastic conversation with the man beside him — a man whose name I’ve forgotten. He must be important for some reason. 

I try not to look back at Cassian, I truly do, but I can feel him staring. My thoughts drift back to our time in my carriage. Although the ride was short, there was more excitement in that ride than I’ve had with any man in years. Thankfully we arrived at his home before anything could have happened.

And I fear that if the ride had continued any longer, something would have happened. I know such a thing is blasphemy, but I cannot help but wonder what it would be like.

To be ravished by a man like Lord Cassian. 

I look at him once more. His jaw is hard, his eyes dark, as if he knows the thoughts that are running through my mind. I reach for my glass of wine before I remember I do not have one, that my husband does not trust me to drink. 

Realizing I’ve been locking eyes with a lord who is not my husband for far too long, I focus on my empty plate. Still, I can feel his gaze linger, can feel his eyes roaming my body, begging me to look his way. I do not, can not.

Suddenly, I feel like I cannot breathe. The room has grown too hot and I feel as if I am suffocating. Luckily, everyone around the table has begun to rise. I believe the owner of this home, whoever he is, has offered to show everyone something he deems extravagant. Tomas tells me to stay with the other ladies while he goes off to see this extravagant piece of uselessness and leaves me be.

I take the opportunity to get far, far away. 

After sneaking through multiple winding hallways, I find myself outside and in the gardens. The early evening air is cool and welcoming as the sun begins its descent. I immediately find peace in the silence.

The silence evaporates too quickly. 

“Lady Nesta, are you alright?”

I spin around to see, of course, Lord Cassian. He’s standing casually, with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks concerned. 

“Yes, of course,” I reply, trying my best to remain unaffected. “You should return to the party.”

“The men have gone to see Lord Kallias’ new hunting trophies.” He shrugs and I want to laugh at how informal he seems. “I do not care to see such things. I care more to see how you are faring after looking so miserable for the past hour.” 

I snort. “And here I thought I was good at hiding my emotions.”

“You are,” he says, with no hesitation. “I may have been paying more attention than the others.”

I’m blushing.

I hate myself for blushing. 

Suddenly, I can feel his hand on my knee, my hand on his. I was foolish for touching him, for asking what I was about to ask that day in the carriage, but I find it hard to find regret.

I clear my throat. “I see.” 

He takes a step toward me, then another, and I’m frozen in place. 

“You should really go back inside, my lord,” I say, my hands drawing into fists at my sides to keep me grounded. “This is…”

“Inappropriate?” he supplies, stopping a mere foot away. “I mean nothing untoward. Besides, you and I were alone in your carriage just the other day and I do not recall you thinking that inappropriate.”

That may be true, but it quickly grew inappropriate once I wanted to rip off his clothes and mount him on the velvet bench. 

Wonderful. Now that’s all I’m thinking about. 

“I have changed my mind,” I say, quickly. “That and this are both inappropriate. Good day, my lord.”

He doesn’t move. 

“I came out here to be alone,” I add. 

He still doesn’t move.

Just as I’m about to yell at him, he says, ever-so-calmly, “He does not cherish you as he should.”

My back goes rigid. “Pardon me?”

“Your husband,” he says, as if he has any right to what he’s saying, as if it’s not blasphemy to be speaking to a married woman this way. “He does not cherish you. The entire dinner, he looked at you once, and the look he gave you was the same as if he was scolding a child.” 

Anger fuels me. There must be a certain level of arrogance to make a man say such a thing. My shock-filled anger must show because he shrugs.

Shrugs.

“I apologize if you do not care for my opinion,” he says, “but I have never been one to hold my tongue.”

I cannot breathe. “You know not of what you speak.”  

"And what is that?" he asks, that smirk remaining. "The truth? I know very well that I speak the truth. It is you that does not want to accept it." 

My jaw aches from how hard it’s clenching. “I believe you are drunk, my lord.”

My hostile tone doesn’t sway him. In fact, it makes his eyes grow brighter. He thinks I’m joking. He must, or he wouldn’t be this ignorant. 

“I may not be sober,” he confesses. “Although, I am far from drunk. Do I look drunk?”

No, he does not, but some people have a certain skill set for hiding their inebriation. Yet, he remains the perfect picture of a gentleman. 

“Leave,” I order, and when he does not, I add, “Please. Do not make me beg.” 

He does not falter. “I would not mind making you beg, Lady Nesta.”

I ignore the way my cheeks heat. “Lady Mandray is what you should refer to me as.”

“Is that the name you truly prefer?” he asks, and that humor dims, if only a little. He’s standing so close to me now that his scent is strong, overpowering me. Mint, with a hint of tobacco. “If so, it is what I will call you, but I fear you prefer Lady Nesta. Perhaps even just, simply, Nesta.” 

Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve been able to control myself for this long. “You must stop speaking to me as if you know me,” I snap. “We do not know each other. You are no friend of mine. The way you are speaking to me is distasteful to say the least. I have never had to endure such an absurd conversation, much less from a member of high society. You should be ashamed of yourself, my lord, to embarrass yourself in front of a lady, to act a fool. If you will not leave me alone, then I shall leave you be.”

I go to take a step around him, but he steps in my path and our bodies nearly collide. 

It’s annoying how he has a habit of doing that.

“Should I scream?” I whisper. It’s meant to be a threat, but my body feels like it’s on fire. “Cry out for help?”

“I have no intention of harming you,” he says, taken aback, as if the idea is ludicrous. I nearly feel bad for insinuating such a thing.

“No,” I say, and I mean it. “I know you would not.” 

He swallows, and neither of us move.

“I will leave you alone,” he says, and his voice is low, reaching my very core. I can feel his breath on my face, the warmth, smelling like expensive red wine. “I apologize if I have overstepped. And you are right. I do not know you, not well, but I have seen glimpses of who you are and that woman is very different from the woman who I saw sitting at that dinner table, next to a man she seems to loathe. I know you well enough to know that you deserve better than a loveless marriage. That is all.” 

“My lord—”

“Fogive me,” he breathes, and he sways forward as my breath catches. 

I called him a fool but it is I who is the fool. I am foolish for wanting this man to kiss me, to touch me, to sweep me into his arms and make me feel something. 

“There is nothing to forgive,” I say, and look from his welcoming lips to his eyes that are watching me so intently that I feel completely nude. 

He leans in closer and the panic sets in.

“I am sorry,” I say, and my voice sounds pathetically broken. “I must go back before Tomas returns.”

As much as I wish to have this moment, long to have this moment, I cannot endure Tomas’ wrath nor can I bear to embarass both myself and my husband before all these guests. I may be foolish, but I am not that foolish. 

Not now, not yet.

One look at me and Lord Cassian nods. There is no judgment in his gaze, there is only understanding.

This time, he bows, and meets my eyes once more before walking away.

“Goodbye, Nesta.”

I do not breathe again until he is completely out of sight. 

[lnights]

Late Night Call Prompts: “Your last emergency call was you crying over not having any more sweets at your place, so excuse me for being distrustful.” + Joonas/Niko pls 🥰

Thanks for the ask 🖤

Porko: Niko

Porko: Niko

Porko: NIKO

Porko: ANSWER YOUR PHONE GODDAMNIT

Porko: IT'S AN EMERGENCY

Niko groaned as his phone started to ring, putting down the knife he had been using to chop vegetables for dinner.

“What's up Joonas?” He asked as he answered.

“Why weren't you answering!?” Joonas demanded, “I said it was an emergency!”

Niko snorted, "Your last emergency call was you crying over not having any more sweets at your place, so excuse me for being distrustful.”

“That was important!” Joonas told him, “I was in the middle of making a mug cake, I was out of sugar, and couldn't find anything to make it sweet!”

“Why were you making a mug cake at 1 in the morning anyway?” Niko asked.

“I wanted something warm and sweet and that's not the point!” Joonas said, “I need your help.”

“With what?” Niko asked.

Joonas sighed a long drawn out breath, “I just…” he trailed off.

“Joonas?” Niko frowned, the hesitation wasn't normal for his friend.

“I got stood up.” He said quietly, “waited at the restaurant for over an hour before I finally went home,” he gave a small little laugh, “kind of pathetic huh? I guess it really wasn't an emergency though, I was just feeling down and lonely, I probably shouldn't have bothered you-”

“Come over,” Niko said quickly, “I'm making dinner and I'll have more than enough.”

“I don't want to impose-”

“You're not,” Niko assured him, “come over, we’ll have dinner, watch a movie, and complain about bad dates.”

Joonas laughed, “ok, I'll be there soon.”

Niko smiled as he hung up and grabbed another piece of fish from the fridge, getting back to cooking with new vigor.

…

“I just want someone who shows up,” Joonas complained between bites of dinner, “is that too much to ask?”

“Not at all,” Niko agreed, “you deserve to have someone show up for you.”

“I don't know why I let my friends set me up on blind dates,” Joonas sighed, “I already told my friend what happened and she felt bad, I felt bad… it's just not worth it at all.”

“Online dating?” Niko suggested

Joonas snorted, “been there, done that. Nope, I guess for now I'll just give up on dating. I mean, I want someone who's there for me, who wants to travel and explore or just have a nice dinner and movie at home.”

“Sounds a lot like what we do,” Niko observed, a small spark of something he couldn't identify in his chest.

“Yeah,” Joonas laughed, “too bad you're not into men, you'd be my dream guy.”

“Yeah,” Niko gave a small laugh, he had never dated a man, Joonas was right about that.

So why did the thought of taking Joonas out on a date, spoiling him the way he deserved, make him feel all warm?

He would have to try to figure it out later; Joonas was there at the moment and that's all that mattered.

[0asisbliss]

Okay, so si saw ypu were doing dark content now but i get if this is too dark

Could you do Present mic or Aizawa (or both) reacting to their daughter attempting to take her own life?

Thanks 💕

A/N: I uploaded this once, and it wasn’t even finished sorry again. Sorry for any spelling errors.

Warnings: Reader is quirkless, Self harm, blood, and general dark themes. MDNI.

You were sick of everything. You wanted nothing more than to have a peace of mind. It was exhausting school, toxic relationships, and your dad. Your dad was always there, but he has a lot on his plate.

“Maybe it would be better if I weren’t here?” You thought to yourself.

You got home from school. You steadily started to pack your bags. Aizawa was out on patrols, and you were home alone. You were a burden. He was always doing things for you, and preparing things just so you could be happy.

Even sacrificing his own happiness just to see you smile. And another thing. Why were you so ungrateful? So spoiled? You surely needed to leave. You were also quirkless. That made you utterly useless. You couldn’t do anything to make him proud other than get good grades.

Once all you had were packed you opened the door to your room to depart. You suddenly stopped and looked back at your room. Tears started to well at your eyes.

You didn’t want to you leave you just wanted didn’t want to be sad anymore, you were tired. Tired as in you were tired of life. Not wanting to do anything any longer. You dropped your bags and trailed into the kitchen.

You grabbed one of the sharpest kitchen knifes it was one of the knifes Aizawa used regularly for cutting vegetables. You went back to your room and dropped to the floor.

Pondering on whether or not you should do the plan you set for yourself. You had the knife in one of your hands. You took one final look in the mirror at yourself and you felt disgusted. Why did you look like this when you cried? So filthy. Your not even deserving of tears.

Aizawa was arriving home early because of no sightings of criminal activity. He went by one of your favorite restaurants to get food for you two since he was coming home late, and also since he didn’t cook any dinner.

You sat there crying for another good hour, and then you finally decided to set aside your feelings and let the your negative thoughts take over.

You took the knife towards your wrist first, and slit yourself. You winched at the pain, but it felt deserving. You finally did it. You’re now a lowly human. You took the knife, and slit your self a couple more times up your arm before you finally looked at your throat in the mirror. You were to distracted by your arm to notice keys jing-aling, and footsteps.

“What the hell are you doing [name]?” You could hear his voice crack as you saw the tears start to form at the corner of his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry I was just-.” You stumbled upon your words as you tried to explain your reasons for the situation.

“Fuck, your arm.” He quickly grabbed a shirt that was close to the both of you, and covered your bleeding arm. His worried expression was enough for tears to roll down your eyes once more.

He sat bedside you on the floor, and grabbed you by the waist pulling you tight into his embrace.

“Dad? Dad I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” You sobbed into his chest.

“Shhh.. shh. It’s okay honey I’m not mad.”

You were his sweetheart. You’re his reason to even get up in the morning it hurt him more than anything to see you like this. And he’ll prevent it from happening ever again.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/146337121

Chapter 23

Antoine's was renovating and they were supposed to be closed for five to seven days, depending on how the construction went. 

Savigne decided, no better time to get rich.

The restaurant allowed them to prepare and store their own meals if they used their own ingredients and most people used that offer to make themselves lunch or dinner for their breaks. She did, too, but now she took out the pizza dough balls she had left to cold marinate ahead of time so they can warm up by the time she arrived at camp. Chef Ecco sauntered over, curious what she was doing and nearly lost his god damn mind when he saw she had prepared pizza dough, praising her to high heaven and exchanging recipes with what he thought was the best dough and best pizza recipe. He shared with her the shops he acquired his cheese from, then even gave her a pizza peel from the kitchen as a gift. 

Ruth and her flock watched from a distance with scowls and Savigne basked in their disapproval.

She went to the open market in Saint Denis to shop for ingredients, strolling around, sniffing and tasting the vegetables, cheese and spices. It was no Grand Bazaar but Saint Denis was becoming more metropolitan by the week and she was impressed with the new, “exotic” food that was sprouting in the market.  

When she arrived in camp it was early afternoon, most folks were out to do whatever they did during the day, so she prepared the fire for the oven – it needed to be very hot for the pizza - and changed into comfortable clothes. 

She prepared the sauce and the toppings, then poured herself a glass of wine and sat at the table, watching the water. Mary Beth came over and Savigne poured her a glass, too. Mary Beth shared the story of the latest novel she was reading and she listened.

“That makes no sense.” 

“What makes no sense?” Mary Beth asked. 

“The man’s too perfect.”

“That’s the point” was the amused reply.

“No I mean it’s not realistic. He’s gorgeous. Strong. Clever. Rich. And a gentleman. And apparently also…you know…a great…lover,” Savigne concluded.

“And?”

“And – so he’s too perfect.”

“Ya saying men like that don’t exist?” Mary Beth grinned. 

“Have you ever met one? I know I haven’t.”

“Haven’t you?” was the teasing question.

“Are you trying to say that Arthur is perfect?” Savigne snorted. “Or that I am?”

“Perfection is boring," Mary Beth shrugged. "Besides, you’re perfect for each other, no?” Savigne shrugged. “Perfect” wasn’t the word she would use, but she had to admit that this was a relationship that should have failed and yet somehow didn’t. Who knew that she could fall into co-habitation with someone this easily, this comfortably? And someone like Arthur, too! Nobody would argue that both of them were difficult people to be around and yet, bizarrely it somehow worked. 

“You know how many bets I won thanks to you guys?” was Mary Beth’s gloating question.

“Bets?!”

“That’s right. Folks around here don’t understand you the way I do,” Mary Beth sighed. Savigne rolled her eyes. “Hey now, don't underestimate me. Ain't I the one who knew before either one of you did?”

“Hmmmmm…What else do you know, oh sage one?”

“I know the man is ensnared," Mary Beth pursed her lips, her eyes shifting to the oven. “Getting him hooked up proper, are we?”

“Why? Because I cook?” Savigne laughed. “It’s just food, what’s the big deal?”

“Just food,” she mumbled teasingly. “I don’t think Arthur has ever been spoiled like this before. It's not that you cook, it's that you cook for him.” She paused for a moment, then quickly retrieved her notebook to scribble in it. "Need to use this in my novel."

"You're writing a novel?"

"I am," she said smugly. "You're craftier than you look, you know. Maybe I should get some pointers from you."

“Right,” Savigne huffed, secretly pleased. “All I do is cook dinner. Happens to be my job anyway. You could even call it self-serving practice.”

The other woman hummed with a smirk. “Ain’t just dinner. It’s being cared for that he’s addicted to.”

“Not going to apologize for that!” Savigne mumbled, but her grin grew just a little wider. 

They watched Arthur arrive at camp and stroll over to talk to Dutch. Mary Beth drank the rest of her wine, gave her a knowing look and left. 

Savigne saw him walk over a few minutes later, eyeing the ingredients on the table. She got up and came around to hug him and kiss him on the cheek - a ritual she still stubbornly followed and he still stubbornly endured.

"You cookin' dinner?"

"Only if you're hungry," she said lightly. He grunted in affirmation and went to wash the sweat and dust off his hands and face.

She quickly flattened a ball of dough on the peel, spread the sauce, added the ingredients and pushed it into the hot oven. Few minutes later she placed it on the wood vegetable chopping block, cut it by pressing her palm on the spine of the knife and slapped his hand away. 

“You just watched me pull it out of the oven. It’s hot. Give it a minute.”

He grumbled a little and poured himself a shot of whiskey. She adjusted the corners of his napkin just so. “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

He finally noticed the side-eye she was giving him as he was staring at the steaming pie and took the cue: “Yours?”

“Glad you asked!” she started with enthusiasm. “Antoine’s is renovating. So I’m going to have a few days off.”

She slid the chopping block over and announced: "Pizza Margarita from Italy! Bon appétit!"

“So I was thinking…” she said, getting up to prepare the next pie on the peel, “…we can do something. If you have the time.”

By the time she sat down he had already eaten half of it. She knew that expression on his face and smiled with satisfaction. “Good, huh?”

“It’s from Italy, course it’s good,” he shrugged, grinning at his own cleverness. 

She pulled out the second pie, cut it and put it on a separate plate. He eyed the plate with some resentment as she took it to Jack.

When she returned, to nobody's surprise, he was finished. 

She sat down and sipped her wine. 

"That it?" He was looking the rest of the dough balls. 

“Do you have the time to do something together?”

“I got time,” he admitted carefully, possibly already guessing where this was heading.

Satisfied, she jumped up to make the next pie. Her fingers, quick and nimble with practice threw on the ingredients and slid the pie into the oven with the peel. 

She sat back down as he served himself another shot of whiskey. 

"We can...I don't know...go to Strawberry."

He gave her a look. “Lemme guess…ya wanna go treasure huntin’.”

She slid the second pie onto the block, cut it, then snatched it from his grasp. “You’re going to burn your tongue, wait a minute, Jesus!” She sat back down and sipped her wine. “And yes, that’s the idea.”

“Savigne…” he started, exasperated, but before he could say more Jack ran over and asked if there was more. 

"How the hell did ya eat that whole pie so fast?" Arthur protested and she rolled her eyes at the irony. Jack admitted that his mom and dad had each taken a slice, too. Arthur grumbled darkly at that. She pushed the block in front of him and prepared the next one while the two of them argued. 

"Five minutes, Jack. Did you like it?" 

“I loved it!”

"Can't have loved it if ya gave it away," muttered Arthur as he chewed. 

"Don't listen to him.” she quipped. She cut the next pie and placed it on his plate. "Be careful, it's hot." He ambled away carefully. 

She sat back down to sip her wine and met his gaze. 

"Well what about me?" 

"You had two pies," she teased. 

He glanced at the last ball of dough. "You want me to take ya, that it?”

“Pffft. I want to know if you’re coming along,” she said as she got up to prepare the pie. After she slid it into the oven: “I’m going either way. It’ll be an adventure.”

“That so?” he said, eyebrows raised as he poured himself another shot. 

“That so,” she confirmed, pulling out the pizza a few minutes later and sliding it on the chopping block. "I can do everything on my own just fine, thank you very much," she added as she cut the pie.

He was clever and waited until it was pushed in front of him before he said “Y’ain’t goin’ alone." 

"Don't tell me what to do!" Savigne growled with some heat.

He was expecting that and there was clear amusement to his tone when he spoke over the chewing. "Or what?"

"Or I'll do it," she grumbled, taking another mouthful of wine. 

He finished his pie, drank the rest of his shot, pushed the empty block aside and put his elbows on the table, leaning in.

"Well then," he sighed, his eyes twinkling, "I might have to…you know…punish ya." He watched the red blotches blooming on her cheeks. “Think yer overdue for a lesson.”

“Thanks to you we can never go back to the bath in Valentine!” she hissed. “I’m pretty sure the entire hotel heard us.”

“Course we goin’ back,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a cigarette. “And wasn’t us they heard, was you.”

"I wasn't there by myself, was I?"

"I got no problem with it," he shrugged smugly. 

She ran her palms over her face, annoyed how quickly and violently she blushed. Also annoyed how pleased he was with himself. Arthur had strutted out to the lobby that day like he had conquered Rome while she had run straight for the exit, not even attempting to pay the bill that week, mumbling that she was going to retrieve the horses.

“God, I can never look Bill in the face again,” she whined.

“The man works in a hotel,” he drawled. “‘M sure he’s used to it. ‘Sides…I liked it.”

"You know what - we’re doing separate baths from now on."

He hummed to himself, inhaling the smoke. "Ya actually think a door's gonna stop me," he mused, leaning on the table, the muscles in his wide shoulders rounding up. 

"You wouldn't dare.” He just chortled at her disbelief. "I think you're missing the bedroll, Mr Morgan.”

"That how you treat yer guide?”

A smile bloomed on her face. “So we’re going?”

He sighed. “Reckon findin' a pile of rocks gonna spare me years of naggin’.”

This stumped her because it implied that he thought they would be together for years to come. It’s just a figure of speech you fool, she mused and it was, but that didn’t matter much to her heart. 

She lied awake for a long time thinking on that, annoyed that her mind would start writing an epic novel because a few uttered words but unable to stop it. What would life be outside the gang with Arthur? What could a man like that do? He was good with horses, she thought, he could breed horses. Or maybe train them. He was good with a lot of animals, so maybe he could be a rancher. Or - twist of fate - bounty hunter. She scratched that possibility off the list. Too dangerous. Farmer? No, didn't seem fitting. It was hard to imagine him outside of his current environment, as if being an outlaw was part of his identity and this life was his natural habitat. What if he missed the social interaction with the gang? Sure, they had a fine time now but that's because he still had that. Removing the gang would rob him of all his friends and family and she couldn't picture him enjoying life without all that. Then again, he did enjoy solitude in nature, didn't he? Maybe he was more of a loner than she assumed. 

She jumped when he spoke up. "What ya cookin' in yer head?"

"I'm just excited," she said, irritated how much of a light sleeper he was and how, even with his back turned, he always knew when she was awake. "I'm going to be rich tomorrow."

He turned to face her and shifted closer. "Might have to rob ya then," he whispered.

"What if we really find a treasure?" she said more seriously a while later. We could do anything we wanted. We could both just pack up and go away. Start somewhere new. Together. She thought on how to ask these things and couldn't make the words come out. 

"I'll eat my hat, tell ya that," he mumbled sleepily. 

"Wouldn't mind seeing that" she sighed and settled into his chest before she drifted off.

The next morning they set out early. It was a long ride to Strawberry and they wanted to arrive before they lost the daylight. Arthur watched with fascination as Savigne whipped out a list and rattled off all the items she had decided they needed. He shot down half of them saying they're not traveling to Canada and there are towns in between, also game to shoot. There were some things on the list he just listened to incredulously like "extra matches, extra soap, extra boots, extra sling in case Cricket's basket sling got ripped etc" and dissuaded her only by reminding her how much Cricket would suffer under this "extra" weight and added that this was not how adventures worked. She relented. 

She prepared the horses as Dutch called him over, saying there is a job he needs Arthur to be on and when Arthur said that he will take care of it when he returns, Dutch’s eyes sought out and blazed at Savigne as if she had said it. She took some satisfaction in that.

They trotted out in the brisk morning air and she was unreasonably excited. 

"You know, this is my first time doing anything in the countryside," she remarked. "Are we going to camp under the stars?"

"Course we are," he said from ahead, "or was you aiming for a hotel, Princess?"

"I prefer the camping."

"Won' be glamorous, I tell ya that," Arthur grunted, sounding unsure what she was so excited about. 

"That's the point," she quipped. 

He waited patiently as she stopped several times to watch animals through her binoculars and then wanted to get off to look at some flowers she hadn't seen before. 

Overall it was a pleasant ride, cool and relaxed. There was a lady by the road who needed help and Savigne gave him a questioning look but he rode on as if she wasn't there and later said that she's always there and it's an ambush. This sobered her a little to dangers she wasn't aware of and she was glad he was with her.

Late afternoon they arrived to the outskirts of Strawberry but instead of heading into town, Arthur aimed north and a mile or so out said they needed to rest the horses by a stream. He told her not to go too far, that there were wolves and cougars around and Savigne didn't need to be told twice. 

An hour after they broke rest they arrived at a hill and for the first time she saw the three rock formations in the distance, reaching to the sky. 

Unfortunately her good mood turned when they arrived to the foot of a bridge. Arthur went right over it with Frost and she lingered behind, preparing. On the other side he noticed she wasn't following and came back. 

"What's the matter?"

"I need to prepare," she told him, locating her blindfold. 

"For?"

"Crossing the bridge."

He watched her put the blindfold on. "The hell ya doin'?"

She pulled it off, exasperated. "Why don't you go ahead, Arthur, I'll be there in a few minutes."

He didn't move, intrigued. She put the blindfold back on, arranged it just so and took a couple of deep breaths. 

She was about to lean over Cricket's neck when he spoke up, startling her: "Savigne, y'afraid of heights?"

"So what if I am?" she said, frustrated and pulled down her blindfold again. 

"Nothing," he said, his voice somewhat softer. "Just didn' know.'"

"You go ahead," she said, "Cricket will take me over, he knows what to do."

He looked like he was going to argue, then decided against it and left. She swallowed, tightened the blindfold and leaned over Cricket's neck, whispering for him to go. She felt him walking, slow and easy. The timbre of his hoof beats changed as they mounted the bridge and she shuddered. Slight sweat broke over her brow and she ignored it and instead, mentally went through the ingredients of chocolate pudding.

Cricket stopped once he was over and she took a deep shaky breath, sat back up and took off her blindfold. 

Arthur was waiting on her and he didn't comment further, just gave Cricket an appreciative look which she felt very proud about and they continued. When dusk set, he said they were camping there for the night because the rest of the way was too steep and treacherous to navigate in the dark. 

He prepared the fire and said he will see if he can hunt something even though they had food and left. She fished out the canned beans, canned tomatoes, vegetables and her spice set and prepared vegetable chili. 

He came with a rabbit and cleaned it and she prepared to grill it with salt, pepper and thyme while he washed off the blood on his hands.

When he returned they waited for the rabbit to cook, then she served him a bowl of grilled rabbit, chili and a slice of the sourdough bread she had baked in preparation the day before. He ate the whole thing in his usual hungry, no-nonsense manner and wiped the bowl with the bread, saying this was some fancy camp food and asked for more. After, the lighted his cigarette and pulled out the whiskey and she took a small glass, warming it in her hands.

The stars were out and it was a warm night, slightly breezy but overall calm and beautiful. 

"You know, I envy you," she said at some point. "You live like this all the time."

"I like being out here, that's true," he said, gazing at the sky. "Quiet."

"You can camp wherever you want, you can travel the whole country if you want to. Must feel very free."

He scratched his beard. "Yeah, it does."

"You think I could do it?"

"No."

She blinked at his short answer. "Why, because I'm a woman?" she asked evenly.

"Cause ya can't shoot," he said with a grin. 

She huffed. Then, carefully: "You ever think of life outside the gang?"

"Sure," he said, the campfire dancing in his eyes.

It had its challenges, to be with someone like Arthur. She couldn't read him, he was wildly different in his upbringing and values, and worst of all - he rarely expressed his opinions or his plans for the future. Sometimes - most times - he acted like he deeply enjoyed her company and that was all it was. Other times he made her think she was profoundly underestimating her importance to him. It was like being in a dark room and trying to feel her way around.  

"What does that life look like?" was her careful question.

He gave her a long look. "Hope to find out soon."

They were quiet for a while, watching the Moon move up. She was happy to be there, happy to be with Arthur, happy to be outdoors, in the country. Away from of camp he seemed more at peace, calmer, more balanced.  

"Ready for bed?" he said finally. 

She was tired from riding all day and nodded. She crept into his arms in the tent and was almost immediately asleep.

The next morning she was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking up at Arthur's amused face, then back down at the ravine. Then at the ledge across, then back at him. She took a step back, her palms sweaty. 

"Ughh...let's check the map again."

She took it out and spread it with trembling hands. 

"I'm not sure..."

"Clearly says we gotta jump over," he interjected smoothly.

She bit her lip, looked back at the ledge. "That can't be right, it's too far."

"Ain't that far," he lazily scratched his beard. 

She glanced back at the ravine. Her foot started tapping. The day felt unnaturally hot, so she loosened the top button on her blouse. 

"I'm thinking..."

A grunt of ‘go on’. 

"…thinking..."

He shifted on his feet, unperturbed. 

"…that maybe we should come back another time."

His eyebrows rose at that. 

"Clearly we don't have the equipment we need for this."

His gaze shifted to the ledge, then back at her. "What equipment ya need?"

"You know...climbing equipment. I can read a book. In fact, let's go to the library in Saint Denis! I can look it up and we probably need some pins and foot gear and hooks and a rope of course, scratch that, several ropes, then we need to practice somewhere, can't just start he-"

"Ain't comin' back here," he said casually. She opened her mouth to argue and he added: "Y’ain't either."

"But..." she sputtered.

"It's a jump. Ain't that far." The corners of his lips curled up.

"It's really high though."

He took off his hat, fanned himself a bit. "Thought you said you can do everythin' on yer own."

She pressed her lips together. "I can!"

"'Cept that," he said, pointing his hat to the ledge. 

"I can do that, too! I just need to learn-"

"How to climb the Rockies?"

She wanted to slap him so bad, her palm itched.

He put his hat back on. "I can do it." A thoughtful palm on his chin, "But..."

"But what?" she asked, annoyed. 

"Why would I?" The hint of a grin. The brute. 

"What do you mean, why? I told you we'll share the treasure!" She flapped the map shut with a huff. 

"And if there ain't any?"

"Well we won't know until we look."

"Hmmm..."

A few moments passed. Who knew when she might get time off again from work? He was such a prick, using her fear of heights against her.

"Need more'n that if I'm riskin' my neck," he sighed in a regretful tone.

"What, you want the whole thing?"

A dismissive shrug. "A whole of nothin' is nothin'."

"God! What then?"

He gave her a look. A long moment passed. She would have laughed if she wasn't so frustrated. 

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "It's my price." Then a smug "Ma'am."

"This here isn't Cricket, you know."

He turned away. "Well then, let's head back while we got the light."

"Stop!" she laughed, defeated. "Stop! What do you want, a promise?"

"That'll do."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"What'll be, miss?"

"Alright, fine, I promise," she chuckled.

"Promise what?"

"I promise whatever. Christ, get over here already!"

He sauntered over, obnoxiously proud of himself. "Give it here."

She handed him the map and he stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. She grabbed his arm before he could set off. "You better be careful," she added somberly. 

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm not kidding, be care-"

He jumped the gap and landed casually on the ledge. "God dam it!" she gasped, hand on heart. She ran as close as she dared. "What do you see?"

"Another ledge."

"Seriously?"

"Why, this here suppose t'be the only one in America?"

She cursed under her breath at how impossible he was today. "How far?"

He didn't answer and just jumped out of sight. Her heart flipped. "Arthur!"

"Calm down woman! You'll hear me if I fall, believe me."

"Very funny," she called over, but then decided it was better not to break his concentration. 

She sat down at a comfortable distance from the ledge, pulled up her knees and started to tap her foot. Should have gone for that climbing gear, she thought, waiting and reminding herself to breathe. The minutes ticked by so slowly on her pocket watch, she was starting to believe it was damaged. She jumped to her feet, went over to Cricket, petted him anxiously. Then she repeated it with Frost because you can’t just pet one horse and not the other. Then she went back and sat down again. Then she jumped up, checking her watch. It had only been five minutes. 

Five minutes after that she was so restless that she crept to the edge of the ledge and called out to him. He didn't answer which made her really nervous. Now she was running between the horses and the ledge and doing the same actions over and over again. Sitting down, getting up, petting Cricket, petting Frost, calling out to him, sitting down, getting up - she knew she was being stupid, but the compulsion was so strong, she couldn't resist. 

After what seemed like hours he called back. The relief that washed over her made her knees buckle. 

"What took so long?" she called, trying to calm her heart that was galloping in her chest. 

"Ain't easy hoppin' around with all this gold!" came the answer. 

"What?!! You serious?!!"

He jumped into view. Empty handed. He gave her a grin and she was compelled to find a gun and shoot him. 

"I fucking hate you!" she yelled. Then: "Be careful!"

He jumped back to her side and she swung her arms around his back. 

"Whoa woman," he chuckled, "y'alright?"

"I was worried," came her muffled response. 

Then she stepped back and slapped his chest. "You're enjoying this way too much!"

He clicked his tongue in amusement. 

She bent down, hands on knees, trying to regain her breath. "All that and we got nothing."

"Didn' say we got nothin'." 

"What!?"

He fished out a piece of paper. When she unfolded it, it turned out to be another map. 

Her eyes widened and she got all jittery. "Oh my god, ohmygod I knew it! The treasure map is real!!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No it ain't. Just someone's idea of a prank."

"You telling me somebody jumped around these ledges here just to set up a prank?" she said with clear disbelief.

He threw out his arms. "Clearly."

She looked at the map, her excitement undimmed. "Only one way to find out! Where's this, I wonder?"

"I know where it is and we ain't goin' there," he said, wiping his brow. 

"Why not?"

"Dangerous."  

"You say that about everything!" He gave her a side eye. "Just tell me where it is, then."

"The hell I am," he huffed and walked away. "Knowin' you, you'll just run off there first chance."

"You're such a brute," she hissed. Then, calmer: "Charles might know." She saw the slight tensing of his shoulders as he was walking towards Frost. "He might even take me," she added with a drawl. 

"He ain't takin' ya if I say not to." He was fishing for his water canteen in the saddle, trying to hide his annoyance. 

"I might cook him a prize," she quipped, sauntering over. "If he hunts a rabbit, I can make him kouneli stifado. Greek rabbit stew." She knew she was pushing it because Arthur was irrationally possessive of her cooking and pettily disinclined to share it. The only person he made an exception for was Jack.  

"Woman..." he gave her a hard glare. 

"What?"

He huffed and stuffed the canteen back in, then gave her a long, intense look, walked over to the side, squared his feet and said "Come here."

Her eyebrows rose. "Don't think I wi-"

"Ain't you promised?" was the low growl. 

She blinked. "You're collecting now?"

"I am. Come here."

She eyed him head to toe to gauge if he was being serious. 

"Now, Savigne." he said, his tone more serious, less playful. 

She walked over and stood in front of him, suddenly excited. He cupped her chin and gave her a long crushing kiss. When he broke it, she was breathless. His eyes crawled over her body. "Strip." He said with a low voice.

"Here?!"

"Here."

"But..."

"Ain't nobody 'round for miles." She almost shivered at the way he was looking at her. Then again the command: "Strip!"

She stepped back and started to unbutton her blouse. She glanced around nervously, there was nothing but rocks and trees. But it was daytime and in the open and he had asked her to take off her clothes, this was way outside her comfort zone. She stripped out of her blouse, her boots, her jeans, then her underwear, standing stark naked in front of him, resisting the urge to tap her foot. He watched her with hooded eyes, hands on gun belt. She hugged herself with the instinct to cover her nakedness but he waved an arm.

"None of that."

She bit back her argument and dropped her arms to her side, twitching nervously on her feet. He would take any objection as a challenge and enjoy squashing it, so the best thing to do was to comply completely. 

He came to stand in front of her, then slowly circled her, his left hand gliding over her leg, her stomach, a breast, a shoulder blade, her spine, a butt cheek, waist. Despite the urge to cover herself, she felt her exhilaration still present, pulsing in the background. His other hand smoothly slid off her tie and he ran his fingers through her hair to loosen it over her back. After a full circle he kissed her again, aggressively. 

"On your knees," he whispered into her ear. 

She sunk down, feeling herself getting wet. She looked up at him. His face was unreadable but his eyes were dilated and full of want. 

He dropped his gun belt to the ground, then very slowly unbuttoned his jeans, watching her. She didn't break eye contact and kept very still. His cock sprang to his hand, eager and ready but he was calm and calculating as the fingers of this other hand glided over her jawline and his thumb pushed between her lips. She suckled at it without looking away and his jaw muscles clenched at the action. He moved closer and she didn't need to be told, she leaned in and closed her lips on the head, twirling her tongue. 

A low moan fell from his lips. He had never asked her again after the first time she had done this and she hadn't offered, curious how long he would go without asking. She knew he had enjoyed it greatly that night. But that night she had initiated it and she had been in control. Today he wouldn't allow her that. 

His hand cradled the back of her head and he urged her to take him in further and she relaxed her throat and did that, moving up and down his shaft. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned again, whispering her name as he kept their gazes locked. She moved slow and suckled gently when she reached the head, then back down, taking him in further and getting more and more wet herself, the tingling between her legs now clouding her mind with need. His lips fell apart and he started panting louder, a slight tremble to his legs. Her hands crawled up to his thighs, resting on his hips and she finally sheathed him completely in her throat and he cursed softly, his eyes gliding to his cock disappearing and reappearing between her lips. She felt him harden even more and swallowed, feeling another shudder go through his legs with it. 

He inched closer, moving against her now, gently pushing in and out as he held her head in place. She continued to hold the eye contact as he increasingly became more excited, a flush creeping up his face, the fingers on the back of her hand curling into a fist on her hair, his peals of moans more lustful. There was a look of dominance on his face, a look of power and it turned her on immensely. But in the back of her mind, suddenly the urge to rebel. To turn the tables. 

She tasted his precum and felt him slowing down. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to come. Given that he had told her to strip, she imagined he had other things in mind. Well but so did she. She raised her tongue to increase the friction and he moaned absentmindedly at that. Then she removed one of her hands from his hip and slowly moved it to her breast. His eyes glided over, fascinated as she gently brushed and cupper her breast, then continued moving her hand over her stomach. His breathing gained pace again and despite himself, so did his pumping. She hummed and his eyelids fluttered with pleasure, but his eyes were glued to her hand as she moved it lower still, over her upper leg, the inside of her thigh, then back up, up until she separated two fingers and glided them further, over her folds, then curled them at the knuckle and pushed them in. 

He hardened in her mouth and bent forward with a gasp. She thought she had him but suddenly her hair was pulled back with a sting and he slipped out. “Gettin’ bold, are we?” he growled, dropping on his knees in front of her. He bent her head with the grip in her hair before he crushed her lips, then left a trail of kisses down her throat before a suckled on a breast hard enough to make her arch and whimper.

”Turn around,” was the rough command. She scrambled to turn her back to him, remaining on her knees. The slap on her buttocks felt like someone had pressed a sheet of fire against her skin. She took a sharp breath and his left finger slid into her and her intended gasp turned into a moan. His cock pressing against her back was rock hard and distantly she marveled at his self control. She squirmed against it and he groaned with the friction. The harder slap that followed made her jump. The finger in her curled and she moaned so loudly, she could have sworn that she heard and echo of it bounce around. His large hand fondled her sensitive cheek as he curled his finger again and she whimpered, torn between pleasure and pain.

There was something obnoxious about doing this in a clearing in broad daylight, stark naked while he was completely dressed behind her. Obnoxious and exciting at the same time. The things this man could make her do! He removed his finger and pushed his cock into her. She was so wet, he slid in comfortably despite his size. His left hand found hers and pressed it flat on her belly, keeping it there as he pulled out and bucked back in.

”Feel that?” he whispered against her ear. “Feel me takin’ ya?”

She felt him under her palm, moving in and out, splitting her and moaned again. “Yes.”

His right hand squeezed her inflamed butt cheek, his left hand still on hers as he continued his slow pumping. She whimpered with excitement and pain and he hardened in her. He pushed her left hand down to her folds, placing his fingers on hers to make her caress herself as his bucking sharpened. She panted when he suckled her earlobe. She felt herself getting closer and he knew her well enough to notice it. His right hand flew up to her chin to turn her face. “Wanna see it,” he whispered as she moaned uncontrollably under the assault of his fingers, moving her own.

He must have seen her crest that peak dozens of times by now but his appetite for it never slackened. The hunger to see her vulnerable, naked, completely at his mercy, in submission to his power and to the need only he could grant her was voracious.

Suddenly, just at the verge, his fingers forced hers to still and his bucking slowed down. She moaned with frustration. “Ask me for it,” was his low command.

Savigne flustered at his self control to pull back even now, when he was as close as she was. It was freakish compared to hers. Her muscles clamped around his cock, trying to force him on. “Please,” she whispered when he wouldn’t relent.

”Please what?”

A distant part of her rebelled and he must have seen it on her face because he slowed even further and removed her left hand from her folds. She panted with need, stuck between the primal need to scratch that itch and her pride. His right hand dropped to her breast, fondling it as he glided in and out of her with agonizing slowness. This was his new thing now - forcing her to ask him for things. Breaking that wall brick by brick. 

”Please…” she swallowed, “…let me…oh..." she shuddered and whimpered.

"What's the word, little bird?" he sighed into her ear, kissing the cheek that was turned to him, his beard scratching her shoulder.

"...sing." she gasped. 

He hummed with approval and pushed her to fall on her hands, jerking her ass towards him. He pulled on her shoulders, arching her back as he increased his pace. In the back of her mind, the notion of how she had started off the year not understanding what the big deal about sex was only to become a woman who let herself be stripped and taken in broad daylight in a clearing. You think you know yourself, she thought dimly but all her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind when he leaned over her, beard scratching her back, fingers gliding over her folds. He relentlessly brushed, caressed, massaged until her moans turned into guttural gasps and her final cry bounced between the walls of the chasm. A moment later a rumble on her back, a stuttering of grunts in her ear and the wetness of his warm seed inside her. They remained like that for a few moments, panting and baking under the sun. He sat back and pulled her with him to sit in his lap, his hands circling her waist and pressing her into his chest. She lied against him, trying to come down from her peak, her nakedness completely forgotten.

”Enjoyed this trip more than I thought I would,” he drawled and kissed her neck.

"So…about this next spot..." she panted.

He chuckled darkly. “Tell ya what. You make me some of that kuneli stuff, maybe I'll think 'bout it."

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Bon appétit - Chapter 8: Funfetti

[Astarion/Gale]

It's 2 a.m., Gale's tired and wants some food. Astarion, the cute barista/waiter at the Emerald Grove knows how to sate his cravings.

Trigger warning (18+): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, No Magic, No Vampire, No Wizard, Graphic Description of Sex, Smut, Anal Sex, Cum Eating, Cum Feeding, Fellatio, Fingering, Rimming, Food Porn, Unrealistic Refractory, Improvised Lube & Sex toys (don't try this at home kids), Waiter Astarion, Professor Gale, Depraved Carnal Lust

Fair warning: In this chapter, I fully embraced the @patheticfangirl Aesthetic™ (food porn, cum eating, cum feeding, stuffing food in various orifices, etc.). Enjoy (?) the questionable debauchery.

P.S. The author advises against most of these sexual practices. Please, use real sex toys with flared bases as well as actual lube (water-based is best because it won't damage the silicone of condoms and toys).

With a groan, Gale buried his face in his hands. He was doing the taxes and things didn't look good. If this would go on for another year, the situation would truly become dire. Gale really didn't want to think about that. He was grateful when he got a text message from Astarion, asking to be picked up from work. With creaking knees, Gale got up and left the paperwork behind.

The Emerald Grove's green neon sign welcomed him from afar as Gale parked at the side of the road. He quickly walked into the alley, pelted by the sleety rain, and pushed open the door to greet his fiancé. Astarion was already waiting for him, the café/bistro spotless and ready to be closed for the night.

"You're done early," Gale remarked. "It's only midnight."

"I know. I'm so happy about that," grinned Astarion and kissed him hello. "I have an idea."

"Oh-oh," chuckled Gale teasingly.

"I already prepared my weapons of choice," his partner announced, gesturing at a neat lineup of things on the counter. The brunet snorted a laugh.

"I think you have a food kink. It's always vegetables."

"And, on one lovely occasion, a red-cheeked apple," Astarion snickered, wiggling his brows suggestively. Smiling, Gale rolled his eyes at him.

"You're a menace."

"You love me."

"Obviously."

"Did you do what I asked you to?" Astarion purred. Blushing a tad, Gale nodded.

"Yes."

"Show me."

Astarion's pupils were blown, a slight flush had crept into his pale cheeks. Obediently, Gale unzipped his trousers, shoved them down to his knees, bent over the nearest table, and spread his legs to put his well-prepared hole on display. Almost reverently, Astarion ran his hands across his fiancé's buttocks.

"You are a vision, my love," he murmured. "Beautiful. Utterly breathtaking." He probed at the pink hole and was happy with the way three of his fingers could easily sink in without any resistance. "You prepared yourself well, love. All for me." He licked a long stripe up between those plush cheeks, making Gale groan. "I'm blessed." Then, Astarion drew back and patted Gale's hips to tell him to straighten up. He pulled the brunet into a kiss before gesturing towards the thick blanket on the ground. "Come on. Make yourself comfortable."

How considered of him to think about Gale's knees. Contently, the latter toed off his shoes and got rid of his trousers and boxershorts before sitting onto the blanket.

"How do you want me? Direct me," Gale asked, smiling softly. Instead of answering, Astarion kneeled and pulled him into a ferocious kiss.

"Why are you so perfect?" he murmured. "God, I fucking love you." He leaned in for another messy kiss. "Get on your hands and knees, love."

Gale did as he was told, dutifully, and was rewarded with a third kiss.

"I'll spoil you tonight," Astarion said. "I'll show you things you've never seen. We'll have a feast, my love. First, an appetizer."

Swiftly, he got up, walked over to the counter and grabbed the first two items. Curiously, Gale glanced at him over his shoulder. Astarion came back with a small ceramic bowl. After kneeling back down, he dipped his fingers into it, watching how the clear fluid dripped down.

"What's that?" Gale asked curiously.

"Bacon grease," his fiancé answered with a shit-eating grin. "Collected over the course of the entire day by yours truly. Strained and warmed up to spoil you and make you taste like a piece of juicy pork belly. I cannot wait to eat you right up, my love."

With these words, Astarion pushed his grease-covered fingers into Gale's ass and fucked him this way for a few seconds, dipping the digits into the liquid bacon grease anew each time he pulled them out. Gale was moaning wantonly, arching his back sluttily. Astarion absolutely loved it. It was driving him wild.

"Fuck, you're so hot."

He gently bit Gale's left ass cheek before pulling his fingers out, spreading him apart, and eating him out. The brunet cried out in ecstasy, fisting the blanket, and shoved his ass into his partner's face. Groaning happily, Astarion pushed his tongue in as far as he could, licking the bacon grease off, before he drew back to suck on the rim. Gale's breath hitched and he whimpered as his torso collapsed onto the floor. He spread his legs wider to wordlessly beg for more. Astarion kept licking and sucking his hole with possessive, little growls while digging his fingers into the ample buttocks to keep them spread. Gale's eyes rolled back and he wished Astarion would never stop as he panted, mewled, and drooled. His gut clenched and he wasn't even able to utter a warning before he came, spilling against the swell of his own belly and the soft blanket. With a litany of moans, Gale's legs gave in and he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Astarion licked his lips like he'd devoured a greasy, juicy burger instead of ass.

"Now, you're ready for the appetizer."

"That wasn't the appetizer?" rasped Gale, still out of breath, and Astarion snickered.

"No, my love. The appetizer’s a cheese stick."

The blond guided the brunet back onto his knees, whipped out the white, tube-shaped item, dipped it into the bacon grease, and carefully inserted it into Gale's ass. The latter gasped in shock.

"Cold!"

"Yeah, I put it in the freezer in the hopes that it would keep its shape that way. It wouldn't be fun if the cheese stick breaks while I fuck you with it."

Gale barked a nervous laugh. Astarion started to slowly fuck him with the cheese stick. It was rather uncomfortable; too cold and the shape was weird.

"Not your thing, hm?" Astarion remarked, clearly able to sense Gale's discomfort.

"No, it's - it feels weird. Itchy. And the cold hurts," mumbled Gale with his head pressed into the blanket. For some reason, he was ashamed. He so desperately wanted to please his partner and it felt like he was failing him. But all those negative feelings vanished when Astarion placed a kiss on Gale's tailbone and whispered: "It's okay. You're doing so well, love. We'll move on to the salad."

He sped over to the counter and grabbed the next 'meal'.

"My veg of choice," Astarion grinned, wiggling the cucumber around, making Gale snicker.

"Zucchinis, cucumbers, cheese sticks... What else do you want to shove up my ass?" the latter asked and snorted amused when his fiancé answered: "Anything that's vaguely phallic-shaped."

"Really? Even a cactus?" Astarion's pondering silence was concerning. "Please not a cactus," Gale said faintly, suddenly rather worried about his anus' well-being.

"Of course not, love," Astarion replied hastily. "The only prickly thing that goes inside you is me."

Gale laughed so hard, the cheese stick got ejected from his hole like a missile from a NERF gun.

"You ruined my appetizer," tsked Astarion, but couldn't hold back a snicker. "Well, I promised you to move on to the salad anyway."

He lubed up the cucumber with the bacon grease before fucking Gale with it, hard and fast. The brunet trembled with the force of it, moaning high-pitched each time his prostate got hit. Suddenly, Astarion stopped moving when the cucumber was deep inside Gale. He bent over and took a big bite, his lips brushing Gale's ass cheeks.

"Hmm, a bit bland. My salad needs some salt," Astarion remarked. He slowly pulled the cucumber out and swiped the bitten-off end over Gale's sweaty back before taking another bite.

"Perfect."

Gale couldn't help but giggle at his crazy fiancé. Sex at the workplace, fucking at the farmer's market, robbing a veterinary clinic... What else had this ridiculous man up his sleeve?

Grinning, Astarion manhandled Gale onto his back and the latter went willingly, utterly curious about the next step.

"Now, it's time for the main course," Astarion narrated, patting Gale's thigh gently. "Just lie on your back like this, legs apart."

Gale complied immediately and was rewarded with a sweet kiss. Astarion got up once more to fetch the needed items from the counter. After settling back down, he coated the sausage with some bacon grease before pushing it into Gale's slightly gaping hole. It felt like nothing and slid in easily. Gale's eyes widened slightly when, to his surprise, he found the sausage to be warm. Astarion had observed his face, clearly waiting for said reaction.

"I kept it warm for you," he said, stroking his fiancé's sweaty hair. "I thought you might like it."

"I do. Appreciated, sweetheart," Gale replied, smiling. Astarion blushed at the term of endearment, still not used to it, and felt all warm and fuzzy inside. He locked lips with Gale, caressing the latter's tongue with his own until they were both moaning. Then, Astarion used a soft hotdog bun as a cock sleeve, sliding it up and down Gale's leaking dick, while keeping the sausage in place. His partner panted and groaned like a man dying (maybe he was a little) as he was jerked off. Astarion enjoyed gazing at that bearded face scrunched up in pleasure. As Gale came with a breathless gasp, Astarion caught his cum with the hotdog bun. Dazed, the brunet witnessed how his partner pulled the sausage out of his ass to assemble the hotdog and finished it off by squirting some ketchup onto it.

"Perfect."

Astarion took a big bite of the hotdog; cum-soaked bun, ass-flavoured sausage, and all. He chewed with his eyes closed and swallowed with a satisfied moan before going in for a second bite. Gale stared up at him, feeling slightly ill.

"You're disgusting."

"You love that about me, darling, don't lie," quipped Astarion, grinning, and offered the hotdog to Gale. The latter, never-endingly curious as always, overcame his disgust and ripped off a chunk with his teeth. It didn't taste too bad, but the cum definitely threw him off a bit. He made a face.

"It tastes weird."

"Snob."

With a huff, Gale gently swatted at Astarion's arm before pulling him in for a kiss. The blond grinned into it.

"How about a palate cleanser, hm? Something sweet? Does that sound appetising?"

"Mmh, yes," sighed Gale against his partner's lips.

Reluctantly, Astarion drew back to gather the next item and presented a squeeze bottle of caramel sauce to Gale. The latter squinted at it.

"Isn't that the caramel you drizzle over the bougie lattes?"

"Guilty as charged," giggled Astarion. "Only the best for the best, and the sweetest for the sweetest feast before me."

What about whipped cream?" Gale asked grinning.

"I produce my own," replied Astarion with a shit-eating grin and his fiancé almost choked on his own spit. Now, the blond popped open the lid, drizzling the sticky caramel sauce onto Gale's junk. With a moan, Astarion slurped at the latter's flaccid dick, swirling his tongue around to gather up the sweet caramel, sweat, and cooling cum. Gale groaned gutturally, carding his fingers through his partner's blond curls.

"I don't think I can come again," he admitted quietly.

"I don't mind," Astarion replied and sucked one of Gale's balls into his hot mouth. The brunet hissed, barely able to keep from kicking his foot due to the overstimulation. Astarion moaned and slurped, cleaning Gale with his tongue and swallowing it all with gusto. His partner started whimpering, it was too much. Tears welled up in his brown eyes as he squirmed in discomfort. Astarion finally had mercy on him and sat up. Gale sighed a breath of relief and placed kisses on Astarion's knuckles.

"Let me put my mouth on you," he begged. "Please."

"Fuck, yes!"

Astarion rid himself of his trousers and boxershorts before giving his weeping, rock-hard cock a few strokes. He was properly pent-up at this point.

"Sit on me," Gale ordered, embarrassment and shame forgotten thanks to his horniness. Astarion straddled his chest, knees under Gale's armpits, and drizzled caramel sauce onto his erection. Wordlessly, Gale opened his mouth, lolling his tongue out. Astarion couldn't help but stare.

"Fuck, Gale, you're beautiful," he breathed, in awe. "God, you're perfect, love."

With a low whine, the addressed pulled Astarion closer by the thighs and swallowed his cock down to the root. The blond cried out, bucking his hips.

"Fuck, Gale! Oh, God!"

Humming happily, the brunet started to suck him off while rubbing his index finger over Astarion's hole. The latter collapsed onto his elbows, bent over Gale, and thrusted into the hot, wet mouth around him. Gale let him. With a cry, Astarion threw his head back and shot his load down Gale’s slackened throat, and the latter swallowed it all like a shot, still able to taste the sticky caramel sauce on Astarion's skin, before placing a kiss on the tip of his dick.

"Fuck... oh, fuck..."

Trembling, the blond collapsed next to his partner, still drooling onto the blanket. Gale kissed him sloppily, and Astarion tasted himself, but didn't care. They rested for a while, limbs heavy with sexual satisfaction.

"How about dessert?" Astarion drawled, sleepily, and Gale chuckled amused, kissing his flushed cheek.

"What have you planned?" he asked, mouthing at the blond's ear.

"Mmh, it's a secret," giggled Astarion, goosebumps spreading over his arms and nipples perking up at the way Gale's soft, wet tongue probed his ear canal.

"I'm looking forward to it," whispered the brunet, gently biting his partner's helix. It made Astarion moan and he rolled on top of Gale, grinding their hips together.

"You drive me mad, my love," he admitted as he ran his fingers through Gale's salt-and-pepper mane. They kissed messily, all spit and tongue, panting into each other's mouths.

The bells jingled happily when the door opened and a hunk of a man stepped into the Emerald Grove. Gale gasped, wide-eyed and scared.

"Halsin!" squeaked Astarion, immediately blushing from head to toe. The owner of the café/bistro chuckled amused as he took in the scene. His gaze fell on the stray, thawing cheese stick on the floor, and he raised an eyebrow. Astarion seemed unbothered, but Gale's face burned with shame.

"You went home three hours ago. You're not supposed to be here!" the blond said, trying to sound as reproachful as possible. Halsin simply kept smiling warmly.

"When I arrived at home, I realised I've left the dewormers for Scratch in my office," he explained. "Is this your infamous fiancé?"

"Yes. Halsin, Gale. Gale, Halsin."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Gale. I've heard so much about you," Halsin spoke casually as if he didn't just witnessed his employee and his partner lying butt naked on the floor. "I heard you're a regular, but unfortunately, I've never seen you before. I hope this will change in the future."

"Yes. It's nice to meet you too," Gale replied awkwardly.

"I'm usually only here in the afternoons because I have to look after the garden and the animals, but I hope to see you in the Grove again soon. Now, I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Gale nodded dumbly as Halsin, true to his words, crossed the small café/bistro and entered his office in the back. Gale stared up at Astarion, who was still sitting in his lap, feeling deeply uncomfortable.

"We should apologise and go home," he whispered, but his fiancé frowned displeased and hissed: "Absolutely not! We were here first! I'm not letting my boss ruin my plans!"

Gale bit his lips, uncertain, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Halsin marched out of his office, humming, and playing with his key ring. When he was right next to them, he made eye contact with Astarion, and asked amused: "Are you having fun?"

"Yes, until you walked in," the blond fired back, cheekily. Halsin chuckled, glanced down at them once more, and licked his lips.

"Perhaps, you'd like some extra company?"

"Absolutely not! Fuck off, Halsin!" growled Astarion. Immediately, Gale was worried about the way his boyfriend had snapped at his boss. They couldn't afford losing Astarion's steady income. Thankfully, Gale had panicked for nothing. Halsin simply chuckled amused, shrugging, the insult rolling off of him like water off a duck’s back.

"You will clean up the mess according to hygiene protocol, I hope," he said, good-naturedly.

"Of course. That's what the sanitiser spray and wipes are for," retorted Astarion, rolling his eyes. Halsin nodded towards the half-eaten cucumber on the blanket.

"That's not going back into the fridge, right?"

"Clearly not. I'm not an idiot, Halsin," sighed the addressed. "The last two times, I wiped it down, washed it under hot, running water, and ate it for dinner. I'm not going to ruin my own workplace."

"Good, that's what I hoped," hummed Halsin, contently. "I can hardly blame you for ravishing your partner in here. It's a beautiful space that holds wonderful memories for me too."

At that, Astarion perked up.

"So, you did fuck the hot mechanic? From down the road? Dammon?"

Halsin nodded with a beaming smile.

"We enjoyed each other's company many times already. He's really good with his hands."

"Hah! Lae'zel owes me twenty gp!" cheered Astarion. "She bet on the personal trainer from across the street. The one with the cool mohawk."

"Aah," Halsin mused, eyes soft. "Karlach. Those thighs feel fantastic around my head, and she has a wicked hip thrust. Perfect for when she uses a strap-on."

"Well, shit," grumbled Astarion, slumping back down. Then, his eyes lit up again when he remembered something. "Did you fuck that cocky Blackstaff substitute teacher? Lorry, or something?"

"You mean Lorroakan?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"His inexperience and shyness are refreshing, and he's a natural with his mouth," said Halsin. "I'm lucky to be allowed to share my body with him."

"That means I actually win the bet with Lae," grinned Astarion. Halsin tut-tutted half-heartedly, smiling softly.

"The matters of hearts are delicate and must be handled with care," the hunk of a man said. "If you play with them too roughly, they'll break."

"Mh, yes, darling, wonderful poetry, but could you please piss off now? I'm rather busy," Astarion told him. Chuckling, Halsin indicated a bow and walked towards the door. Before he left, he turned around again, shooting Gale a beaming smile.

"It was lovely to meet you, Gale. Take good care of our wonderful Astarion. Enjoy your evening."

And with that, the owner of the Emerald Grove was gone. Gale blinked up at his partner.

"What just happened? Am I tripping?"

"Not at all, love. You've simply made the acquaintance with Halsin, the hippie who preaches free love, and is a living, breathing fuck machine."

"Did you two ever..."

"Yes, right after I escaped Cazador," explained Astarion frankly. "I was in a shitty place and this job literally saved my life, so, out of gratitude, I fucked Halsin for a while. But he isn't one for monogamy or begrudging other people's happiness, thus, it's not an issue that we've stopped having sex. Don't worry."

Gale couldn't help but wonder how on earth Astarion had fit Halsin's dick into his ass. The hunk must be hung if he was proportional.

"I'm impressed you were able to fit his monstrosity into you. How did you manage that? I'd be scared of tearing something."

"Oh, no, not at all," grinned Astarion. "I wasn't the one who bottomed."

Gale's eyes went wide.

"Oh! Holy..."

Chuckling, his fiancé bent down to kiss him.

"Enough talking about other people. I only want you."

Warmth bloomed in Gale's chest upon hearing these words.

"Now, it's time for dessert," Astarion announced, running his fingers through his partner's chest hair. "And you're the sweetest thing I can eat."

The brunet snickered at these cheesy words, but actually didn't mind them one bit. Astarion kissed him once more before he stood up to get a small plate from the counter.

"Dessert's something very special, darling," he purred and placed the plate on the floor. Gale got up onto his elbows to take a look, curiously. They were cookies. Flat, round, with a hole in the middle. Not a doughnut though. Gale identified them as Halsin's specialty pastries called 'Honey rings'.

"Only the sweetest for the sweetest, and the best for the best," purred Astarion. His fiancé watched, enraptured, as he squirted some caramel sauce onto his hand and started to stroke Gale's cock to hardness. When Astarion deemed it enough, he slid one of the cookies over Gale's erection and pushed it down, careful to not break it.

"An alternative cock ring?" giggled the brunet. For some reason, it amused him immensely. Grinning, Astarion licked some caramel off his fiancé's dick before diving down for the cookie. Gale's giggling turned into moaning immediately, and he buried his fingers in the blond's hair.

"God, Astarion..."

The addressed hummed, happily nibbling on the hard cookie and licking the familiar cock in front of him. With each lick and dribble of precum, the cookie softened, until it crumbled apart and Astarion ate it directly off Gale's dick. The latter groaned, feeling more precum leak from his tip, as his partner put the second cookie over and down his cock. Its hard, dry dough scraped uncomfortably against the sensitive flesh, but Gale didn't mind. Astarion went to town again, mouthing and licking at Gale's cock and the cookie. The brunet was covered in sweat, his wet hair fanned out around him like a halo, drool running down the corner of his mouth and mingling in his beard. Gale whined and tried to keep his hips down while his weeping cock strained against the unorthodox cock ring, and then - the cookie snapped with a loud crack. One of the pieces hit Astarion square in the face, while another one flew across the room never to be seen again, and the third was sliding down Gale's cock, slowly disintegrating in the mixture of caramel sauce and precum. The couple stared at each other, wide-eyed, shocked and surprised in equal measure. Then, the burst into howling laughter.

"Holy shit! Your dick broke the cookie!"

"I didn't mean to!"

They laughed and wheezed until they had tears in their eyes. Astarion licked up the soggy cookie piece from Gale's crotch before straightening up to admire his work. Gale looked utterly wrecked; face flushed, eyes hooded, chest heaving, body covered in sweat, bacon grease, caramel sauce, and cum. It was the hottest thing Astarion had ever seen.

"Can I fuck you?" he blurted out and Gale nodded enthusiastically. Astarion slowly sank into him as he leaned over Gale, and the latter wrapped his legs around him. They made love leisurely while trading lazy kisses. It was a welcome ending after all that frenzied fucking.

"I'll fill you up, buttercup," Astarion panted into Gale's mouth before slurping on the latter's tongue. He climaxed with a long moan of relief, spilling into his fiancé's perfectly plush ass. Astarion pulled out and had the decency to collapse onto the blanket next to Gale instead of on top of him. Utterly loose-limped and fucked-out, the brunet gazed at him and asked: "How was your full-course meal?"

"Divine," smiled Astarion. "How about yours?"

"Perfect," answered Gale before leaning over for a kiss.

It got quiet around them, only their own panting was audible. In the back, the fridge and freezer hummed lowly and one of the light bulbs buzzed. The stormy rain pattered against the covered windows while they were sound and safe in the warmth of the Emerald Grove. It felt peaceful somehow.

As they lay on the blanket, utterly blissed-out, Gale's phone vibrated. With a grunt, he stretched to reach into his coat pocket and looked at the e-mail he'd gotten notified for. While reading, Gale burst into laughter.

"What a night! What a bloody night!"

"Everything okay?" asked Astarion concerned, stroking his fiancé's chest. Still laughing - almost hysterically at this point - Gale lolled his head around to look at him.

"First, I was tortured by the taxes, then, I got my brains fucked out, and now, I get informed that I got the job." He laughed boisterously, beaming at his fiancé. "Astarion, I got the job at the library!"

With a happy squeal, the addressed pulled Gale into an embrace, paying all the bodily fluids between them no mind.

"That's fantastic, love. Congratulations!"

Smiling broadly, Gale cuddled Astarion closer, kissing him over and over again until they both were breathless.

"Now, my sexy professor is a sexy librarian," purred the blond. "Lucky me."

"Lucky indeed," chuckled Gale and kissed his adorably supportive fiancé once more.

The storm outside raged on, but they were safe.

[ampleappleamble]

—

Very few ships operating within the Deadfire bothered to make the long and treacherous trip to the lonely expanse of open sea known colloquially as the Windless Wastes. Traversing the unnaturally still waters was, after all, a task hardly worth the effort– excepting a direct route south to Naasitaq or the White That Wends, the area held little of value. No whaler was mad or foolish enough to brave the icy depths for a prize that could be won far more easily in safer waters, and cartographers had yet to make an offer enticing enough for any sufficiently competent explorer to successfully chart the place. The only known ports in which one might find shelter consisted of an abandoned Vailian fortress surrounded by shipwrecks and shrouded in a malevolent fog, and an inhospitable iceberg populated entirely by fanatical Rymrgandian cultists. Therefore, very few ships passed that way, and fewer still dared to drop anchor at the lone settlement frozen into the crevices of the Dead Floe, lest the burgeoning ice issuing forth from the winds of the glacial cliffs freeze their vessels in place for good.

Still, an unlucky or incompetent captain finding themselves bereft of the trading companies' good graces– if not a crew still to be paid and fed– might sometimes need plunge into very unfriendly waters indeed if they were to make ends meet. And even oblivion-seeking zealots needed tallow and firewood, needed vegetables and fruit and grain, and if they had coin or useful sundries to trade for it, who was a desperate merchant to argue? And so ships still, on occasion, reluctantly docked at Harbinger's Watch, offloading whatever wares they had before they spoiled: to the brewmaster, the fishmonger, the innkeeper.

But despite the dangers and the difficulties, one plucky young entrepreneur visited on a more regular basis, one who treated exclusively– and secretly– with the High Harbinger himself. And on this visit, much to her chagrin, he was proving to be a very difficult client.

—

"This is it?" Vatnir picked at the thin, shabby fare laid out before him, an unimpressed scowl stretched across his lipless face. "This is all you have on offer?"

"Per complancanet, fentre, do not sound so offended." The merchant fussed with a loose strand of ivy sprouting from her shoulder and strode briskly across the tiny hidden room, as though she were trying to physically distance herself from her own pathetic muster. "Di verus, it is nothing personal. My sister and I, we have merely suffered a... a lean quarter, ac? A temporary bout of poor fortune. You, more than anyone, should understand that." She narrowed her goat's eyes at him, somehow managing to pout condescendingly.

The son of Rymrgand shot the daughter of Galawain a withering glare as he roughly placed a jar of corpsefruit preserves back onto the table with a resounding crack. "And you, more than anyone, ought to understand the incredible risk I take in simply meeting here with you every month."

He folded his hands behind his back and lowered his horned head down between his shoulders as he spoke, sounding not unlike a teacher scolding a bright but lazy pupil. "I am the leader of this clan, Bela, the very beating heart of this community. My spare time is both exceedingly scarce and incalculably precious to me. If it should ever be discovered how I choose to spend that time–"

Bela huffed indignantly. She had come here to do business, not to get lectured. "Postenago, of course I know that–"

"Then why," he hissed, whirling sharply on her, "do you think you can convince me to trade the products of my limited time and effort– painstakingly crafted, authentic, invaluable jommydra– for dross and dregs?" He thrust a bony, accusing finger at the pitiful display of substandard goods cluttering his table.

For a moment Bela was shocked into silence, but if her miserable childhood as part of a traveling curiosity show in the Republics had taught her anything, it was how to recover quickly from an unexpected blow. "Well, you seem to have very easily put a value on them, High Harbinger," Bela spat back coolly. "Over the years we've been doing business together, you've traded away quite a few copies of your precious lore. For food, drink, smoke..."

Vatnir snorted derisively, waving a bandaged hand at her as though to waft away her insinuations. "Yes, yes, good food, good drink, good smoke," he barked. "Rare foreign luxuries that might lift away at least some small portion of the burdens I bear. Things worth the hours I pour into reproducing my clan's most sacred scripture for a profane outsider. Not this... detritus."

"There's plenty here that's perfectly good yet!" Bela insisted, stomping back over to the table and casting her hand in a broad arc above the sad little pile of miscellanea, trying to convince herself as much as her customer. "Madiccho, I thought you Glamfellen were more resourceful than that. Look, here. This whiteleaf–"

"—is naught but stems and seeds," he scoffed, "more likely to clog my pipe than to ease my pain." He coughed, as though to make his point.

"Well," she countered brusquely, "perhaps a man in your condition should not be smoking so much anyway." She snatched up a brown glass bottle from the table, waved it enticingly at him. "Drink, I think, would be much better to soothe your poor throat, ac? Rum, fine rum distilled in the heart of Neketaka, fit for a Watershaper– no, for the Queen herself!"

"Half empty," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "And nowhere near as good as anything I can already get from Nyvardir. For free."

Really, the worst part was that he was right– her stock was shit, all of it. But unfortunately for her, shit was all she had, and she couldn't endanger her proprietary arrangement with the only priest of Rymrgand in the Deadfire, and one willing to betray the sacrosanctity of his office for personal gain at that. Desperation crawled up inside her guys like a creeping vine. "Gellarde. Fine. Fine! All of it, then! I will give you all of it, fentre, everything you see here, if you'll only–"

"Maribel," Vatnir snapped. "I don't want any of it."

She turned away from him.

With any other client, she'd have probably called it quits by now and referred him to a peer to whom she owed a favor. Part of being a good saleswoman, after all, was recognizing when one was simply the wrong kith for the job, and networking with contemporaries was just as important as pleasing one's customers. But if Marri was right– and being an Endings godlike herself, her "sister" did possess some unique insight into the matter– having exclusive access to authentic Glamfellen holy lore could mean the difference between dominating the market in the White That Wends, or continuing to drag along the bottom of the mercantile social strata as they did now, barely making enough profit for the next job's expenses, servicing clients with her body when her merchandise would not suffice. And if they were successful in using their godlike status to capture the custom of an entire country (or the communities along the northern coasts that deigned to trade with outsiders, anyway), perhaps they could capture the attention of the Songretta as well, convince them and the ducs that godlikes did have a place in the Republics, that they could run magnificent businesses, fill a niche that no ordinary kith ever could. She couldn't just give up on that dream. In fact, she refused to rest until this repugnant, boorish, creepy little charlatan of a priest gave her what she wanted; what she deserved, really, for putting up with him for so long. So she turned away from him, and she uncorked the vial of oil of allure strung around her neck for just such an occasion.

When she turned back to face Vatnir again, her eyes were downcast, her full, glossy lips parted just slightly. She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes, willed color into her cheeks, made her voice smoky and sultry and sweet. "In that case," she murmured, "I suppose I only have one more thing to offer you, High Harbinger."

The dozens of tiny orange flowers that crawled up her delicate antelope's horns and nestled throughout the tight curls of her mahogany hair all slowly turned toward Vatnir in unison, as though he were the sun. Her lichen-pocked hand drifted slowly across her soft, round belly, then up and across the plunging neckline of her dress, tugging at a leather strap tucked between her shoulder and her ample bosom.

Vatnir stumbled a step backwards, a bruise-colored blush spreading beneath his mask, bad memories rising up inside him like bile. "N-no," he blurted, "no, no. None of that. Never again. I'll not humiliate myself a second time just for you to–"

"Cuè?" Bela purred, pulling the strap harder to bring her satchel around to her front. The oil burned as it clung to her tongue, its intoxicating perfume billowing up around her as she spoke. "Sientere, but I cannot imagine what you might find humiliating about being offered a perfectly innocent book, fentre."

Vatnir blinked, eyeing her suspiciously before stepping closer again, his shame quickly and mercifully forgotten. "A book?" he muttered, his tripartite gaze fixed on her hands as she opened her bag and produced a thick, heavy volume bound in skuldr leather. "What, a new one?"

"New to you. And to me as well," she sighed, trying to suppress a grin. He couldn't smell it, she knew, but her oil was definitely working on him, drawing him in. And it was working on her, too, loosening her up, making the right words come to her as though they were being whispered in her ear. "Di verus, this item is not exactly part of my regular stock– it is a personal possession, a... gift from another client. I am only halfway through it myself, but if you insist on driving such a hard bargain..."

She coyly proffered the book, holding it just out of his reach, and as expected, he grasped for it eagerly. For many reasons, physical travel wasn't feasible for the High Harbinger of Dusk, but reading afforded him a kind of escape anyway. While narcotics and culinary delicacies could bring great pleasure and powerful succor, his enjoyment of them was also agonizingly momentary, and he was at the mercy of the gods to decide when an opportunity to endulge might fall upon him. A good story, however, was something he could escape into whenever he pleased, for as long as he dared: he needed only find the time to read it first, and then his chanter training allowed him to easily recall a particular turn of phrase or a favorite quotation and slip into another world inside his mind, a fantasy where he could hide away from the endless, miserable drudgery of his life. They were good for inspiring new ideas, too, new imagery and experiences and characters to weave into his sermons and his "visions", to make them sound more meaningful, more believable to his ignorant followers. If he were to be completely honest, a good, thick book was probably his very favorite thing to find among the vendor's wares when she visited– although, in the interests of trying to lower her prices for the damned things, he'd never admit it to her. Noting with relief that this one was written in a language he could actually read, Vatnir took up the weighty manuscript in his arms and adjusted his eyes and his mind to Aedyran script, drinking in the title.

The New Legends of the Eastern Reach: A True and Thorough Telling of the History of the Dyrwood in Anni Iroccio 2823, Detailing the Animancy Trials, the Assassination of Duc Aevar Wolf-Grin and the Defiance Bay Riots, the Rise of the Watcher of Caed Nua, and the Lifting of the Hollowborn Curse.

He sagged in disappointment.

"What in– for frost's sake, what kind of title is that?" he whined, even as he flipped the cover open and began leafing through the pages.

"One that tells you what the book is about, fentre," Bela deadpanned, smirking. "I know you haven't much use for world news down here in the frozen-over asshole of the southern seas, but let me assure you, the events described therein are as exhilarating and enthralling as any fantasy novel or sprawling epic. And what's more, they actually happened! In fact, if rumors–"

"You said this one was new," Vatnir grumbled, licking his thumb before turning another page. "The title says Anni Iroccio 2823. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the current year in your Vailian calendar is 2828, ja?"

Bela bristled slightly at the priest's constant interruptions, not to mention his choice to smear his stinking slobber all over the book she'd worked so hard to pilfer, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. "I said it was new to you," she reminded him patiently. "And books do take time to scribe and to illustrate, fentre, especially the more comprehensive ones like this. But the really interesting thing about this one is–"

"Ah, so there are pictures," Vatnir mused, happening across one as he rifled through the pages. "And in color, even." Indeed, vivid hues and brilliant goldleaf leapt out at him from the copious marginalia and full-page illustrations, charming and intriguing him despite himself: a Dyrwoodan city district teeming with what looked like the undead, a cluster of adra pillars surrounded by armed kith with painted faces, a bearded meadow folk man in an opulent cloak. He turned another page, and another, searching for more.

He stopped.

There on the page before him was a portrait of an orlan woman in a shining silver breastplate, her bright red hair cascading over her sturdy shoulders, her golden fur glittering against her tawny skin, her long, slender ears arcing gracefully toward the heavens, her violet eyes fixed on a point beyond the edge of the page, piercing and determined.

Vatnir stared, stupefied, powerless to look away. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Bela, peeking over his shoulder, had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. Oh, she had him now. "Careful not to drool on the parchment, fentre. You'll make the ink run."

The smitten priest abruptly snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly and sucking air in between his teeth. "W-what?" he gurgled.

Now the merchant allowed herself to laugh. "As I was saying," she continued, "the interesting bit about this book is that it chronicles, in part, the rise of a particular hero of the Dyrwood. One who, if rumors are to be believed, has recently arrived here in the Deadfire. And gellarde! You have found her: the Watcher of Caed Nua!"

"Watcher?" Vatnir looked down at the book again, his gaze lingering on the woman's face for a moment before finally spotting a caption woven into the portrait's intricately detailed border, just beneath her clasped hands.

"Axe," he read, then stopped, perplexed. He squinted at the page. "Ocks-ah–"

"Ah-sha, postenago," Bela laughed. "She is Ixamitec. Ah-sha Ma-la is her name."

"Ah-sha Ma-la," he repeated softly, reverently, his eyes roving hungrily over the portrait again. "Axa Mala, of Ixamitl. Who is she?"

Hook, line, and sinker. Now all Bela had to do was reel him in. "To find out, aimoronet, you will have to buy the book," she teased, lightly running a fingertip along the edge of his ear. "Or trade for it, of course."

"Of course," he echoed absently, completely sincere– and then, too late, he caught himself.

Embarrassed, he gritted his teeth and jerked away from the merchant's touch, slamming the book shut. "Of course," he groused, scurrying to the opposite end of the room, the book still in his arms. "Well. You were right about one thing– I have no use for world news. In truth, no one does. So long as the Floe keeps expanding, there will soon be no world, no news. As it should be." The High Harbinger heaved a heavy sigh. "But..."

Bela's grin broadened. "But...?"

He turned his head to peer at her over his shoulder. "But you have piqued my curiosity. You said this... Watcher was here, in the Deadfire, now? What brought her here? I doubt I'll find that out from a book written five years ago."

Bela's golden-green eyes shone with excitement, and she hurried to his side, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You have heard of the giant adra man, ac? The one storming across the archipelago, possessed by Eothas, the dead god, devouring souls and luminous adra wherever it treads?"

A giant man made of adra? This was the first he'd heard of anything like that. "I've heard rumors," he lied. "So it's true, then?"

"Oh yes, fentre, it is true," she chirped. "And this Watcher, this Axa Mala? She is here because she is chasing it. It emerged from beneath her castle in the Dyrwood, tearing away her soul with its rising, and Cirono returned her to us from the Beyond to hunt the giant down."

Vatnir rolled his eyes at the mention of Berath, but pressed on regardless. "Hunt it down?" he muttered. "To what end?"

She shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps Cirono wishes her to reclaim her soul from the dead god, that it might return to the Wheel as is proper. Perhaps she has been tasked with finding a way to stop the giant's rampage, or else destroy it. Whatever her reasons, she has told the Queen of the Kahanga that she intends to sail the seas far and wide, scouring the isles for her runaway god. Who knows? Perhaps one day she'll even pay you a visit, all the way down here. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bela winked at him, laughing again as the priest cringed and blushed.

"D-don't mock me, Vailian," he grumbled. "I've grown weary of your company. Just... take the jommydra and go. A book for a book– that will have to stand in for a fair trade, this time." He set the thick tome carefully on the edge of his table, snatching up a significantly slimmer manuscript and coughing into his free hand as he thrust it in the merchant's general direction.

Bela clapped her hands together, delighted in her victory, and flounced over to him to collect her prize. "Agracima, High Harbinger," she gushed, gathering her hard-won treasure– along with her unsold wares– into her satchel. "Always a pleasure to do business with you."

He grunted dismissively, and then again in alarm as he noticed what she was up to. "H-hey, wait a minute– what are you doing? You said I could have all of it if–"

"–if you'd trade me what you promised me you would when last we met, ac," she explained, cocking a slim green vine of an eyebrow. "I did not say you could have all of this and my personal copy of a rare and expensive book. It's one or the other, fentre. Do not be greedy."

Vatnir narrowed his cold, beady eyes at her. "Fine," he spat. "But you owe me better, much better than this next time. And I intend to hold you to that."

"I'm certain you will," Bela chuckled, latching her now bulging bag shut. "If you should ever wish to trade it back to me, my sister and I will return in a month, as per our arrangement. Corès for now, aimico. Use her portrait for your pleasure all you wish, but do try not to fall in love, ac?"

Vatnir growled, reaching threateningly for an empty bottle of rymsjódda. But before he could even pick it up let alone throw it at her, the woman gave him a cheerful little wave and vanished in a puff of smoke– her favorite rogue's trick, and an excellent way to return to her ship undetected by any of the other harbingers. She always ended their meetings that way. Annoying, but at least he was finally alone.

Alone with his new book. With Axa Mala, hero of the Dyrwood, and the tales of her great and terrible deeds. His hands trembled as he cracked the book open, letting the pages fall to either side, parting to reveal the orlan's portrait once more, every bit as captivating as the first time he'd seen it. He suddenly felt nervous, nauseated even, as though she were about to march into his quarters in person and demand to know what he thought he was doing. So he closed the book and took a few deep breaths before opening it again, this time to the first page.

"Well then," he murmured, "shall we get to know one another, Watcher of Caed Nua?" And he started reading.

—

[ridiasfangirlings]

Yata fell under the power of the strain and began to behave like a typical stereotypical housewife from a mid-20th century advertisement. Wearing an apron, always ready to take care of "her" husband. At first, Fushimi found this funny, but the longer it went on, the more irritated he was by Yata's behavior and he set out to find the strain and get his boyfriend back.

Imagine Yata just walking around in an apron and house dress with his hair tied up, properly making a meal for his beloved husband XD Fushimi would definitely find it amusing at first, like he’s never going to let Misaki live this down. Imagine this after they’ve just started dating, they’re chasing after some Strain and Yata ends up getting hit. Fushimi won’t admit that he’s worried exactly but he does end up hovering over Yata a little. Yata says he’s fine and suddenly looks up at Fushimi with wide eyes. Yata immediately apologizes for worrying ‘my dear husband’ and Fushimi almost chokes. Yata looks down at himself in disgust, like why is he wearing these indecent shorts and for that matter why is he interfering in his husband’s work. He decides to go home and make Fushimi a nice dinner, kissing him on the cheek and heading off without another word, leaving Fushimi just totally flabbergasted. 

Fushimi goes back to S4 to research what sort of power this Strain has, it turns out that this is like the Rigid Gender Roles Strain who makes people act like stereotypical housewives. Fushimi probably doesn’t have much in the way of frame of reference for this kind of thing (it’s not like he’s ever been near a housewife outside of Yata’s mom) but he thinks well, this can’t be so bad at least it isn’t something dangerous. He heads home after work and is surprised that Yata’s there waiting, wearing an apron and looking very domestic. Yata sits Fushimi down at the table, hands him a newspaper and starts serving him food. Fushimi is amused by this treatment and Yata’s being all don’t worry darling, no need to get up I’ll handle everything. Fushimi thinks this isn’t so bad, like imagine he tries just for the hell of it to ask Yata to hand feed him and Yata’s right there on his knees holding out a forkful of food. Fushimi could definitely get used to this kind of spoiling, after dinner he gets to sit on the couch playing on his PDA while Yata cleans up dinner and then starts vacuuming the floor and cleaning the bathroom and doing laundry. He’s not nagging Fushimi about eating vegetables or taking care of himself and it’s a little nice, having Misaki only interested in Fushimi’s comfort. 

The bloom quickly comes off the rose though. Like Fushimi is used to cuddling in bed and sleeping late when he doesn’t have work, but now when he wakes up Yata is already awake cooking breakfast. Yata never wants to sit with him to eat unless Yata’s feeding him too, Yata always just goes back into the kitchen to keep the food hot for his ‘husband.’ Yata has no interest in going out, like they had plans to go to a movie but Yata just says ‘you go on dear with your friends, have fun’ while Fushimi sits there clicking his tongue (he doesn’t have friends). Yata doesn’t want to play video games and even when Fushimi finally convinces him to Yata loses on purpose, because of course it wouldn’t do for him to be more skilled at this. Worst of all Yata doesn’t rise to Fushimi’s taunts at all, tolerantly smiling or even agreeing no matter what Fushimi says. At some point imagine Fushimi mocking Mikoto in hopes that the ‘old’ Yata will angrily respond but Yata just nods all you’re right dear. Fushimi can’t help but feel upset about this, when he and Misaki agreed because they were on the same wavelength it was fine but he doesn’t want a Misaki who refuses to have opinions of his own.

In a way too imagine this as kind of a wake up call for Fushimi — if you’d told him in Homra that he could have a Yata who was only interested in Fushimi’s well being, who agreed with everything Fushimi said, he probably would have thought that was just how Misaki should be. But now that he has this submissive domestic Yata Fushimi isn’t happy at all, he doesn’t want a Yata who only calls him amazing because it’s Yata’s role to be that kind of support, he wants the honest Misaki who says amazing with shining eyes. Fushimi even misses the way Yata would nag him about vegetables, because even if it was annoying Fushimi knows that’s how Yata shows affection. This sterile boring Misaki isn’t what Fushimi wanted at all, he wants the Yata back who will argue and get angry and be uselessly energetic, the one who fearlessly hits zero or one hundred points rather than remaining at a dull fifty.

[deepdowninmybones]

CtM Fanfic

Everything is just as ought to be

(Have a nice weekend you all!)

Chapter 3 - The Good Doctor

Late October - 14 weeks

Taking advantage of the end of the first block of lessons, Timothy decided to go home for a few days and spend some time with his family.

He would have followed his father at work, which usually meant learning more medical knowledge than he could in a week of school, he would enjoy playing with his brother and sisters and last, but not least, he would be spoiled by his mother and spent some precious time with her.

The decision had been sudden, he tried to call home the previous afternoon but no one answered. In all likelihood they were at work, never mind! He would have given them a nice surprise!

He left at dawn and after the train journey, he was greeted by the London rain.

Some bus later, he was finally at the front door of their house, cold and hungry as usual. He was confident that a nice warm shower and something to eat (he trusted in some leftovers from the fridge) would make him feel better again. At that time his mother was certainly at the Maternity Home, he couldn't expect much more.

He entered the house, took off his raincoat and left his things in the laundry room where the washing machine was running. Why is running if no one's at home?

He immediately noticed something else weird: there were partially sliced vegetables on the counter and the sliding door was open. Someone was definitely at home.

"Is anybody there?" he tried to call. No answer.

Chilled, he closed the window and then headed towards the kitchen where there was a teapot with some still steaming tea on the stove. Just what I need! He thought, pouring himself a cup. In the corner of the kitchen counter, he noticed a pack of iron tablets.

As he sipped his tea, pondering why anyone would need iron supplements, he saw two feet descending the stairs and his mother's figure looming with each step.

"Mum!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Tim! What are you doing here?!"

He went towards her for a hug.

"I had a few days off and I thought to come check on you…but I didn't think to find you here!"

"Well" she blushed "I had a lot of things to do and…I stayed home"

To Timothy it sounded like an excuse. Weird…again.

"Mom, is there anything I can eat? I'm starving! Leftovers will be perfect!".

"Oh dear, I'll make you some toast right away! Please sit and make yourself comfortable! I guess you must be tired!"

"Just a bit."

Timothy sat down and while he waited, he was captured by watching his mother make that sandwich with all her love and care. Yes! I'm home, he thought.

His mother was radiant today and had a particularly bright smile. He realized that she seemed somehow different: the line of her hips was rounder, softer. He thought it should be a change due to age… she isn't so young anymore after all.

When she turned, his eyes fell on other details…her belly was slightly rounded too, advancing age side effects supposed. But when she handed him the plate with his toast, he found himself with her clearly enlarged breasts at his eyes level… and that, he knew, had nothing to do with the physiological changes due to age.

He paused for a moment before taking the dish, hit by a brainstorm: breast enlargement, rounded hips, rounded belly, iron tablets (for anemia), she's not at work…oh goodness… it can't be that!

"Timothy?!" his mother called him "I asked if you wanted some orange juice!"

"Sorry mom, yes please…orange juice is perfect"

He just saw her turn around to open the fridge, when she swayed a little before grabbing onto the kitchen counter. Without hesitation, he quickly stood up to hold and support her. He added dizziness to his list and easily summed things up.

"It's nothing Timmy, I just lost balance…"

"Yes, sure…come on mom, I'll take you to the settee."

"It's not necessary, really. I am fine!" she replied stubbornly.

"Mom! I know you're fine but I also know that it's better if you lie down now and rest. In your condition, rest is recommended" he told her firmly as he helped her lay down.

His mother's eyes looked at him in amazement. He smiled, and tenderly kissed her cheek, then took a seat next to her.

"How do you know? Did your father tell you?"

"No, don't worry… dad didn't say a thing. But you asking…? You've just confirmed my suspicions!"

"But how did you get it? Is it that clear?"

"You're more…well mom…there's more of you. But the very first reason is that I'm a very promising medical student!" he replied beaming.

She smiled too. It was true, he was very promising. He would become a very good doctor soon.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this. We didn't want to give you the news over the phone, your father and I wanted to wait until you were home and do it together."

"But I messed up your plans!"

"And you're not the only one as you can see. Oh Tim…we really don't know how this happened…"

At those words, Timothy started chuckling.

"Why are you laughing now?"

"Well, a doctor and a midwife who don't know how this can happen…it's pretty fun! I always told you to be careful with all your mushy-stuff"

She was giggling too now, after all Timothy wasn't entirely wrong.

"Mom, I've always teased you about this but the truth is that I'm glad for it"

"Oh dearest…" she took his hand.

"You know… almost all my friends live very different situations at home. They come from families in which there is no dialogue, there is no love. And this also affects their lives."

"Oh Timothy…it's not easy sometimes."

"That's the point mom… it's not been easy for you as well, but you two make it work! And I believe that is a credit of what there is between you and dad. The love, the respect and the trust that exists between you two is something special… and we have grown within it, feeling loved and protected. And so it will be for him…or her…as it is for me, Angela, Teddy and May."

Turning towards his mother, he noticed that her face was streaked with tears.

"I didn't mean to have this effect on you…"

"It's a beautiful effect. Even if this makes me realize that you are really an adult now."

"That's why you're replacing me with Number Five?" joked Timothy.

"Timothy, don't say that! Nobody is replacing you! It doesn't matter how many children a mother may have, nor how old they are… each one is unique and special and in the eyes of a mother they will always be little children."

"I will allow you to still consider me your little child…but don't tell dad!"

They recognized the sound of Patrick's car parking in the driveway. The kids were home again and Timothy helped his mother slowly sit up on the couch before they entered. He hadn't asked but it was pretty obvious that his little brothers weren't still aware of the new baby.

They heard Patrick saying from outside "If you tidy your rooms, you can watch some telly" and just a few seconds later the door slammed, the three kids darted one after the other up the stairs saying "Hello mummy!".

Closing the door, Patrick announced "We are at home, darling!"

"So am I!"

"Timothy?! What a surprise!" exclaimed Patrick, side-looking at his wife.

Tim enjoyed observing the glances that his father tried to give his wife to understand if the secret was already revealed. She silently answered simply smiling and nodding. He was amused, but also fascinated by the ability his parents had to communicate even without words.

"When did you arrive?"

"Just after lunch… Well…dad" he made sure to remark that word "I think I'm going upstairs now to say hello to the kids and take a shower. I know you two need to have a talk…"

While the children upstairs celebrated Tim's return, Patrick joined Shelagh on the sofa. They looked at each other smiling.

"So you told him?"

"He actually figured it out on his own…"

"And how did he do it?"

"He says there's more of me…I didn't think I was showing already."

Patrick grinned, rested his eyes on his wife's breasts pretending to control and traced her new shape with a finger.

"So it seems…"

"Patrick!"

"What? I was just doing a quick check!"

"Is this really the moment…?"

"Clinical purpose only, I'm a doctor!…but maybe I will continue my inspection later with more personal aims"

To prevent Shelagh from arguing, he placed his lips to kiss her tenderly. They broke the kiss before it could go beyond the definition of amorous effusion.

Patrick helped her get up from the sofa and said "Come on Mrs Turner, one is down…the rest of the world's to go!".

[julianobungus]

It All Comes Back Around.

"I don't want you coming near him again."

Darius blinked as he stood on the patio, staring blankly at the man. Perry stood staunchly and defensively within the doorway, making it clear that the other man wasn't allowed entrance.

Of course, Darius knew that Mr. Porter technically couldn't do anything to him, but he wasn't so arrogant as to force himself through. He just stammered instead. "I'm... I'm sorry?"

"I told you," Perry spoke up again, looking up at the former coven head. "You are not to come near Hunter again. Is that clear?"

"I..."

Darius felt a brief flash of anger sweep over his senses. Who did this man think he was, telling him what to do like that? But he swallowed it down quickly. Darius was mature enough to admit that years at his post had instilled in him a sense of cockiness and arrogance, one that he was trying his best to control.

He knew it would've done him no favours here, so he remained calm despite the ball of anxiety filling up his chest. "Mr. Porter, I'm not dangerous. I'm not going to hurt Hunter-"

"And how can I know that?" Perry butted in, asserting that he - not Darius - had control here. "Why should I trust you - a servant of the Emperor - to be anywhere near a child?"

Darius felt that same flash of anger again, but swallowed it back like a bitter vegetable. Even with Belos long gone, the shadow of Darius Deamonne's post clung to him like the cape he used to wear.

"Perry, please. I was never associated with Belos in that way. You know that." He paused, finding that his heart was racing fast now. "... I just came to see Hunter."

"Hunter doesn't want you here." It was short and blunt, but simple enough. Perry seemed to stare sun-hot knifes into Darius' eyes with his own, even through the most innocuous pair of spectacles the taller witch had ever seen.

Darius didn't know what to say to that. What was he talking about? "Perry, what are you..."

"Hunter told me what you said to him." That was Perry's answer. "How you treated him. Calling him half-a-witch; making fun of him for it, too." The reporter's hands, Darius could see, were balled into fists. "You made him feel like he was nothing."

And just like that, that familiar feeling of guilt washed over the abomination mage like a cold bucket of water tipping its contents. He certainly remembered that, as well as his prior opinions on the former Guard.

"Perry, I know what I did was wrong-"

"He was a teenager, Darius!" He raised his voice, taking a step closer. "You bullied him like a common schoolyard bully! Why should I-"

He paused, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He readjusted ger glasses, inhaled deeply, and stared right at Darius.

"Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once," Perry Porter was firm. "You are not to come back here again, do you understand? Hunter is happy and safe her, and he doesn't need you to come spoil that. You - and everyone else who was even a mile within Belos' radius - are the last person he needs in his life."

Darius stared, dumbfounded, afraid, and ashamed. He opened his mouth to speak just as Perry butted in.

"Are we clear?"

Darius spoke up. "Perry, I-I'll leave, but please - just let me speak to him. I want... I want to apologise."

But the senior Porter had ran out of patience. Without even a sigh, he stepped back and closed the front door on Darius' face - an act of defiance that would have ended with him being arrested during Belos' tenure.

As it was, Darius Deamonne stood in stunned, heartbroken silence, feeling his heart pumping way too fast. He felt like he wanted to vomit, and he felt tears pricking his emerald eyes. He had prepped himself for rejection, but this-

Hunter doesn't want you here.

He had walked away from the house and beyond the gate when he decided to turn around, feeling a pair of eyes boring into the back of his skull. He glanced up at the second-story window, seeing a familiar figure through the glass.

A pair of ruby-red eyes seemed to shine above him, and Darius' lip quivered at the sight of the thin blonde man he had once deemed his companion. His hair had grown out, becoming wilder and unkempt, and seemed to be tied back into a ponytail judging from the shape. All the older man could see was that he was wearing a casual, navy-blue t-shirt.

Darius raised a hand in nervous greeting, wondering if he even should. To his relief, Hunter did the same, but it felt half-hearted; disingenuous and weak. His face didn't change.

The former Wittebane's expression was a mystery. What was it? One of sadness? Apathy? Detachment? Perhaps a quiet scorn disguised as any of those.

Hunter's little red familiar landed atop his shoulder, preening at the blonde locks, and Hunter Porter drew the curtains with one swift, unencumbered motion.

And Darius finally choked back a sob.

[saemi-the-writer]

Erucio (Erwin/Lucio) in 5 minutes

More details undercut :)

Lucio chose the surname Spadason to honour the previous Count who had taken him under his wing and offered him a new first name. Without the chains, Lucio realised how attached he had been to Spada, how he had respected him and even considered him as a father figure. Although he could understand his mother's situation and why she acted the way she did (making a deal to have a child but tricked into giving her motherly love in exchange, her commitment to their traditions and principles, etc.), he could not truly forgive her or reach out for her either; they made a truce and turned a new leaf. Morga is the one who lives with more regrets.

Similar to Niamh, Lucio tends to scream as he squashes the bug. He can become quite feral if the bug escapes. Erwin tries to get rid of it quickly to spare their things.

Lucio is (surprisingly) quite good at cooking, even though some of his ideas can be wild sometimes, he always manages to make it good in the end. Erwin can only do some basic dishes (rice, marinated vegetables and porridge), the best he can do is grilled meat or fish (barbecue or skewers), otherwise, his cooking is bland at best.

Erwin is the jealous one. He had pined for Lucio so long that now he gets quickly defensive when he sees anyone getting too close to his beloved or flirting with him. Lucio loves it, even more, when it leads to fierce/rough sex afterwards.

The two bicker often, but they don't fight seriously that much. Lucio tends to quickly apologize because he's afraid of losing Erwin's affection the same way he had lost Nadia's and other people he cared about. Erwin doesn't like it when they fight either and tries his best not to become withdrawn.

Lucio isn't a bad caretaker when Erwin is sick, but he can get overwhelmed with worry and then overdoes it. The fact that he doesn't know much about medicine doesn't help. Erwin has some solid knowledge and he can keep a cool head, so he's a good caretaker in general. He also likes to spoil Lucio a bit when the latter is sick.

The two were attracted to each other very soon after they met, and they got closer as time went on. They didn't date because Erwin did not seem interested, nor playing hard to get (like Valerius for example) so Lucio did not insist, and he was afraid sleeping too much with him would spoil their close friendship. Erwin was Lucio's confidante, so Lucio didn't want to lose that. Meanwhile, Erwin was slowly dying inside and champing at the bit.

[tea-and-typos]

‘We have everyone’s favourite segment—Taz tells us what they’re cooking this week!” There was a crackling sound over the waves, one that took Katie a beat too long to recognise as laughter. 

‘Thank you, Dami. Hello, it is I, Taz the chef–’

‘Since when did you have an epithet?’ The third voice was deeper, suggesting at least three people running the renegade station. Three people. Three whole alive people. 

Since her father died, Katie hadn’t even seen one alive person—though admittedly she hadn’t been looking. She’d incorrectly assumed everyone who wasn’t a prepper or the dutiful daughter of a prepper had died when everything kicked off. Besides, her father had been pretty insistent on the fact that if any of the ‘pampered rabble’ did survive and discover their stockpiles, things would get ugly quickly. 

‘I’ve been try–’ the car went over another bump and the words cut off. Without consciously making up her mind, Katie put the car in reverse, eking back to where the signal had given her human contact. Her first human contact in two years, though her father hadn’t been a great conversationalist even when alive. 

‘Sense of continuity,’ the radio said, and Katie breaked. Far too hard, and the car rolled forward, the voice once again transforming into static. She thumped the steering wheel. Reversed again. And finally managed to settle the car in a position which allowed her access to the human voices on the other side of the radio. 

‘If you say so.’ 

‘I do. Now can I please get to my recipe reveal—do you want our listeners to starve?’ 

‘Of course not. Your recipes are needed to give them a fast, honourable death.’ 

‘Shut up, Squiggs. Alright, hello everyone and welcome back to Taz the Chef teaches you how to cook on the apocalypse budget. Which, considering the everything, has nothing to do with money.’ 

It was quite impressive that this group of people were not only surviving the collapse of civilisation, but also seemed to be… enjoying themselves? Fun had not been part of Katie’s vocabulary for a long time. Certainly not since everything went to shit five years back—though of course even before then her father had been strict about preparations for doomsday. Fun was a luxury for those who would die with the internet (he had been convinced that the world would end with some Y2K/electromagnetic pulse/internet destroying event), and good hard work was for those who would survive. 

Katie’s father had been incredibly smug when the world had in fact collapsed around them, even though his predictions had technically been wrong. So smug that Katie would bet her vegetable garden it was the smugness which killed him in the end. Having filled his lungs with self righteousness and disdain for the world around him, the Colonel then choked to death on his own bitterness. 

‘Deer are mammals, Dami,’ Taz explained over the radio, attempting to justify their attempt at milking one, raising their voice over the heckles of their co hosts. Katie’s father had kept goats for milk. Now Katie kept goats for milk; cheese, yoghurt and butter production taking up a non insignificant amount of her time. She’d mostly given up on the yoghurt these days. 

‘I’d take deer over dog–’

‘Dog milk sounds genuinely disgusting, Squiggs.’ 

‘That’s why I said I’d pick deer instead, learn to listen.’ 

It was hot inside the car, and the deer carcass strapped to Katie’s roof would start to spoil if she didn’t get it into the game shed soon. Over the radio, Squiggs, Taz and Dami were arguing about the merits of milking various different animals, making absolutely none of the points Katie’s father would have stated as obvious (such as protein content, or quantity per milking session). 

Turning the radio right up and leaving her car door open, Katie wedged several sticks in the ground to mark the spot where she could hear them. Then, for good measure, she tied her red bandanna (traditionally used to keep the sun off her scalp) around the tallest stick. Once she had finished her chores for the day she would be back. 

The car rattled on down the road to the base her father had dedicated most of his life to creating, radio static seeping back in to reclaim the voices. It felt uncomfortably quiet, and for the first time in months (perhaps longer) Katie opened her mouth to speak. 

‘This is… FM Katie..’ her throat was uncomfortably croaky, and the words felt heavy and dry in her mouth. ‘I’m on my way to skin and store this deer I just hunted… um… the weather is warm today.’ Her words hung heavy in the air, instead of bouncing about like the ones on the radio. ‘I’ll be back.’ She and the car continued down the road, the engine rattles and radio static taking back their place as the only man made sounds for miles around.

A beaten car drives up a beaten road at the end of a long day. Static on the radio. It’s been that way for years. The road crests and the view expands. Suddenly, the static clears: “-his is KEOW FM Radio! Your only active station after the fall of civilization, coming to you live. Up next-”

[allfreshfoodproducts]

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In the realm of baking, the choice of ingredients can significantly impact the final product's taste, texture, and quality. Among the various fats used in baking, premium baking soybean shortenings have gained recognition for their numerous benefits. Made from high-quality soybeans, these shortenings offer bakers a versatile option that enhances their creations. In this article, we will explore the advantages of using premium baking soybean shortenings and why they should be a staple in every baker's pantry.

What are Soybean Shortenings?

Soybean shortenings are vegetable fats derived from soybeans through a hydrogenation process. Unlike butter or margarine, which contain water and milk solids, soybean shortenings are 100% fat. This unique composition allows for greater versatility in baking, making them ideal for various applications, from cookies and cakes to pastries and pie crusts.

Benefits of Premium Baking Soybean Shortenings

Improved Texture One of the standout qualities of premium baking soybean shortenings is their ability to create a tender and flaky texture in baked goods. When used in recipes, these shortenings trap air, resulting in a lighter and more delicate crumb. This quality is particularly beneficial for pastries, where achieving a flaky texture is essential.

Enhanced Shelf Life Unlike butter, which can spoil quickly, premium soybean shortenings have a longer shelf life. This stability allows bakers to store their ingredients for extended periods without compromising quality. Additionally, the longer shelf life means fewer food waste issues, making it a cost-effective option for both home bakers and commercial kitchens.

Neutral Flavor Profile Premium baking soybean shortenings offer a neutral flavor, allowing the other ingredients in a recipe to shine. Unlike butter, which imparts its distinct flavor, soybean shortenings won't interfere with the taste of the final product. This makes them an excellent choice for recipes where the primary flavors come from other components, such as chocolate or fruit.

Healthier Alternative As consumers become increasingly health-conscious, many are looking for alternatives to traditional fats. Premium baking soybean shortenings are free from trans fats and cholesterol, making them a healthier option for those concerned about their dietary choices. Additionally, soybean oil is rich in polyunsaturated fats, which can help lower bad cholesterol levels and promote heart health.

Versatility in Baking Premium soybean shortenings can be used in a variety of baking applications. They are suitable for cookies, cakes, frostings, and even frying. Their ability to withstand high temperatures makes them a reliable choice for deep frying as well. This versatility allows bakers to experiment and explore new recipes with confidence.

How to Incorporate Soybean Shortenings in Your Baking

When incorporating premium baking soybean shortenings into your recipes, it’s essential to consider the measurements. Since these shortenings are 100% fat, you can typically substitute them for butter or margarine on a one-to-one basis. However, it’s always a good idea to check specific recipes, as adjustments may be needed for optimal results.

 

Danish Do Flake Shortening are a valuable addition to any baker's toolkit. With their ability to improve texture, enhance shelf life, and provide a neutral flavor, they offer numerous advantages for both home bakers and professionals. As the baking landscape evolves, embracing high-quality ingredients like soybean shortenings can elevate your creations to new heights. So, whether you're whipping up cookies for a family gathering or crafting intricate pastries for a special occasion, consider premium baking soybean shortenings as your go-to fat for superior results.

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