#zip wine and dine

[cosmiclily]

domestic cait omgggg... winedrunk chats on the balcony, swimming together, forcing her to go fishing/hiking with u, her dragging you to fancy dinners AHHH I NEED HER

domesticity never looked better on you - caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 3.3k

notes: 😖 i want her!!!! i like cassandra but had to make her mean for the sake of the plot lol

When you first started dating Caitlyn, you were convinced your social status would be a huge problem.

You were raised in a perfectly normal family, in a modest little house miles away from anything even remotely close to a mansion. No housekeepers. No garden parties. No marble foyers or private tennis courts. Just cracked sidewalks, secondhand furniture, and dinners that came out of crockpots—not five-star kitchens.

Caitlyn, on the other hand? She grew up behind iron gates. Old money. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to be flashy because it was so deeply ingrained it didn’t have to prove itself. Quiet wealth. Generational. Silver spoons. Ballroom etiquette. Family heirlooms that were probably worth more than your entire zip code.

So when she started showing interest in you, it honestly felt like a joke. Some kind of social experiment. A rich girl slumming it for the thrill of it. You half expected hidden cameras to pop out from behind the bushes.

“Surprise! You’re on ‘How Long Can the Poor Girl Last?’”

Weeks turned into months, and yet... you never once invited her to your tiny downtown apartment. Maybe it was pride. Maybe shame. Probably both. It just seemed easier—safer—to keep her in her world. Rooftop bars. Sleek restaurants with floors so polished you could see your reflection. Minimalist lofts where dust dared not exist.

But one dinner turned into two, then three, then too many glasses of wine. Then hands—her hands—hungry and desperate, fingers tangling in your hair, lips dragging across your skin like a whispered promise.

Suddenly, your one-bedroom apartment was a lot closer than her fancy penthouse.

Horniness beat shame. Every time.

And when she shoved you against the door of your cluttered little hallway, laughing breathlessly into your mouth, it hit you like a freight train—she didn’t care. Not about the pile of dishes in the sink. Not about the bathroom faucet that wouldn’t stop leaking. Not about the cabinet door that hung crooked and refused to close all the way.

She cared about you. About this.

And God, that was a dangerous thing to realize.

After that, she started coming over more often. It became a rhythm. A routine. A quiet sort of domesticity neither of you acknowledged out loud but both leaned into.

You’d cook dinner together—cheap pasta or something overly ambitious from a YouTube video—and laugh when it inevitably went wrong. You’d split a cigarette on the tiny balcony with the rusty railing, legs tangled together on an old chair that squeaked every time you shifted.

You talked about the future. Sometimes seriously, sometimes just… hypothetical.

"Maybe we should get a bigger place," she mused one night, exhaling smoke through a lazy grin. “Somewhere with a balcony that doesn’t feel like it’s plotting our murder."

"Somewhere with more than one drawer," you grinned back, pretending the idea didn’t make your heart somersault.

She made you feel like the most important person in the world. Like you were the luxury.

The way she’d cup your face with one hand, fingertips gentle beneath your chin, while the other hand held a cigarette between two fingers, the ember catching in her lashes as she looked at you like you were something sacred.

"You know," she’d whisper, her accent syrupy-sweet, "you drive me absolutely insane."

And then she’d kiss you—hungrily, desperately—like she needed you more than air. Pinning you against the kitchen counter. The old leather couch that complained beneath your weight. The rickety dining table. The bedroom door you never managed to fix properly.

She’d sip wine from the fancy glass she bought you for Valentine’s Day—because “no one should drink good wine out of a mug,” she’d scold—and look like a painting. Legs crossed. Chin tilted. Sunlight pooling in her hair like gold.

“You look surreal right now," you’d tell her, breathless, like it was the first time you’d ever seen her.

She’d just smile, slow and knowing. “Good," she’d murmur, sipping her wine. "Because I feel surreal whenever I’m with you."

──────────────────────

Then things got serious-serious. No going back. “Bring her home to meet the family” serious.

Which, of course, meant the annual family hiking trip. A tradition that sounded wholesome in theory but, in practice, was a chaotic mess of your brothers arguing over who forgot the fishing bait, your dad retelling the same “legendary stories” you’ve heard since you were in diapers, and your mom sighing her way through it all with a wine thermos and her well-practiced tolerance.

Caitlyn, in designer boots—boots that had definitely never touched mud before—stepped onto that dirt trail like she was walking a runway. You half expected her to tap out before the first mile. But no. She laced her fingers with yours, smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world, and just… fit.

And then, as expected, came The Story.

Your dad cracked open a beer, leaned back in his folding chair like a king, and started with the classic dramatic sigh.

“You know, girl… there was this one time… I almost took down a bear. All by myself."

You groaned internally. Here we go.

“It was me and my buddies. Middle of the woods. Big hunting trip. They all ran—scared shitless of the damn thing. But not me. I stood my ground. Looked that bear right in the eye and—"

Your mom let out a groan of her own, leaned over toward you, and whispered behind her wine cup, “There he goes again.” Shaking her head, but smiling anyway.

But Caitlyn? Caitlyn sat there with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly in her lap, nodding like she’d never heard a more riveting story in her life. Her blue eyes wide, her lips parted just a little, like she was utterly captivated.

"Wow," she said softly when he paused for dramatic effect. “And what happened next?"

Your dad lit up like a Christmas tree. “What happened next? Hell, I scared it off, of course! Big ol’ thing ran like hell. Must’ve known it was no match for me." He slapped his knee, letting out a big belly laugh.

Your brothers exchanged a long, telepathic sibling eye-roll.

But Caitlyn? She just nodded like he’d confessed the cure to cancer. “That’s… that’s really brave of you.”

And somehow, in that moment, watching her charm your family—your chaotic, loud, beer-drinking, fish-failing family—you felt something squeeze in your chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.

She wasn’t just tolerating it. She was choosing it. Choosing you.

Mud, fishing disasters, exaggerated bear stories and all.

Later that night, as you sat together on an old log by the fire, watching the flames flicker against her cheekbones and the stars get tangled in her hair, she nudged your shoulder softly.

“You know… I think I could get used to this."

You turned to her, something huge and heavy and terrifying blooming in your chest. "Yeah?"

“Yeah." She smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. “ I like seeing where you come from. It makes sense now… why you are the way you are."

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment." A pause, then softer, like a secret: “A very, very big one.”

And that was the moment you realized… you were so, so in love with her.

──────────────────────

After that trip, something shifted. Quietly. Permanently.

It started with a toothbrush. Then a silk robe. Then a drawer. Then two. Her favorite mug. Her preferred brand of tea—loose leaf, of course, because “You are not putting that cheap microwave-heated water near me ever again.”

"It tastes the same," you argued.

She rolled her eyes. "It really doesn’t. I’m fixing this. For both our dignity."

Mornings became a ritual. You’d wake up tangled together, sunlight pooling across her skin, her cold toes tucked under your calf like they had every right to be there.

"Five more minutes," she'd mumble into your neck. “Just… five.” Always bargaining with time. Always pulling you back in.

She’d shuffle into the kitchen wearing one of your shirts—nothing else—while scrolling the news, groaning dramatically every time a headline pissed her off.

"Your country is insane," she’d mutter, sipping her coffee.

"Yeah, well. We make up for it with free refills."

Even arguments became familiar. Comfortable.

"That’s not how you cut an onion."

"It’s fine. It’s rustic."

"It’s a crime against vegetables."

Some nights you cooked together. Other nights it was takeout eaten on the floor, because the couch was covered in unfolded laundry neither of you were willing to touch.

She started humming. Classical. Jazz. Sometimes stupid jingles that got stuck in her head. And when she thought you weren’t paying attention, she’d sing softly under her breath—barely a whisper.

Sundays became sacred. Farmers markets. Bickering over which wine to buy or what flowers would last the longest in the tiny vase on the kitchen windowsill.

"Get the sunflowers."

"They never last."

"Yeah, but they’re happy. Look at them. They're objectively happy flowers."

She bought them anyway. You never argued.

Even silence became something soft. Something safe. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch—her reading some heavy political memoir, you scrolling through nonsense—but her leg always touching yours. Always.

She fell asleep on you more often than not. Her head on your shoulder. Her breath warm against your neck. You’d lower the volume, pull the blanket over her, press a kiss to her temple without even thinking about it.

By then, it wasn’t a question of if you loved her. It was just… a fact. Quiet. Irrevocable. Written into the very fabric of your everyday life.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t cinematic.

It was folding her laundry without being asked. It was her refilling your shampoo before you noticed it was running low. It was kissing you goodnight even when you were mid-argument.

It was love.

Carved softly into the routines of your day.

And God… it was the most terrifying, most beautiful thing you had ever known.

──────────────────────

Everything was great.

Until you met her family.

Her father was welcoming—warm smile, firm handshake, the kind of man who knew how to make anyone feel comfortable. But her mother? No. Her mother had that look. The kind that peeled back your skin and saw every flaw you’d tried to hide. Cold eyes. Tense mouth. Perfect posture.

It hit you like a punch straight to the gut—dragging you all the way back to the beginning. Back to those first months with Caitlyn, when you felt... unworthy. Out of place. Dirty.

Her mother’s gaze swept over you like you were a scuff on her polished floors.

“So,” she started, tone razor-sharp but calm. “You’re the one my daughter has been spending all her time with.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement wrapped in judgment, tied with a bow of condescension.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I—”

Her eyes flicked over your clothes—simple, nothing designer. Your shoes—practical, a little worn. And then back to your face, where she lingered, unimpressed.

Caitlyn, bless her, immediately stepped in. “Mother,” she warned, voice clipped. “Don’t.”

“I’m simply making conversation,” her mother said, tilting her head with a smile so practiced it felt weaponized. “It’s not every day Caitlyn brings someone... different... home.”

“Different how?” Caitlyn snapped, jaw tightening.

“Oh, darling, you know what I mean.” Her gaze didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “It’s... refreshing, I suppose. To see you… expanding your horizons.”

It felt like acid under your skin. You shifted your weight, suddenly hyperaware of how small you felt in this pristine, echoey sitting room—with its velvet furniture and marble fireplace that probably cost more than your entire apartment building.

Caitlyn’s fingers found yours, squeezing tightly. Her thumb brushed against the back of your hand—reassuring. Grounding.

“I’m not expanding my horizons,” Caitlyn said, steel in her voice now. “I’m dating someone I love.”

Her mother’s smile thinned. “Of course. Love. Naturally.” She stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk dress pants. “Well. I hope you understand, dear,”—this, aimed at you, dripping in false politeness—“that our family has certain... expectations.”

Her father coughed awkwardly into his glass, choosing silence.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your stomach twisted in on itself, throat tightening until you felt like you were going to suffocate.

Caitlyn stood abruptly. “We’re leaving.”

Her mother’s eyes barely flickered. “Suit yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t even wait for her father’s awkward attempt at a goodbye. She laced her fingers with yours and marched you out the front door, heels clicking sharply against marble.

The second you were outside—air hitting your lungs like a slap—you pulled your hand from hers. “Cait, wait—”

She spun around. “No. No, don’t. Don’t defend her. Don’t tell me it’s fine. Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re not hurt when I know you are.”

“I’m not pretending. I just... God, Caitlyn. What was that? She looked at me like I was—like I was some stray dog you brought home!”

“You think I don’t see it?” Her voice cracked. “You think I didn’t hear every little thing she was implying?!”

You shook your head, backing away a step. “I knew this would happen. I knew it. I don’t belong in your world, Cait. I never did.”

“Stop.” Her hands trembled as she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“You heard her! You heard exactly how she sees me.”

“I don’t care how she sees you!” she shouted, voice raw, breaking. “I don’t care how anyone sees you. I love you. I choose you.”

Your lips trembled. “I... Caitlyn, this isn’t just about today. It’s—God, it’s every time I step into your world. I feel like I’m holding my breath. Like I have to... shrink. Make myself smaller. Pretend I fit when I don’t.”

Her breath hitched. “Then let’s stop pretending.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

“W-What?”

“Let’s stop pretending we live in two different worlds. Let’s move in together.” Her eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading. “Really move in. No more overnight bags. No more ‘your place or mine.’ Just... ours. A real place. Together.”

You blinked, stunned. “Caitlyn...”

“I’m serious.” Her voice softened, cracking around the edges. “Let’s get a place that’s ours. Somewhere where no one gets to look at you like that ever again.”

Your heart stuttered. “You mean it?”

She exhaled, stepping forward until your foreheads touched. “I mean it. I want... I want a kitchen that smells like us. A bed that feels like ours. A home where you never—never—have to question if you belong.”

Your hands curled into her shirt, gripping tight. “I want that, too.”

She kissed you then. Desperate. Fierce. The kind of kiss that tasted like promises. Like defiance. Like home.

When you pulled apart, breathless, she grinned. “Let’s go apartment hunting.”

“God,” you laughed wetly. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” Her thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I don’t care where it is. Penthouse, shoebox, treehouse—I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

And just like that, the fear—the weight of not fitting, of not being enough—started to crack. Not disappear completely. But crack.

──────────────────────

So, apartment hunting you went.

And, God, it was harder than either of you expected.

Trying to find a place that fit both your budgets was like searching for a unicorn. You didn’t want to drown yourself in extra shifts just to afford half the rent—and Caitlyn, well, she wasn’t thrilled about sacrificing every ounce of comfort and freedom she was used to.

It was a balancing act. A frustrating, exhausting, sometimes hilarious balancing act.

“This one’s cute,” Caitlyn said, scrolling through listings on her phone as you both sat on a park bench with iced coffees. “Two bedrooms, decent commute for both of us. Oh… wait. Nope. No pets allowed.” She tilted her head, frowning. “You do want a cat eventually, right?”

“Obviously,” you snorted. “Non-negotiable.”

She grinned. “Agreed.”

The next place had gorgeous natural lighting but smelled like old cigarettes and regret. Another was perfect—until you saw the price tag. Your stomach dropped so hard you thought it might leave your body entirely.

Then, finally, you found it.

A little apartment on a quiet street, right in the middle between both of your jobs. Big enough for the two of you, with space for her obnoxiously large bookshelf, plus a balcony that didn’t feel like it was one loose screw away from collapse. The rent was… steep. Manageable for her, definitely. For you? Not without sacrificing sleep and sanity.

Caitlyn could see the stress written all over your face. She reached over, lacing her fingers through yours. “Listen,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I can cover the rent. You can help in other ways. It’s not a problem for me. Truly.”

But your stomach twisted. Your jaw tensed. “It is a problem for me,” you said, sharper than you meant to, pressing the heel of your palm into your eyes like you could physically hold the headache back.

She sighed, squeezing your hand tighter. “Why? Why does it have to be this complicated?”

“Because I don’t want to feel like a charity case, Caitlyn,” you admitted, voice cracking at the edges. “I don’t want to wake up every day knowing I can’t pull my weight. I don’t want to owe you. I don’t want to owe anyone.”

Her face softened immediately, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Baby.” Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that seriously what you think this is? Some… some transactional thing? You think I’m keeping score?”

You stayed quiet, staring at the scuffed floor of the real estate office.

“Hey,” she said more gently now, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. “Look at me. I don’t care about the money. I care about building a life with you. And that life? It’s gonna look like us. Not like what my mother expects. Not like what anyone else thinks it should be.”

You swallowed thickly. “But it feels unfair.”

“Then let’s make it fair,” she countered immediately. “You handle groceries, I handle rent. You cook, I’ll fix the Wi-Fi when it inevitably dies at 2 a.m. You deal with the plants—because God knows I’ll kill them—and I’ll make sure we always have a bottle of good wine in the cabinet. Equal doesn’t mean identical.”

Your lip wobbled. “That’s… actually not a bad deal.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “It’s a pretty damn good deal.”

You sighed, leaning your forehead against hers. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“I know,” she chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s very annoying.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, grinning mischievously, she added, “So… should we go sign the lease before someone else steals it?”

You laughed, despite everything. “Yeah. Let’s go get our place.”

And just like that, it became real.

It wasn’t just moving boxes and new keys. It was picking out curtains together and arguing over which plates to buy. It was discovering that Caitlyn folded towels like some kind of military operation—perfect rectangles stacked with mathematical precision—while yours looked like abstract art.

It was realizing that her version of grocery shopping involved imported cheeses and $30 olive oil while you were just trying to find the cheapest ramen.

It was watching her struggle to assemble IKEA furniture, muttering under her breath in perfectly enunciated rage, while you tried (and failed) to hold in your laughter.

It was burning your first dinner in the new kitchen because neither of you remembered the oven ran hot. Eating cold pizza on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was whispered “I love you” in the soft light of the morning, when your voices were still scratchy from sleep.

It was making out, half-tipsy on wine, tangled together on the living room floor because the couch wasn’t built yet—but neither of you cared.

It was falling asleep with her arm draped lazily over your waist, her soft breathing warm against your neck, knowing—really knowing—that this was yours.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[kabsey]

Anonymously, I'm still in the 'quiet but reading and liking everything you write' team.

Some Rookanis with Rook Ingellvar. Something involving culture differences between Necropolis and outside world - what passes as a cute and proper nevarran way to woo someone may be received as morbid or aberrand for the rest of the world (or quirky and peculiar if you're lucky enough).

Maybe the moment where it hits Lucanis that this girl is not trying to threaten him with death but just awkwardly flirts with him? And Rook being relieved that she didn't scare someone away (yet again) just by showing someone they're important to her?

Hello, hello! Lurkers and anons are always welcome here. I hope you enjoy this little piece. I'm not certain it hit exactly what you were looking for, but I tried to maintain the spirit at least.

-------

Over the course of decades, Lucanis had honed his instincts to a razor's edge. He always knew when someone was looking at him, but more importantly he knew how they were looking at him. He could feel the difference between someone looking at him and someone just looking in his direction. He could feel when someone looked at him with desire and when someone looked at him with ill intent. He could feel when someone was taking him in as a whole and when someone was looking for something specific.

Rook made his instincts go haywire.

For one, she was always looking at him. He could feel it before and after battle, out of battle, during battle. He could feel it in the Lighthouse, on the streets of Treviso, beneath the trees of Arlathan. At first he thought it was Spite. She clearly could not hear the demon as Emmrich could, but she was aware of him on some level. If Spite made a sudden move, her head would turn, tracking the motion. Spite was delighted, of course, which had led to him spending an entire night zipping back and forth in front of Rook while she sat on the sofa in the dining hall. It was one of the few times he had heard her laugh, a quiet thing that would not echo in the cavernous chambers of the Necropolis.

But Lucanis was fairly certain she could tell when the demon was not immediately present (as much as was possible, bound as they were), and it changed nothing. She still watched him, and he still could not pin down what motivated her. He could not read what was behind her gaze. He could read Davrin's hostility (not that the Warden tried to conceal it), Bellara's friendly curiosity, Harding's wariness, Emmrich's intellectual fascination, Taash's admiration, even Neve's attraction.

But he could not read Rook.

In time, the only instinct he felt he could rely on was survival. He did not truly believe Rook meant him harm, but if someone in the Crows had betrayed him, why not a relative stranger? It was safer to avoid her when he could and try not to be alone with her when he couldn't.

Several weeks passed before he failed at both points. After an enjoyable supper filled with stories and wine and the first real stirrings of camaraderie among the team, Lucanis had looked up from finishing the washing to find Rook standing in front of the exit.

Watching him, of course.

He dried his hands on a dish towel and walked toward her, keeping his gait and expression as neutral as possible. He stopped several yards away and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

"Rook," he greeted her.

"Lucanis," she replied. "I've made you uncomfortable."

He had not expected her to address the issue so directly—or at all—so he was unprepared with a suitable response. She seemed to take his lack of reaction for the confirmation it was because she nodded.

"Neve and Bellara have advised me to apologize and explain."

Then, to his further confusion, she clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her chin as if about to deliver an academic lecture.

"For the first several weeks of our acquaintance, I was assessing your aesthetic qualities, of which you have many. As I suspect you are aware of these and have been subject to such appraisals before, I will not enumerate them now."

She paused for breath, but as he could not think of a single thing to say, she continued on.

"During the weeks that followed, I began to catalog your non-aesthetic but no less meritorious attributes. Examples of these include your competence, your generosity, and your intelligence.

"And lastly I have been attempting to ascertain whether you fostered any partiality for my physical appearance and/or character." A tiny furrow appeared in her brow. "Given that my attention seems to have given you cause for alarm rather than celebration, I believe I have my answer."

After her bewildering recitation, she made a small bow. "I sincerely apologize for having disturbed you and will curb the behavior that engendered such disquiet immediately."

She turned to leave and was already reaching for the door when Lucanis found his voice.

"Rook... wait."

She looked over her shoulder, and for once, her gaze stayed away from him, lingering on the floor instead. To his surprise, he found he missed it.

"You're saying... you like me?" he asked.

Her eyes met his again, and this time... this time he thought perhaps he could read a hint of warmth in them. "I do. And I will continue to do so. Even if you do not regard me as a suitable romantic prospect, I will always regard you as a valuable member of this team and a trusted and cherished colleague."

From anyone else, it might have seemed a cold assessment, but he knew Rook was difficult to impress. That he had managed it prompted a flare of pride in his chest.

"I confess I have not considered you in that light," he told her. "Would you allow me time to make an assessment of my own?"

Again, he thought he caught a flicker of emotion, a slight uptick at the corner of her lips. "Of course."

Perhaps he simply needed to recalibrate his instincts for Rook.

"Then I suppose I will let you know when I've reached a conclusion," Lucanis said.

"Excellent," Rook replied, as if they had come to some sort of formal agreement at the end of a successful negotiation. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"And you as well."

Once the door had closed behind her, he scratched at his beard. Then he went to make a fresh pot of coffee. At least he had plenty to occupy his thoughts for the night ahead.

[folkloresthings]

❛ HEAVEN KNOWS ❜ ❨ lando norris x singer!reader ❩

📻 track two: wendy.

in which the they were the perfect couple, until they weren’t. or in which we take a look back into what made heaven itself fall apart.

. . . SEPTEMBER 2023

INSTAGRAM. september twenty—seventh.

liked by niallhoran, lizzymcalpine and 761,320 others

yourusername first song from the good witch! i wrote wendy after a day huddled under my duvet rewatching every adaptation of peter pan that exists. it’s all about falling for lost boys and trying your best to see the best in them even though your heart tells you better. it’s about not making sacrifices even though you want to, learning to put yourself first despite how much love might blind you to do the opposite. what about wendy!

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user STOP these songs are going to tear lando apart i just know it

charlottesiine wendy darling 🤍 lock the windows!!!!

user is lando her lost boy 😭😭😭

REWIND… AUGUST 2022.

for just under three years, heaven was all you knew. lando was a dream, all wrapped up in his love for you and forever devoted to your attentions. maybe the effect of being locked up together for months as the pandemic reigned had given you both a taste of stockholm syndrome and left you with nothing else to focus on. or maybe it was just time.

the beginning of summer break was when you felt the first shift. every other year, lando whisked you away on a holiday to the sunniest place he could find. he wined and dined you, making up for all of the lost time between the racing season and touring. only, this time, he had booked a trip to ibiza with max and his friends.

“what about me?”

“i don’t see them that often either, you know that,” he defended.

it was understandable, you supposed. he liked those kinds of places, you didn’t. so while he partied there, you spent a little extra time in the studio. but then it was a week in spain with carlos, another in croatia with daniel. the compromise came in the form of monaco. you would take some time off, leaving your london flat behind, and come stay with lando in his monte carlo apartment.

you were all excitement, until you realised your time there was scheduled around lando’s meetings and dj sets and boys night out. the desperation to be close to him trumped all else and so you followed him around like a lost puppy, forever blinded by the sweet kisses and doting promises.

“i’ll take you to dinner tomorrow night, just me and you,” lando would murmur in your ear, letting your frustration subside long enough to let him go back to his friends.

it took that whole month in monaco to realise that this is what lando wanted: someone to follow after him and live for the short term magic, only to be let down by the endless maybe’s, trusting that he’ll catch you when you fall. it terrified you, and yet your undying love kept you playing along.

“i have a show in brixton next week,” you told him on your last morning in monaco, shoving the last of your clothes into your case. “it’s low-key, for some of the really devoted fans. i got management to put your name on the list.”

lando zipped up the last of your belongings, soft thumbs caressing your cheeks. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you grinned happily, uncaring for whatever doubt sank in your stomach when it was just the two of you, his lips soothing on your warm skin. he loved you, truly.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—first.

liked by nicolacoughlan, hozier and 780,629 more

y/nupdates y/n in brixton tonight! 21/8 🤍

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user the intimate shows w her are my fav 🥺🥺🥺

user mother!

user was lando there? i heard she gave him a shoutout

⤷ user she sang feels like this and dedicated it to him!

⤷ user yeah but it seemed like she was looking out for him in the back when she said it and it didn’t look like he was there ☹️

⤷ user ouch 🥲

“are you alright?”

it’s the first thing you ask when he answers the phone, and you know it’s horrible that you hope something bad has happened — but it’s better than the truth that weighs heavy on his lips.

“i’m so sorry love, i meant to call you earlier,” lando groans through your speaker, your dressing room door clicking closed behind you. still in your stage outfit, you await the excuses. “the flight was delayed and then cancelled. i would get the next flight but i’ve got that thing tomorrow evening.”

“oh, i see.” your eyes sting.. “are you back in the apartment now?”

“huh? oh yeah, i just got an uber back from the airport and i’m ordering some food now.”

if you had the energy to scoff and argue you would, for you can hear the distant bouncing of club music on the other end of the phone, most likely muffled by where lando has hidden away in the bathroom.

“that’s nice,” you whisper, picking anxiously at the skin around your nailbed. “well, the show went really well. i think that—”

“babe, you’re breaking up. i’ll call you tomorrow okay?” lando’s voice raises as the bathroom door on his side opens to let the loud music peek in. “i’m sorry again.”

“okay, bye,” you sigh, but the call ends before he can even hear it. sinking into the small sofa of the dressing room, curling into yourself, the tears flow over your perfect makeup — fading the lipstick you’d chosen just for him.

you couldn’t live like this, is what your friends told you when you spent your evening crying on their sofa. but you loved him, and you would follow him to the ends of the earth. you could be married soon, waiting up at night for the sound of the door unlatching. it’s a life you could have and you knew it — even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—second.

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift and 722,784 others

yourusername a week in neverland

view all comments

user boyfriend lando pics!!!

carlossainz55 so great to see you!👸

⤷ yourusername time for you to come to london now!!!!

⤷ carlossainz55 ✈️🏃🏻💨

user ofc lando brings her to the track even on summer break 🙄😅

landonorris my wendy darling ❤️

⤷ user does this make lando peter pan?

⤷ yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

user still sad we didn’t see lando at the london show :(

writers note: did i promise this new chapter ages ago? yes but just be happy you guys have it now 🫶❤️‍🔥

taglist: @openthenyoor01 @racingheartsworld @celestialend @cha-hot @gr1mes-cc @allywthsr @imsorare @youdontknowmeshh @bellewintersroe @orangetreekid

[flashphotograph]

Double Stuffed

@steddiemicrofic | June prompt: Stuff | Word count: 483 | Rating: T | CW: None

Eddie was thoroughly entertained. He was lying across Steve’s bed on his stomach, leaning up on his elbows, with the palms of his hands supporting his chin as he shamelessly watched Steve try on jeans.  The fabric glided effortlessly up Steve’s long legs, but once the material got to his ass, it always caught, and that’s when the struggle began. Steve had to tug and jump just to get them up where they needed to go.  “Jesus Christ, Harrington, you really gotta stuff yourself in those things, don’t you?”  Steve was adjusting his nuts when Eddie piped up, making him snort softly at the comment. These were his tightest jeans. He slowly zipped and buttoned them, feeling Eddie’s gaze on him viscerally.  “I think the last time I wore these, you stuffed me. So, you must like them, right?” Steve chuckled as he put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows playfully a couple of times, which summoned Eddie over to him.  Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and instantly palmed his ass, making him blush and laugh. “Love 'em, Stevie. They fit you like a glove. My only complaint is how hard they are to get off.”  Steve locked his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “I like making you work for it. I’m not easy.” “Never said you were. I’m not afraid of hard work. Although, I think you put these on on purpose.” Steve ducked his head and shrugged. “I just wanted to look good for you.” Eddie laughed, tilting his chin back up gently. “You always look good. You put me to shame.” Steve smiled and leaned in to kiss Eddie for the compliment. “You’re not so bad. Can’t lie and say I didn’t wanna get lucky tonight.” Eddie was waiting on him to get ready. They were going to go out, see some bands and get some drinks.  “We can skip going out, and I can get you out of these and into bed instead.”    “Not so fast, you just agreed that I’m not easy!” Steve laughed and took Eddie’s hands off his ass. “You’re taking me out first. It’s only right.”  Steve smiled and reached up to sweetly pat Eddie on the cheek, then went over to put on the thin gold chain Eddie had gotten him. He finished the look with a polo and Nike’s. “Don’t pout, Eddie bear.” Steve caught Eddie’s lower lip jutting out. That got him to bite it instead. “I won’t make you wait long. We’ll just get a drink or two. You know that makes my pants come off faster.”  Eddie smirked and reached out to link their fingers. “Alright, let’s get out of here, man. Gonna at least wine you before I dine.”  Steve squawked as Eddie honked one of his ass cheeks and dipped out of the room, cackling.  Later, Steve pulled Eddie’s wallet chain, pantsing him publicly. 

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part two

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. wc: 3.5k tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear! i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔 i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

[tau1tvec]

GALLO FAMILY HIDEAWAY // Pinewood Island Airbnb

Happy holidays, although wouldn't it be a lot happier for your sim if they had a nice, quiet place to spend some time with loved ones, to truly appreciate it? Well they're in luck! My sim is renting out his holiday home on scenic Pinewood Island, and it might just be the cozy location your sim is looking for! This three story alpine lodge boasts two spacious bedrooms, a chef style kitchen, a study/workout room fully outfitted for your sim's inner online creative, dining room with a stylish fireplace, a wine cellar, sauna, and a garden with a few friendly hens to keep your sim company. Your sim will also have access to their own private dock, complete with plenty of boat options to fully admire the water surrounding the island.

DETAILS

Library File. Two lots included, the house and the dock. Once you've placed the files into your Library Folder, you can access them in Edit World, use them to replace the ones already there.

Fully Furnished! CC is included in the zip, install it as you would any other package files, unless you already have them. Mind you it's quite hefty though, roughly 500 files, so I can't promise I didn't miss anything, but I checked several times.

Pinewood Island is strongly recommended. You can try it in another world, but I can't promise it'll look good.

Playtested. Weirdly it isn't very cramped, despite being heavily decorated, so everything seemed to be working well on my end.

I have all Packs and Store Sets installed, my Store Sets are "decrapped".

Should you run into any issues feel free to inbox me.

CREDITS

Major thanks to all the cc creators that helped make this happen, and the biggest thanks to @nilxis for creating Pinewood Island, and its original lots!

DOWNLOAD | MF

[ravennaortiz]

Summary: Tig has never been big on wine and dine but spending Valentines Day at Red Woody wasn't exactly what you were expecting to do.

This is part of the 2025 Valentines Day Choose Your Own. As always 18+

“Any hints?” you asked as you held on tight to TIg as he zipped along the streets of Charming. You had been surprised when he told you he had big plans for you two for Valentine’s Day. Tig Trager wasn’t exactly then man who knew wined and dined. You had been a bit suspicious and unsure when he told you that you were taking his bike and then placed a blindfold around your eyes.

“Magical” replied Tig with a chuckle as he patted your hands that were wrapped around his waist.

“So helpful” you laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s my middle name Doll. Alexander Helpful Trager” replied Tig as he pulled into the lot of Red Woody the porn studio owned by the club. “Careful” stated Tig as he helped you off the bike and led you towards the doors.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” you inquired as you shivered in the coolness of the space.

“No, gotta keep it on” stated Tig as he led you to a set Lyla had made for the two of you. “Alright stand right here. Raise your arms up for me” he stated as he grabbed a pair of cuffs that were hanging from a bar and clicked them around your wrist.

“Tig” you stated voice hesitant as you pulled against the cold metal.

“Shh, trust me” he stated as he dropped to his knees and reached under your dress and yanked your black lace panties down and off your body with a rip. Bringing them to his nose he gave a quick inhale as he stood back up. “Fuck” he groaned as your scent had him hardening. “Open your mouth” he ordered as he placed a thumb against your lower lip. Once you had done what he asked he shoved your [panties into your mouth.

“Going to make my little slut a star” he murmured into your ear before pulling his knife from his belt and cutting your dress away from your body. You moaned as his hands and mouth latched onto your breast and trailed down to your clit.

A few hours later you were lounging in a chair as Lyla played some of the video back for you and Tig.

You were blindfolded and your moans were muffled by your black lace panties that were shoved in your mouth. Tig pushed a button on the controller in his hand and watched as your body convulsed from the electrical impulses that shot through the nipple and clit clamps he had attached prior to taking his seat.

“Look at my beautiful girl” murmured Tig as he rubbed your shoulders from behind you as the two of you watched as you contorted on screen.

“Can’t believe you had us make a porno for a Valentines Day date” you stated as you shook your head.

[flowery-laser-blasts]

DINE 'N CRIME: DUMPLING

This recipe is part of the menu of 'Chez Molerat vs Dine 'n Crime'.

HOW TO MAKE THE FILLING. Ingredients: - Fatty pork meat/porkbelly slices (preferably ground meat) - 2 hands full of big shrimp (deshelled and cleaned out). - Two gloves of finely chopped garlic - A piece of ginger (size of your pinky finger), also finely chopped - 2 Spring onions - 1 can of bamboo shoots (use only half of it) - 2 quick shakes of ground white pepper (or to your preferred taste) - 2 tbsp of water - 2 tsp of Soy sauce - 2 tsp of Shaoxing cooking wine - 1 tsp of Sesame oil - Samyang Buldak sauce to your liking (HOT!) Optional ingredients: - Finely chopped carrot - Finely chopped cabbage - Finely chopped shiitake mushrooms

Instructions: - If you have ground pork, great! If you don't; chop the pieces of fatty pork meat as big as your pinky fingers. After that, carefully start hammering down on it with two knives; ground it ye olde way! It's a bit time consuming but you'll feel like a professional chef when you start double wielding kitchen knives. Keep in mind that this causes a lot of noise though and PLEASE BE CAREFUL BECAUSE KNIVES ARE SHARP! Once you are done, put the ground pork into a bowl. - Wash and deshell the shrimps in cold water. Take out the guts, wash the shimps once more and finally chop the shrimps into 4 to 5 pieces. Add the shrimps to the pork. - Clean and finely chop 2 spring onions (depending on the size it can also be 1 or 3). Chop the bamboo shoots and lastly mince the ginger and garlic into tiny pieces (you can also grate the ginger and use a garlic press for the garlic). Add these ingredients to the pork shrimp mixture. - Add the water, ground pepper, soy sauce, Shaoxing cooking wine, sesame oil and Buldak sauce to the mixture. Stir well until everything is evenly divided. Once combined, cover the bowl and set the filling aside in the refrigerator. NOTE: If you do not have the Buldak sauce, that's no problem! You can easily replace this with a bit of Madam Jeanette or any other hot pepper to your liking. It's up to your spice level. Keep in mind that this recipe is made to my preferences and not everyone likes hot foods. So if you want to eat good dumplings without the spice; leave out the Buldak sauce (or use it seperately for dipping).

HOW TO MAKE THE DUMPLING SKIN (RECOMMENDED FOR MORE ADVANCED COOKS). Ingredients: - Water 120mL/4.2oz - 200g/0.85 cup of All purpose flour - A pinch of salt - 80g/half a cup of Spinach (preferably fresh baby spinach) for the green dough - Liquid Squid ink for the black dough

Instructions: - Add the flour and salt to the mixing bowl. - Boil the water, turn off the stove and add the baby spinach to soften it. Make sure to NOT overcook spinach as it contains 'prussic Acid' which means that your body can turn this stuff into Cyanide.Not enough to actually kill you, of course... I hope. I'm a Doctor, but not a health doctor or dietician, so don't take it as hard facts from me! Technically speaking, you're also not a 'doctor', you know... Since you're a drop out. ZIP IT, SHEGO! - Add the softened spinach and the water to a mixer and blend it until smooth. - Sieve the blended spinach juice until all the pulp is seperated from the warm green water (yummy). Make sure that the water is around 45°c/113°f - Carefully add the warm water to the flour as you mix it - Make a ball of dough and if it's too wet, add a little bit more flour but not too much! Keep on kneading and once the ball of dough is springy to touch (push it in with your finger and it should go back up) it's ready! - Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Wrap up one of them and to the other we will add a few drops of squid ink. Knead the ball (yes it will be a bit sticky again) until it changes color. We're aiming for a dark grey color, not to worry; this will turn black during the steaming process. HOW TO FOLD THE DUMPLINGS: For the life of me I cannot explain to you how to fold dumplings so here; have this amazing tutorial by China Sichuan Food. My auntie taught me how to fold crescent moon dumplings but well, I'm still not the best at it when it comes to folding home made dumpling skin. That's the reason why I adviced at the start that making this is for more advanced cooks. If you have never folded dumplings before, I recommend you start with store bought frozen gyoza skins. They are WAY easier to make dumplings with but sadly, I haven't found any black and green frozen gyoza skins in stores.

Once you're finished making all your dumplings, you can go right ahead and steam them for 7~8 minutes OR you can store them in the freezer (make sure to first seperately freeze them for up to 1 hour (or until slightly hardened) and then you can put all of them together in a bag, this way they won't stick together) If you want to heat them up after freezing; steam them for 15 minutes.

HOW TO MAKE THE DIPPING SAUCE. Ingredients: - 1 tbsp Chinese black vinegar - 1 to 2 tbsp Soy sauce - 1 tsp Sesame oil Mix these condiments together in a little bowl, for topping you can add: - Sesame seeds - Sliced chilli - Finely sliced ginger

Enjoy these dumplings while hot! Carefully bite the tip to create a little air hole so you won't burn your mouth because these dumplings are juicy!

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Anyone else get pedophile vibes from Rothman?

From Russian Roulette:

And that night, I met Julia Rothman for the second time. She had sent her personal launch to collect me, a beautiful vessel that was all teak and chrome with a silver scorpion molded into the bow. It carried me beneath the famous Bridge of Sighs—I hoped that was not an omen—and on to the Widow’s Palace where we had first met. She was dressed, once again, in black; this time a very low-cut dress with a zip down one side, which I recognized at once as the work of the designer Gianni Versace. We ate in her private dining room, a long table lit by candles and surrounded by paintings—Picasso, Cézanne, van Gogh—all of them worth millions. We began with soup, then lobster, finally a creamy custard mixed with wine that the Italians call zabaglione. The food was delicious, but as I ate I was aware of her examining me, watching every mouthful, and I knew that I was still being tested. “I’m very pleased with you, Yassen,” she said as the coffee was poured. The whole meal had been served by two men in white jackets and black pants, her personal waiters. “Do you think you’re ready?” “Yes, Mrs. Rothman,” I replied. “You can stop calling me that now.” She smiled at me and I was once again struck by her film-star looks. “I prefer Julia.” .... She reached out and, just for a moment, her fingers brushed against the back of my hand. “You know, Yassen,” she said, “you are incredibly good-looking. I thought that the moment I saw you, and your five months on Malagosto have done nothing but improve you.” She sighed and drew her hand away. “Russian boys aren’t quite my thing,” she continued. “Or else who knows what we might get up to? But it will certainly help you in your work. Death should always come smartly dressed.”

From Scorpia:

Julia Rothman had the best table, in the middle of the terrace, with views over Positano and out to sea. She was sitting on her own with a glass of champagne, waiting for him, wearing a low-cut black dress with a simple diamond necklace around her neck. She saw him, smiled, and waved. Alex walked over to her, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the suit. Most of the other diners seemed to be casually dressed. He wished now that he hadn’t put on the tie. “Alex, you look wonderful.” She ran her dark eyes over him. “The suit fits you perfectly. It’s Miu Miu, isn’t it? I love the style. Please. Sit down.” Alex took his place at the table. He wondered what anyone watching might think. A mother and her son out for the evening? He felt like an extra in a film—and he was beginning to wish someone would show him the script. “It’s been a while since I ate dinner with my own boy toy. Will you have some champagne?” .... “All right,” she said when they were gone. “Let’s finish eating and talk about other things. You can tell me about Brookland. I want to know what music you listen to and what sports teams you support. Do you have a girlfriend? I’m sure a boy as handsome as you gets plenty of offers. Now I’ve made you blush.

[ryanclaremont]

on the town.

Being back in the city definitely has some adjustments. There's a vast difference from the serene ocean to the hustle and bustle of the city. Though after one night's sleep Ryan's already back into the motions and typical schedules she's usually on. She gets her life in order, sorting out her place and gets back into the routine of things. Breakfast at the cafe, lunch at the bistro, dinner at her brother's and so on. She does love the city, she would be fooling herself if she didn't.

She's got friends besides her little circle, she knows people who know people. And when she sees there's some afterparty at one of the clubs for some indie recording artist, Ryan thinks that might be something up her alley. It would be nice to have a night out, and she'd invite Luci if Aiden wasn't wining and dining her as if it's their first date every Thursday.

Ryan dresses, calling a car as she zips up the side zipper of her dark plum mini dress and grabs a purse, heels and gets herself downstairs when the car pulls around to the front. She thanks her doorman and slips into the car, heading off to the club. It seems to be a hot commodity as the driver has to wait in a small line up of cars, people waiting outside to get in the club but when Ryan exits the car, she strolls right ahead to the security. No verbal indication needed, the rope opens up and Ryan moves into the club.

[theflashdriver]

A Thesis on the Touch of a Psychic (Silvaze)

Blaze couldn't help but glower at her reflection as her hands failed her for the sixth time this evening. Tonight had snuck up on her like a blissfully forgotten spectre, now resurrected from the recesses of her memory to stir up a panic from within. It was the last night of the year, an evening in which certain expectations were impressed upon the guardian of the Sol Emeralds.

In the great hall beneath the en suite where she now stood, a summit was well on its way to beginning. Despite the music and the dancing she knew to be present, the feline wouldn't dare to call the reception a party. Tonight was a night of formality, dining, speeches, and endless bureaucracy to mark the coming new year. Names would be announced upon arrival, toasts would be raised, and lectures would be given until throats were again in need for more toasts.

Those in attendance were the countless representative diplomats from the surrounding islands, their families, and special guests of interest including heads of shipping firms and other industrial tycoons. Frankly, Blaze knew there was more important work to be done than attending this farce; on the eastern coast a giant squid had been sighted, the cat was already brewing theories that it was some mechanical or otherworldly monstrosity that Eggman Nega had forced into her world. Unfortunately, being royalty carried with it certain expectations- for centuries her family had attended this dinner without fail. For that reason, and no other, she would attend tonight's event as she had those in years prior.

Tonight was an enforced break from reality; a fascinatingly pointless deviation from her true mission of defending her kingdom's isles. These truths, combined with her present predicament, had combined to plunge the princess into a rather foul mood. If tonight went without a yawn attempting to slip beyond her lips she would be more than surprised. The long evening was surely going to leave her dreary eyed, not that she was allowed to show it.

Again, perhaps due to her mental distraction, the feline's grasp did not prove sufficient; her hands found the edge of the sink before her as a vicious frown graced the bathroom mirror. The cat had been attempting to fasten the back of her dress for what felt like hours now; soon Gardon would rap on her bedroom door and enquire what was taking her so long. Certainly the words he'd use would be more proper, but they'd further the cat's frustration all the same.

Instead of a simple zip, whoever designed the frustrating collection of thread and fabric had deemed that a series of lace knots should be used to seal the back of the garb. Whoever had made that choice plainly hadn't ever had to fasten such a dress themselves. They'd purely been fixated on the aesthetics of a slightly exposed back contrasted by bows.

The dress wasn't truly awful, she had selected it in the hopes that it would allow her to battle should conflict arise (be it at the party or somewhere she would have to rush) while maintaining a certain level of decorum. Unfortunately, it appeared she had chosen poorly. The gown was loose flowing, with long sleeves that she'd thought would make her feel less exposed compared to others she'd historically stuffed herself into... but those very boons were only serving to make her fastening effort more difficult. The garb wrapped the majority of her body in a wine red colour, slit only to partially expose her right leg in exchange for bettered mobility. Perhaps she would burn herself free after this evening... no, regardless of her frustration, that would be much too wasteful.

"Silver!" She called through the bathroom door, "Can you come in here?"

The en suite door swung open, revealing the time traveling psychic. Since he'd arrived in her world, the hedgehog was gradually becoming better suited to the more peaceful times he now lived in. He was dressed in a manner she'd be far more comfortable with, a loose button up blue shirt and shorts.

The two of them had spent today in the royal gardens, primarily beneath a gazebo so that she could continue to work even while enjoying the outdoors. He had brought a picnic and a good head to bounce ideas off of. After much persuasion, he had managed to lead her into a spot of impromptu gardening to maintain the grounds. Even if she hadn't been destined for such a royal occasion, the outing would have prompted a shower regardless- but it had been made all the more quick and intense upon realising how late the day had drawn. Meanwhile, she could still see grass stains in his fur...

"I can't seem to fasten this dress," She informed him, "Could you..."

"Of course!" He beamed, helpful as ever.

The cat turned back to her reflection, standing straight and exposing her back to him completely. She'd expected to hear the whir of psychic energy, that the silk threads at her back would simply fasten themselves behind her back. Instead, the familiar sound of footsteps drawing close played in her ears.

In the mirror, she watched as the hedgehog strolled behind her to look quizzically at her exposed spine. Just as she was processing what he was about to do, the feline felt his heavy hands on the small of her back. Almost instinctively, her own grasp found the sink again as she leaned forward.

"This looks easy enough," She caught sight of his smile in the reflection, "I'm going to have to undo some of the knots you've already done, they're not using the right threads."

Fingers grazed deep, she felt her fur raise beneath his touch, "Do what you must."

Her left hand moved to her chest, hoping to keep the garb from slumping free of her shoulders. He was being gentle, but now his touch was slipping into the tight spaces she had previously sealed- his fingertips were grazing along her spine. The scene reflected before her was one that spiked her temperature; Silver had leaned down to match her posture, practically hunching parallel to her frame, looming over! She had to look down; her flushed face reflected in the shining metal of the sink's plug- was there no escape?!

"You were right, this is fiddly... give me a second," She felt one of his hands leave her only to return ungloved.

Blaze's tail bashed against his chest, straightening hard as she felt that bare hand tug the lace of her dress while the other left her back. She felt him catch the interfering appendage so very casually; Blaze was certain that now both his hands were ungloved. In a single, ever so simple, move, he adjusted her tail to coil over his shoulder and stepped even closer! She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, was he-

"So, it seems like it's going to be a long night," Silver's fingers had returned to her back, his fiddling resumed, "Are you going to be okay down there?"

Did he have to talk while he was doing this? Did he know how his breath felt on her ear? Did he really expect her to respond!?

"I'm fine, Silver," She grumbled, "Tonight is more akin to a ritual than it is anything else, a sacrifice of time and endurance of tedium for the greater good. I'll get through it as I have every prior stuffy reception."

As loose fabric bundled in her grasp, the cat felt his hold alter. Suddenly, he was drawing the halves of her dress together, surely lining up the holes and tassels to more directly feed into each other. It was sensible, it was practical, and it wasn't as if he was being rough... but, no matter how she rationalised, Blaze still couldn't help feeling flustered. She was the guardian and ruler of this entire dimension, he was her closest companion and trusted confidante; they'd battled monsters, lived through squalor, and changed history together! Why did she feel so vulnerable here, in her own bathroom, with his hands on her back?!

With each knot tied his touch grazed closer further up her back, fingertips and knuckles slid against her. Those touches sparked memories of the other times he'd used his hands on her. In the afterglow of battle, once their foes had fallen, they would bandage each other and fuss over the countless wounds they had sustained. Huddling in the back of a mostly destroyed library, letting the hedgehog wrap torn cloth around her ribs to staunch the blood drawn by a monster's gouging claws, that was true vulnerability- not this! She was strong here, unharmed and refreshed!

Blaze felt the dress lighten in her grasp and couldn't help but glance to the mirror before them. Silver really was as close as he felt, practically straddling her backside as he worked his way up, and yet he still looked entirely at ease. She couldn't see how far up her dress he'd managed to seal, but by his touch she knew he was just over half-way up her back. The psychic's broad shoulders were framing her slighter form, his still slightly sullied fur contrasted against the dress set to be worn for the first time.

Silver's constant contact echoed in her mind. Was he trying to leave a crease in her fur? He was being so thorough, it was as if-

His eyes had caught hers, had he looked so comfortable this whole time? Had his smile grown when their gazes locked? The cat's returned her attention to the empty sink beneath her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked.

"I'm certain," She lied.

Regardless of how gruff Blaze thought she had sounded, the hedgehog continued to work diligently. His hands did briefly leave her back, but she knew that this wasn't the end. The shoulders of the dress had been misaligned since he'd untied what few knots she'd managed prior. He pulled the red sleeves up to better fit against her clavicle, his wrist brushed against her neck.

Were his fingers lingering on her collar, at the fabric border? Her eyes returned to the mirror only to catch a small, rather perplexed, frown staring back at her. The hedgehog's heavy hands dipped down her front catching the lapels of her dress. He slid his hands up, straightening the front of the garb before pulling up to have it fit more smoothly against her shoulders.

"There," She saw his smile return, "That looks better."

"Just focus on the back," The cat fizzed, "I can handle the rest myself."

"Okay," He hummed, hands slipping back again, "Maybe, when things get going down there I'll be able to sneak in? You know, while everyone's focused on your speech or something?"

"You will do no such thing," She heard herself growl as she failed to maintain some inkling of composure.

A measure of regret tainted his muzzle, his eyes quickly lowered from the mirror to her back. No further words came in the wake of her insistence, she'd felt him hesitate but the knotting had quickly resumed. It wasn't that she didn't want him there, his presence would surely have made the night's bureaucracy pass faster, but this was a meeting of the elite. For her to bring along what was to them a commoner, let alone an uncouth otherworldly outsider, would surely cause a scandal.

His fingers kept hitching on the tie between the top of her shoulder blades, a grumble rolled from his throat. Why was he struggling now of all times? Was it the change in her temperament? Had he finally noticed how intimate this all actually was?

A sigh slipped through her lips, "I'm sorry Silver. Tonight is weighing on me more heavily than I thought..."

"Don't worry about it," He finally managed to tie that knot, "I shouldn't have even brought up the idea, it's not like I'm hard to identify," She looked up to find him looking off in thought, "Slipping into a butler's uniform probably wouldn't have been enough..."

"There are already enough rumours about you among the people, we don't want to pique any more curiosity," Two ties remained.

"There are rumours about me?" Did he truly not know? "Like what?"

"We don't have enough time to discuss that," She wasn't prepared to delve into the torrid imaginings of others while posed like this, "But perhaps we can use this as an opportunity to better things..."

"Better things?" One tie remained.

"Go to the eastern beach tonight," Blaze instructed him, "Watch the ocean. If you see anything unusual, then you have my express permission to enter the ballroom and whisk me away."

"I can do that, no problem!" Finally, the back of her dress was sealed, "That's the last knot tied."

The cat finally rose to her full height, taking in her reflection. The dress did feel like too much; while the long sleeves were intended to make her feel less exposed, its shining ruby coloured floral detailing was certain to draw attention. She'd picked it to match the gem on her forehead and usual hair-tie, hoping that would make this all feel more regular... but that plainly hadn't worked. To contrast, the hedgehog behind her still looked physically disheveled but infinitely more comfortable- both in mind and body.

She finally turned to him properly, "Thank you for doing this, Silver."

Their eye-contact broke, his stare tumbled away, "It's no problem, any time."

Why had that simple, minor, praise fluster him more than the position she'd put him in?! He'd been leaning over her, hands practically dancing across her back, freely gliding his fingers through her fur, but a simple thank you had done so much more to him. She knew this was how he worked, that he'd always taken praise poorly, but for modest kindness to so thoroughly trump physical contact was still so bizarre to her.

"Oh, wait," He stepped closer to her once more, practically pinning her back against the sink.

His arm slipped behind her and the cat's temperature skyrocketed, "What are you-

He pulled back to reveal the golden necklace she so often wore around her neck, "Do you want me to help you with this too?"

She could fasten it herself, she had countless times, "If you wouldn't mind…"

An impulse had betrayed her. Without so much as another word the hedgehog was again leaning past her, this time neck to neck and front to front. She felt his chest fur brush her muzzle as he began to fiddle with the clasp. Again, this was another act he could so easily have performed with his power! Instead he had chosen to get close; could he not feel the heat flagging from her? Was he just cold?!

"There, now you're ready," He casually said into her ear as he pulled back.

The awkwardness had fully vanished, Silver was back to beaming.

"You're so naive..." A knock at the door spun their heads, but she quickly returned to him, "Stay here, wait until I'm gone, then drift out the window. Make sure no one sees you."

He silently nodded as she slipped away from the bathroom, shutting the door to her back and not daring to throw another glance back at him. If all went as planned, she had seen him for the last time this evening. Now she had to focus! Blaze gathered a stack of papers from her desk, slipped on her heels, and made for the door.

Gardon was revealed on the other side, "Your highness, the guests are awaiting your arrival."

"Then it is time I joined them," She shut the door behind her, locking it, "Have there been any issues thus far?"

As she started to make her way down the halls, the koala followed, "No issues so far, what small discomfort I have noticed will surely be alleviated by your arrival."

Rather than speak further with her advisor and consider what small discomforts he had identified, Blaze couldn't help but dwell upon the hedgehog presently escaping her room. Silver hadn't needed to touch her, he could have done all he had to do from her bedroom even. She'd watched him undo locks with a wave, it wasn't as though the task of tying knots was too complex.

For a psychokinetic like him, every physical action was a choice, wasn't it? Every touch could be replaced with a psychic one, most born of mere thought rather than even so much as a gesture. He could have been reading or planning or doing almost anything while simultaneously helping her dress. Instead the hedgehog had devoted his full focus to that task, removing his gloves when it proved difficult rather than concede and use his power.

Was she being foolish? She didn't question why Silver would walk rather than float or run his fingers through his chest fur as he pondered. How was tonight any different? He had taken her hand countless times, wrapped her bandages physically, and even carried her to bed when nights dragged much too late. Had he consciously chosen those countless acts too? Had he even considered using his power tonight?

Was it natural to him to be physical with her? What did that imply? If Amy had asked for help with a dress, would he have done the same? Blaze couldn't imagine it. Certainly Amy would have had the gall to tell him to just use his powers. Why hadn't she done that? For all her questioning of his actions; her own inaction was just as baffling, she hadn't so much as considered asking him to stop and instead work telekinetically. She was royalty, she wasn't supposed to be handled so-

"Your highness?" Gardon's voice halted her train of thought.

"Yes?" She turned to her advisor.

"I asked if you feel prepared for this evening? If required, I could delay your arrival for a little longer," Gardon offered, "You seem to be more than a little lost in thought."

"No, I'm fine Gardon," She could see the doors to the great hall ahead, "It is best that I attend as quickly as possible."

With no more than a nod the koala scurried ahead, grasping the doorhandles in preparation to announce her arrival. Blaze brushed off her shoulders and strode forward, steeling her expression. She sucked a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes as Gardon pushed open the entryway.

"Now announcing the arrival of her majesty Princess Blaze," The cat felt countless eyes turn in her direction from the ballroom below, "Ruler of the realm and Guardian of the Sol Emeralds!"

Music and endless claps rang loud, the cat opened her eyes and began her descent down spiralling stairs; there was a sea of overdressed people beneath her. Even as the noise enveloped her, even as she hardened her brows and began to make pleasantries, the feeling of her dress hugging at shoulders and hips toyed with her attention. That sensation, catalysed by the placement of knots down her back, endlessly kept Silver's chosen contact at the forefront of her mind. It was as if he was still hanging so close, brushing against her fur...

This was going to be a long evening.

[katgametable]

OX Guild Season 3: The Orbpocalypse Saga Episode 12: Finale

Written 19 May 2025, shortly after relistening, having watched and listened previously.

Vocatus is frozen, gulping wine endlessly. Egbert bursts into Dob’s dining room to fill him in, and suggests moving Vocatus into the dining room Liliana had been in, so when she returns she finds him. As a finishing touch, Dob puts the fife in his hand. They all hide on the roof so they can listen down the chimney, with Bismuth and Katie (who they forgot about last episode), except she and Dob quarrel and she stomps off. Dob inserts himself down the chimney, upside down, so he can see and hear. They have a short rest.

There’s a lot of noise and sheet lightning atop the peak, before it goes quiet. A reduced army of clone-berts descends the mountain. Dob sees Liliana return and confront Vocatus. In her fury, she smacks the goblet from his hand and frees him from the wine compulsion. He flees on all fours towards the sea, Liliana stalking after him, but he stops as wine emerges from his mouth, nose, eyes. The wine pours into the sea, and then wine-men start climbing out of the ocean, an army to rival the clone-berts.

The Guild extracts Dob as Corazon passes out marshmallows. They watch the armies fight, the wine-men overwhelming the clone-berts until Liliana takes a goblet and starts drinking the wine. She takes control of the wine-men, who tear Vocatus apart. Then she destroys the wine-men with a gesture, and retrieves a crystalline object from Vocatus’ corpse. Prudence recognises her magic within it, but Liliana turns it into a necklace. She announces to the army that she is claiming the house for her own.

Katie has returned and wonders how Dob could possibly be into Liliana. Dob finally has to admit that he did indeed have a thing. Katie admits in return that she wants to wear the pearl to the wedding.

They move on to planning to steal back Prudence’s magic. After debating whether Liliana sleeps, Merilwen turns into a rat and sneaks inside. She’s taken over Corazon’s suite, wearing his best hat and drinking his finest booze. A butler clone-bert is reading to her. Merilwen returns and tells the rest, and explains about trances. They decide Corazon and Katie will sneak in while Merilwen maintains Pass Without Trace, Dob will cast Sleep on the butler, Egbert will replace him, and Prudence will be waiting to receive.

It works pretty much flawlessly.

Back on the roof, Prudence smashes the magic crystal, and as the magic flows back, tentacles emerge from the sea, looking disapproving. They take a zip line down to the stables, where there are steeds of dubious quality. They ride off into the night, Prudence setting off celebratory Eldritch Blasts…until Dob realises he left Katie behind. They’ve lost their house, but they prevailed!

Notes from pre-show podcast commentary: Jane has Mike to talk about the then-current heatwave - I was in Italy when this podcast was recorded, which was even hotter. Luke and Ellen had been to an Elder Scrolls Online event in a castle, and Jane and Mike are jealous. They spend quite some time talking about the game Quarry, and Mike lets slip that right before they start a live show to hype themselves up. Jane has been writing about the lore of Elden Ring and learned a lot more than she would have by playing it. Mike had a similar experience with Bloodbourne.

Notes from post-show podcast commentary: Jane and Mike discuss future seasons, possibly exploring Egbert’s backstory. Mike kind of misses Vocatus, but it does emphasise how dangerous Liliana is. They discuss the disadvantages of taking the fun options rather than the optimised options. They talk about what they learned from the Saga. They’re about to release the MCM show Bride or Die onto YouTube.

There is a portion of this episode that is Johnny deciding who wins in a knockdown fight between Vocatus and Liliana. As I’ve said several times previously, I believe that it shouldn’t be too impossible to defeat him, and that’s what happened. I’m kinda grateful to Johnny for not dragging the battle out. The after-battle detail of Liliana just claiming the house for herself were good, although one wonders why the house has permitted her to reside. The bit with stealing the magic back working out just right was incredible, a credit to their planning, but also Corazon rolled stealth, with bonuses, as 36. This felt like a really good example of the best a party can do.

The ongoing drama with Katie is hilarious, although I do think Johnny was a bit mean for insisting Dob has to declare what Katie’s doing.

But that’s a wrap on the first extended series. It’s got a lot to commend it, although it’s harder to dip in and out of than the string of one-shots. They made new enemies, new…probably enemies by now, broke into and out of prison, set an aboleth on renegades, set a lesser demon on the world, orchestrated a battle between chairs and cauldrons…it’s ridiculous and I loved it.

They did indeed decided to do more extended serieses, but in the meantime there’s more one-shots. Because the Oxventurers do best when they don’t have to contemplate the consequences of their actions.

[transpondster]

Brokers who buy and sell units in the luxury buildings say these restaurants are often empty. That’s largely because their wealthy residents are busy zipping between apartments in other cities and countries. When they do breeze into New York, one of the great restaurant cities of the world, who wants to eat at home?

The restaurants host events to lure residents inside: whiskey night or wine tastings or guest chefs to curate meals. But most of them stay afloat with funding from the buildings’ steep maintenance fees or requirements that residents spend a minimum monthly amount dining there. At 432 Park, residents at one point were required to spend $15,000 a year at the restaurant.

“It’s the only way to keep them going,” said Kirk Rundhaug, sales director at the realty firm Compass, who has sold units in luxury buildings with private restaurants.

——————-———————-

I know it sounds crazy but what if the city built housing that people actually lived in?

[lightning-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 16/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: …until he’s not alone (alternatively - rue had other intentions)

word count: 2452 

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: part 2 of bucky's thanksgiving is very spicy :)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

(When was the last time Bucky was nervous about seeing a girl?

Maybe, it was the first time he’d kissed a girl, at fifteen. Or maybe it was the first time he went on a date with a girl, Katherine Brown. Or maybe, it was the first time he’d snuck out of his house to see a girl at her house, at seventeen; he’d climbed the tree by her house, to her window, and nearly fell when the porch light came on.

Actually, it might have been the time he had sex for the first time, the night before he was deployed, with Dottie Clark. He was twenty, and all he could think was he needed to do this, to be a man, before he proved himself a man in the war.)

He knocks on the door, and in the moments it takes her to answer, he wonders what the hell he’s doing here. Does she expect something from him? Is something going on with her? Flashes of her tearful face fill his memory.

(Is this some sort of unusual trap? his brain screams. Is she revealing her villainous intentions?)

The door opens. Rue’s hair is down, thick waves over her shoulders, and she’s still in that green dress. Close now, he sees its velvet with a deep neckline. He sees the tattoo of crossed knives and a curling design disappearing beneath her breasts.

(He sees gooseflesh ripple over her skin as the cold from outside comes in.)

His eyes quickly zip back to hers. She noticed him noticing her. He passes a nervous hand through his hair.

“Hey.” She leans her head against the door and offers a lazy smile. “Glad you could make it.”

He studies her. He can’t tell if her smudged makeup and red eyes are from tiredness or tears. “Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.”

“Better late than never.” She moves aside, stretching an arm to invite him in. “I like this better.”

(The alarm bells in his head won’t let him admit it, but he likes it better too.)

Bucky walks in and surveys the open concept of kitchen, dining room, and living room. There’s a big Christmas tree, not yet dressed, in the space between dining and living room. There are still plates and food in the dining room and kitchen. The light is warm and low, candles burning on the table.

“My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s place,” she tiptoes to get some wine glasses. Her dress rides up. He sees the word ADORE on the back of her right thigh. “So, I’m on clean up duty.”

“I could help,” Bucky offers, clearing his throat after a beat.

“You’re sweet.” She pulls the stopper from the already open red wine bottle easily, pouring it into a glass. “Do you want some wine? I have stronger stuff, too.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

(He can’t tell if it’s because he hasn’t seen her drunk before, but his intuition says something is wrong. He doesn’t ask her yet, though, afraid it might trip a wire in her.)

“Okay.” She takes a deep drink from her glass. She starts bringing plates into the kitchen with her free hand. At this rate, she’ll be here all night. He starts to help. “Oh, are you hungry?” she asks, “We have tons of leftovers.”

“I’m good for now,” he sticks with this line.

“But I made pumpkin pie.” She pouts a cute pout. She must know how cute it is. “Please, have some.”

He relents, “I’ll have a slice.”

She grins and puts her glass down to serve a slice. “How was your Thanksgiving, what did you do?”

(Panic flares up his throat when his mind flashes to Evie. His brain short-circuits when he watches her spray whipped cream in her mouth after spraying some of his pie.)

He lies, saying he went to George’s. She moves around the kitchen, a little wobbly, a little sloppy, cleaning up as he talks and eats pie, leaning against the counter. She asks about the gym, about George; she also asks about Sam, if they ever reconciled.

(When she bends to load the dishwasher, he notes the curve of her ass and the nakedness down the front of her dress. He keeps averting his eyes despite his nature to stare.)

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she suddenly asks. She’s nearly done clearing the table and counters.

Bucky braces himself for the worst. Questions about being the Winter Soldier, about Hydra, about his missions, about his brainwashing. About his sessions with Raynor, about his friendship with Steve or Sam. His brain even, briefly, considers this question a play for her to reveal she is a secret agent.

“Okay.”

“Did you disappear, five years ago?” She hops up onto a counter, a little taller than him. “Like… dusted?”

“Was I snapped?” He repeats it because this is the funniest question he would have never imagined her asking. She nods, eyeing him curiously. “Yeah… yeah, I was.”

“What was that like?”

(To the untrained eye, her expression looks open and curious. But Bucky can see how curated it is, the mask of interest when she has a different motive, a different feeling about this question. He wants to pull that cord, but what if it detonates something?)

“It was like… nothing,” he answers honestly, “one minute I’m there, one minute I’m crumbling away. And when I came back, I knew there was something going on because I was ready to fight.”

“I wonder if it was like that for everyone.” She goes for her wine glass and realizes it’s empty. Her eyes wander to the counter behind him, to the bottle, but he pretends not to notice. “Maeve was dusted,” she says into the empty glass.

“I know, you told me.”

“Right… she never told me what it was like, when she was gone. She just told me she was glad to be back.” When Bucky doesn’t speak, she says, “I proposed to her the day she got back, you know.”

His brows raise. “Really?”

She nods, “If it wasn’t for Vick, I would have married her that weekend.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, putting his plate in the dishwasher, next to her swinging legs. She has a tattoo of a dragonfly on her shin closest to him. He looks up at her, but her gaze is miles away.

“She showed up tonight.” Her voice is low.

“I thought she was MIA.”

Rue’s eyes fill with tears, but anger sets her jaw. “Yeah, well, she interrupted dinner, and even though everyone basically told her she’s not welcome here, she insisted on talking to me.”

“What did she say?”

(He knows Rue spoke to Maeve. He knows because he would have done the same. It would have been less about the conversation and more about wanting to press a thumb into the bruise that is heartbreak. Bucky thinks he and Rue are more alike than what meets the eye.)

Tears streak her face, but her voice doesn’t break, “She’s engaged.”

The final blow of the story propels her to her feet, and she pours the last of the wine into her glass. He hadn’t noticed how much she’d been drinking.

“I think… I’ll have that stronger stuff now,” Bucky says after a beat. This makes her laugh, wine to her mouth, a wet hysterical laugh turning into a drowned cry.

Bucky crowds her slumped frame. She’s not short, but in this state, she’s so small. She heaves a deep cry, painful sounds coming out of her, and Bucky carefully hugs her. He’s had to comfort people before, but not like this. Not inconsolable sobs that didn’t have an answer his wit or fists couldn’t handle. She slowly melts into his chest, her head pushed under his chin, her cries shaking her body. But he remains solid.

(Anger plumes like a smoke bomb in his chest. Maeve is something evil, to know Rue and to hurt her like this. Though they haven’t known each other long, he knows Rue hides behind the guise of naivety, and he knows she’s built of stronger stuff. To see Rue like this, he knows Maeve is a true villain. He holds Rue tighter, a sudden realization that he wants to protect her at all costs, against any threat, physical or emotional.)

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” She rips herself from him, stumbling back to the other counter. Her frenzied hands wipe her flooded face. “I keep dumping this nonsense on you, and god, the crying–”

“Stop.” Her eyes snap to his, and he takes her shoulders. Her eyes are still watery, but she seems to melt under his gaze. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Bucky…” her forehead slams into his chest.

“You don’t.” His tone is firm. “Now, can I ask you a personal question?”

She peeks up at him through a squinted eye.

“I guess it’s only fair.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

She laughs, her confused eyes searching his expression for something, but he can’t pick up what.

“Maybe twenty something? Mostly small ones. And that excludes these guys,” she holds up her hands to show the dots and little doodles decorating her knuckles. Then, she covers her face. “Do you want to see an embarrassing one?”

“When you put it like that…”

She turns her back to him, unzipping her dress. His face heats, but when she stops half way and the dress falls from her shoulders, he nearly laughs. At the base of her neck is a small pair of angel wings; to the right, she has flowers flowing from her back onto her shoulder, and on the left, there’s a large blue outline of the Avenger’s ‘A’ emblem.

The blue pops against her tan skin. But then, he sees it. The scar running through one of the legs of the ‘A’. It’s raised and crude, a little darker than her skin. Without thinking, he traces it with a finger, feeling the imperfection of it.

(She shivers. He doesn’t shrink back.)

“I got it after the alien attack, back in 2012.” She tries to rezip the dress on her own; Bucky helps her gently. “I was about to get crushed by a falling building, but then, your buddy,” she turns to give him a meaningful look, “had pushed me out of the way. He’d used the shield to keep us from getting hurt. I mean, my back obviously had been hit by some debris, but…” she shrugs. “He saved me.”

After a beat, Bucky says flatly, “So… you’re, like, a super fan.”

(She laughs, and he really likes it.)

////

“I… I don’t want to be alone,” she had said. “Please stay?”

He agrees.

She gets him a drink of bourbon Victoria’s boyfriend leaves for himself. She turns off the overhead light in the dining room, plunging the whole space into darkness, aside from the candles on the table. She moves around him in the dark, despite her drunkenness, maneuvering to switch a few lamps on in the living room. She tells him to wait there before disappearing into her room.

He takes off his jacket, resting it on the back of one of the dining chairs, and sits on the couch, getting comfortable. He fiddles with his knife, the one usually in his boot, while he sips the bourbon. It’s good.

She returns, wearing an oversized shirt and a fluffy robe. She stands in the space between his splayed knees. He’s got an arm around the back of the couch, so he has to look up at her.

“Can I tell you something?”

Her face is void of makeup or expression. He’s curious.

“Sure.”

“This was supposed to be a booty call.”

(His eyes land on her thick bare thigh, a fresh and complicated tattoo design disappearing under the hem. He registers that she isn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt by the barbell piercings through her nipples.)

“Yeah, I could see that,” he says evenly, gaze drifting back up to hers.

She shifts her weight to one hip, making the shirt lift on one side. He keeps his eyes on her half-lidden ones.

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” she says.

(He sees she’s nervous. Maybe not nervous, just on edge. Anticipating.)

“To you.”

“To me?” he echoes in shock. He raises an amused brow. He moves his knee to touch hers. She doesn’t move. “How isn’t it fair to me, Ruby?”

Her nostrils flare at her full name, but it's a sharp breath she takes.

“You deserve better than to be used,” she says matter-of-factly.

(He’s not sure why, but that spears him through the heart.)

“Same to you,” he returns. “You also drank almost a whole bottle of wine.”

“You could have helped.”

“I don’t think anything was stopping you,” he says, lapsing into a chuckle. “Not even a super soldier.”

His eyes stay on hers, and he takes another drink from his glass.

(Maybe he’s anticipating too.)

“I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

He leans forward, and he sees her tense. He uses the hilt of the knife to lift the hem of her shirt. He also notes how gooseflesh travels up her hip.

“It’s a tarot card, Death,” she breathes, like any sudden movement might startle him. From stopping. “It means–”

“Ending a cycle, new beginnings, change.” He anchors his metal hand against her thigh, tracing the skull design with his thumb. He hears her swallow. “It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at her as he pulls away from her. Her gaze is thick and sharp. The city and the world outside of the apartment fades as he focuses on her haloed in warm light.

(Her lips are still stained from the wine. They look like she’d been in a hot-and-heavy kissing session, and it makes him hard thinking about it.)

“I’m following your lead here,” his voice is low.

“That’s not fair.”

He smirks, knowing it’s his advantage. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Okay.”

When he leans back as she moves, he’s anticipating her to settle onto his lap. Instead, she sits next to him and grabs the remote. She turns it on without looking at him, and he can’t help but smile while tucking his knife back into its holster concealed by his boot.

“Hey, wait, I like that show,” he points. She goes back to the channel she’s passed.

“You’re a Trekkie?”

“It was one of the few shows in Russian,” he says, “in the 70’s.”

He raises his arm and looks at her expectantly. She studies him for a moment, and he wonders what’s passing through her mind. He wonders if she’s fighting the same thing he is. Finally, she yields, tucking herself into his side.

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[seychellestime]

Seychelles All-Inclusive Resorts: The Ultimate Luxury Escape

The Seychelles archipelago, an Indian Ocean haven spread across the blue seas, is home to some of the world’s best and most expensive all-inclusive resorts. Its island paradises redefy luxury with all-inclusive luxury holidays, stunning beachside villas, gourmet dining, luxury spas, and private day cruises — all on one price tag. For those travelers seeking unprecedented tranquility and comfort, Seychelles all-inclusive resorts are not only a vacation; they are a paradise experience of an island life.

Why Reserve All-Inclusive Hotels in Seychelles?

Seychelles all-inclusive hotels take vacation worries about budgeting and planning away. Where all meals and drinks, activities, and tours are complimentary, guests can fully relax without unexpected expenses or limits. This offers full worth from the island’s unspoiled beaches, coral seas, and rainforest tropics.

Top Seychelles All-Inclusive Hotels for 2025

1. Club Med Seychelles — Eco-Chic Luxury on Saint Anne Island Club Med Seychelles is the sole authentic all-inclusive resort in Seychelles, located on the private Saint Anne island. This ecologically certified paradise blends green building with global hospitality. The resort offers:

Sea-view luxurious villas and suites

Gourmet meals and top-shelf beverages unlimited

Free scuba diving, snorkeling, paddleboarding, and yoga

Guided walks in conservation forest and marine reserves

Children clubs and entertainment for the family

Perfect for couples, families, and the solo traveler, Club Med Seychelles is the epitome of hassle-free luxury.

2. Constance Ephelia — Where Nature Meets Luxury on Mahé Although not strictly all-inclusive, Constance Ephelia offers bespoke all-inclusive packages that compete with the best on the Indian Ocean. Perched on the stunning west coast of Mahé, it gazes over two of the island’s most stunning beaches and is beset by mangroves and granite hills.

The Highlights:

Private pool villas and tropical garden setting

Five restaurants and various bars offering various cuisines

U Spa by Constance offering personalized treatments

Zip-lining, rock climbing, kayaking, and snorkeling

Children’s club and childcare centers

It is ideal for the adventurer with spa relaxation in a breathtaking setting.

Isolated Silhouette Island surrounds Hilton Seychelles Labriz, an idyllic, romantic getaway perfect for honeymoons and seclusion getaways. Their optional all-inclusive packages include:

Beach and hillside villas beautifully designed in Creole contemporary decor

Seven restaurants, bars with themed restaurants

Daily boat shuttle, nature walks, and water sports

Spa with full range of services in a rainforest setting

Diving and snorkeling excursions to unspoiled reefs

The island nation park setting provides total immersion in nature and seclusion.

4. Raffles Seychelles — Private Luxury in Praslin Sitting atop Anse Takamaka, Praslin Island, Raffles Seychelles is at the forefront with villa-only facilities and bespoke all-inclusive packages for those who want to indulge. Expect:

Private plunge pools and butler service

Michelin-starred dining experiences

Spa treatments and yoga sessions in-villa

Boat excursions to Curieuse Island and Vallée de Mai

Sunset cruises and beach picnics

A luxury option for couples and celebrities seeking seclusion and highly personalized service.

5. JA Enchanted Island Resort — Intimate Private Island Romance JA Enchanted Island is an adults-only, all-inclusive resort with private island seclusion on a tiny private island just 15 minutes boat ride from Mahé. It offers:

Only 10 luxury villas with pool and ocean view

Private dining by request with customized menus

Unlimited premium drinks and fine wines

Spa therapies in the rooms and yoga

Accompanied by kayaks and snorkeling gear

Perfect for honeymooners or high-end holiday makers, JA Enchanted promises intimacy in high-end luxury.

What to Expect in An All-Inclusive Seychelles Holiday

Culinary Excellence Seychelles all-inclusive resorts have gourmet cuisine. Seafood buffets of fresh seafood to à la carte haute restaurant dining, the islands are a paradise for gourmands. Creole local dishes blend with international dishes, and the islands treat guests to an opulent gastronomic experience.

Sustainable & Eco-Friendly Travel These resorts integrate sustainability into their all-inclusive packages through the use of solar power, the reduction of one-use plastics, and giving back to the community and the conservation of the environment. Some of these resorts are Club Med Seychelles and Hilton Labriz, both of which have eco-certifications and environmental stewardship.

Unlimited Activities & Excursions With all-inclusive packages, the action never stops. Activities usually include:

Snorkeling and scuba diving among coral-rich waters

Kayaking and stand-up paddleboarding

Nature walks and island hikes with guides

Sunset cruises and fishing trips

Cultural activities like Creole cooking lessons and island village tours

Best Time to Visit Seychelles All-Inclusive Resorts

The best time to visit Seychelles is during April–May and October–November when the trade winds are light and the climate is dry and hot. However, the all-inclusive resorts are available round the year with indoor comfort even for the occasional tropical rain showers.

Seychelles All-Inclusive Resort Booking Tips

Early booking for the high season (December–January, June–August)

Check for honeymoon or anniversary packages with added values

Check for inclusion of airport transfers, tours, and top-brand liquor in the package

Choose eco-certified resorts for environmental travel

Check for villa-only resorts for more seclusion and indulgence

Conclusion: A Dream Holiday in Every Sense Seychelles all-inclusive hotels are not merely a destination to sleep — they are a crafted, indulgent experience in one of the world’s most breathtaking locations. Whether it is romantic isolation, family adventure or nature-packed relaxation, these hotels indulge every desire with serene ease. When you reserve an all-inclusive stay in Seychelles, you’re not just booking a vacation — you’re stepping into a world of unyielding luxury.