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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— phone calls from far away + katsuki bakugou.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — katsuki get's grumpy when he's away from you - but luckily his groomsmen know just who to call to make him feel better.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, crack? smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation, slight praise!kink, pro-hero!bakugou, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 2.6K.

⭑ notes — hello my lurvs! i feel like its been ages since i wrote the main man bkg so here's an old wip i found and ended up finishing so i could practise short form! twas picked by you guys! enjoy ! - m.list ✩

“i need you take this phone, drop your panties and have sex with bakugou. now.”

“kaminari— what?”

you’d just picked up the phone, halfway through a peaceful afternoon relaxing before your own bridal shower in a few days and hadn’t been expecting a call from some of your husband’s closest friends.

“you heard me! take the phone, take off your underwear and fuck—“

“please!” kirishima pleads with you next, looking like he’s about to cry. “he’s driving me insane!”

“what’s he done now?”

“he’s grumpier than usual, threatened to skin deku alive for chewing too loud and nearly ripped the damn bolt out of my hair when i asked him to pass the salt at breakfast— please, be my saving grace here and have phone sex with your fiancé before he kills us all!”

you smile and cock your head, picking up the kettle to finish your tea. “that just sounds like regular old katsuki,” kaminari’s bottom lip wobbles and kirishima groans in the background— it was obvious you were their last resort. a guys only holiday for your lover’s bachelor party had been their idea despite your warnings but you did miss katsuki and you were feeling pent up from being away from him. you were sure he felt the same, he was clingy and pouty, threw tantrums when he couldn’t have you.

“we’re begging you here,” shouto cuts in as he enters the frame— ice cold drink in his hands and his face calm. though his mismatched eyes blaze with stress. “thirty minutes of your time and i’ll let you take a spin in my father’s private jet.”

you note sero tugging on his hair in the background.

“i thought hush money wasn’t your thing, todoroki.” you’re coy with your words, watching the boys fall into a pit of despair at your boyfriend’s tantrums.

izuku speaks next, his green eyes large and glassy. “please.”

in the end, you relent in amusement and send the boys off to give the phone to bakugou while you make yourself comfortable in your shared bedroom— surrounded by his lingering scent of caramel and sweet musk woven into the threads of the expensive linen sheets the blonde insisted on buying.

you can’t stop your heart from fluttering once your fiancé pops into view— he’s decked out in a lose fitting button down, open to reveal his perfectly cut washboard abs and the expanse of his skin, slightly golden and tanned from the caribbean sun. katsuki’s luminous red eyes soften as soon as they settle their sights on you, love flickering amongst the darkened flecks that spiral within them. “hi baby, how’s your vacation going?” you sing, sinking back into the blankets and holding your phone up above so that he can get a good view of you.

“awful. these idiots wouldn’t know how to plan a trip outta this damn resort if they tried.” bakugou comments, going quiet as he waits for your laughter. he gets clingier when he’s away, finding himself souring over the fact that he can’t just roll over and bury his face in your neck every morning— instead he’s met with eijirou or stupid izuku trying to drag him out for some bachelor’s fun…when really all katsuki wants is to be with you. “miss you, wish you were here.”

“i miss you too kats, so much.” with a voice that drips like honey, you lower your tone until it’s sultry— your siren’s song running smoothly through bakugou’s ears. he quirks a brow at you, recognizing it as he mumbles a quiet ‘yeah?’ “mhm…wanna see how much i’ve missed you, baby?”

“‘course i wanna see you, pretty girl…” acknowledging his hum as one of approval, you pan your camera down the expanse of your lounging body. using one hand to hike up your (katsuki’s) shirt— revealing plush thighs and a soft tummy and the stretch marks that curl around your waist and curve of your hips. the low groan bakugou lets out from over the line shoots straight down to your clit, the little nub pulsing with need as you drag your fingertips over your skin just like your fiancé would.

both of you develop a hitch in your breath when you hit the waistband of your panties— they’re nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary but katsuki finds the comfort and confidence you have in yourself incredibly sexy. you can tell by the intensity of his stare, ruby gem eyes honed in on your every movement, that he’s hungry for you— like a feral animal that hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“how bad d’ya wanna see, katsuki?” you ask him shakily, toying with your waist band, hips wiggling as if to prompt an answer out of him.

bakugou’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and even though the service on your call isn’t the best, you’re still able to pick up on his ragged and uneven breathing. “you’re killin’ me here, sweetness. show me.”

“m’kay, let me get you a better view.”

feeling the flame of desire ignite in your core— you make quick work of propping your phone up against spare pillows and spread your legs either side of the frame. he does the same. there’s a growing wet patch from where your slickness seeps into the crotch of your underwear— obvious to katsuki even from over the screen, painted in darker shades of pixels. you’re so wet that it defines the puffiness of your folds pulsing between the material and for a bit of relief, you slide the length of your middle finger between them, whimpering out your fiancé’s name.

“that’s it, touch yourself f’me,” the blonde slurs, his eyes hooded and voice hoarse, entranced by the way you slap three fingers against your sticky and clothed cunt. “can you take your panties off too, sweetness? wanna see that pussy ‘n how she’s doin’ without me.” katsuki knows how turned on you get from him watching you, admiring you like you’re a work of art belonging to one of the finest galleries in the world— so he takes it upon himself to guide you softly, command you even when he’s thousands of miles away.

you do as your fiancé says, peeling your panties off despite how thick, clear strings of arousal glue them to your sex before you toss them into the room somewhere. a choked moan rattles around in katsuki’s throat, watching your unused, tiny hole quiver around nothing after being exposed to the cold air— he can’t help but whine next, all high pitched and desperate, wishing it was him who was circling two digits around your entrance and occasionally dipping them into your salacious sex instead of you.

that should be him stretching you out, should be him in his bed— touching up his girl and playing with her swollen clit as blood carrying lust and happy hormones rush to it. “such a…such a good fuckin’ girl for me, baby.” bakugou goads, his eyes damn near rolling back at the sound of your lewd pussy squelching around your fingers echoing around his hotel room. your hips slowly rocking against the palm of your hand so you slowly fuck them into yourself.

his camera picks up on every detail, the way your cunt glistens with arousal and the way your thighs twitch the more you give yourself— curling your fingers against your soft velvet walls bakugou’s been dying to be inside since the night he left for this stupid fucking bachelors trip. the more he sees you stuff yourself, the more his cock twitches to life and strains against the netting on the inside of his swim shorts, the first spurts of milky precum smearing against it.

before you get too lost in the pleasure, you sit up and pull your fingers from the snugness of your selfish sex and spit onto them as if to give yourself more lube to fuck yourself deeper— taking a break to reel katsuki in. “take your cock out f’me kats, i know you’re hard.” you say breathless, the tail end of your words tapering off into a quiet sigh while slap down on your soaked pussy for his viewing. “probably so pent up, miss your pretty cock. miss havin’ you inside me.”

bakugou shudders at your praise, moving quickly to kick off his shorts and letting his aching cock spring free— the length of it smacking against his tummy, precum beading just above his belly button. “i miss you baby. fuck…so sensitive,” he hisses, forming a fist around his shaft, rough palms from his quirk brushing up against the pretty blue veins that wrap all the way around him. you’ll never get over how beautiful his cock is, how beautiful your fiancé is with his skin flushed and shining with a thin layer of sweat— chest heaving rhythmically as whimpering as he touches himself to you and spits in his palm to mimick the wetness of your pussy around him. bakugou’s cockhead, a bright shade of red, bleeds white against his knuckles while he matches the pace of his hand to your fingers sliding sloppily in and out of your fluttering hole. “rub in circles baby, don’t forget. jus’ like that… jus’ like how i do it.”

pressing a thumb into your clit and dragging the hood of it back, you squeal— seizing up and gushing all at once. “ooh, shit ‘suki!” you stutter, bucking your hips up eagerly to meet your hand— imaging your fiancé stuffing you full instead of your tiny fingers. “w-what do you miss about me, kats? t-tell me baby.”

“miss…y-your…fuck! you’re so pretty. mm’god, baby…” it’s impossible to focus on anything but your pussy on display for him— your movements syncing up with each other, touching yourselves as if you’re fucking one another. the glisten of your nectar around your fingers only serves to turn the explosive pro hero on even more and he only hopes the view of his precum dripping down his balls and his knuckles has the same effect on you.

“don’t be shy kats, focus.”

“miss your skin, s’so soft. your lips on mine. my tongue in your fuckin’ mouth… fuck, your pussy wrapped around me, squeezin’ down on me just like that…” bakugou grunts out over the sound of his fist slapping wetly up and down his dick. “cant wait to get home ‘n sink into your tight little hole, fuck you like your fingers can’t.”

“i should make you wait until after the wedding day. s’what you get for leaving me.” you tease him despite your pout, saliva pooling on your tongue as you just about manage to brush at your g-spot, something katsuki wouldn’t have struggled with if he were here making a mess of you in person. you suppose fucking him over face time would have to do for now.

“no baby, please. please don’t make me wait, ‘m gonna fuck you so good i promise.” katsuki begs and you believe him, how can you not? with his cheeks all red and face twisted in desperation… perhaps agony from not being able to grind his girth into the deepest parts of you— sufficing with his soiled fist and the memory of you instead. he’s only been away from you a week, but it feels like eternity. “if you wanted to wait until after marriage i’d have put a ring on your finger the day we first fuckin’ met.” he somehow quips, his voice falling just underneath the sound of skin on skin as he pumps himself towards orgasm— matching how you get yourself there with rapid circles on your pleasure nub and fingertips pressed against your g-spot.

if he were there, you would have cum by now— squealing on his cock like the little princess that you are, your juices running down your inner thighs even more than they are now. the thought of you ruined like that that nearly kills the blonde.

“are you close katsuki? don’t hold back for me.” the way you say his name and pull him back into the present has bakugou’s hips lifting from the bed in his hotel room, the course pad of his thumb swiping eagerly over his burning cockhead as he rubs his seedy arousal into his sensitive slit. his fist around his cock mimics the way you would squeeze down on him every time you curl your fingers in your pretty cunt.

the pro hero shakes his head, the tips of his ears flushing red too even though it’s grainy from over the face time call. “d-don’t wanna cum without you.”

it’s not that he doesn’t, it’s that he can’t. katsuki can’t cum unless he’s got his eyes on you, watching every detail and shift of your facial expressions when you’re close— when you’re mewling out for him and crying for his cock just like you are now… except on the other side of the world. he can’t cum unless your body tells him that you’re close too.

“i’m there baby. let go for me.” it’s your turn to make a promise to him, throwing your head back into the pillows so you can take in bakugou’s scent— picture him rutting into you from above, droplets of sweat running down his forehead as he pounds you into oblivion. the ecstasy running through your system threatens to make the dam burst, the symphony of your moans harmonising over the call only dragging you closer and closer to your highs. “c-cum with me. please.”

neither of you can hold back, bakugou pumping his dick until it hurts— a raw and needy cry ripping through his sticky chest as his thick load shoots up it, painting him white with his own seed and contrasting against his sun kissed skin. you’re no better, gushing so hard that you force your fingers out of you, clear streams of your juices spewing out of your cunt and soiling the sheets below.

for a moment, the pair of you lay on call with each other, panting in unison as you come back down to earth. katsuki cleans himself up with a tissue and you lean down to grab your phone, wanting to see him better.

“i really do…fuck… made me cum so much. i really do miss you baby.” he’s the first to speak, his voice gravely from all the cursing and groaning he had been doing but his facial expression soft and satisfied.

“i know. i can’t wait for you to come home, have fun for me okay? i’ll be waiting.” you whisper to him, smitten and longing— mentally counting down the days until he’s back from his bachelors vacation. “no more tantrums. behave.”

“m’kay sweetness,” bakugou laughs at your warning, rolling his eyes albeit fondly. “drink some water ‘n eat somethin’ good yeah? you always forget if you fall asleep right after you cum.”

“i will. you eat somethin’ too. i love you.”

“love you more.”

it takes a while before either of you hang up— clinging onto the few moments you have with one another before one of the boys come looking for katsuki and whisk him away.

you manage with shaky legs to get up and pee before fixing yourself some cup ramen so you can head to bed for the night on a full stomach ( as your fiancé had wished ). when you wake up the next day you have several happy texts from kaminari and an attachment, so you rub your eyes to clear your bleary vision to check them.

kaminari dunce face - 13:52PM: thank you for whatever the fuck you did to kacchan tonight.

kaminari dunce face - 13:53PM: he’s literally never been nicer.

kaminari dunce face - 13:55PM: (attachment.mp4)

downloading the video, you can’t help but grin— adding the video of katsuki drunkardly hugging deku and singing his love for you in the middle of the resort at night directly to your camera roll.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha thirst #bakugo thirst #bakugou fic #bakugou imagines #katsuki bakugou smut #bnha x you #bnha smut #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 4

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

A sunbeam from the crack in the curtains hit his eyes and he turned over burying his face in his pillow. Belatedly Jason registered that it was at least afternoon because the windows faced west, but it didn’t really matter. He was much too warm, and comfortable to get up. He drifted - things were good. He dreamt of a low rumble in the distance, barely on the edge of his hearing, easing the tightness, turning him liquid.

It was another half hour before he awoke properly, registering his bedroom around him dimly lit by the single sunbeam. He yawned and stretched before getting up. He felt loose and relaxed and as he opened the dark curtains he was greeted by one of Gotham’s rare days of sunshine. A smile tugged on his lips and for a moment he stood there in the sun, letting the warmth soak into his skin. He wasn’t in any hurry.

Down in the street someone held the door open for another whose arms were full of groceries, smiles were exchanged and the person moved on. The sounds of kids playing on the nearby playground reached his ears when he opened the window to air out the room. Somewhere someone practiced the trombone and they weren’t half bad.

Peace settled in his bones, these were his people. Even Crime Alley shone from its good side.

Stretching again, he walked into the kitchen and started rooting around his fridge in search of ingredients for breakfast.

There was a thought nagging at the back of his mind as he cracked three eggs in a bowl, added a small dollop of sour creme and some salt. He paused, musing, something he’d forgotten… He hummed thoughtfully, trying to grasp at the thought, but it just didn’t seem that important and with a shrug he took out a pan turning it on medium heat. On the way to the fridge, he popped two pieces of toast in the toaster. Unlike whatever was nagging he knew he had forgotten the butter - a small piece went into the pan and he left the rest out so he could butter the toast. He rinsed a handful of small tomatoes he set them aside on a plate.

Something happened yesterday, he finally decided, as he walked back over to the open window and cut off a few stalks from the chives plant by the window sill. He paused there for a moment listening; a saxophone had joined the trombone and they were now playing sweet jazz with each other from across the road through open windows. A small crowd had gathered below to listen. Amused, Jason wondered if more musicians would be lured out.

Sizzling from the pan, drew him back to the kitchen.

He set aside the chives, quickly whisked the egg mixture together and poured it in the pan. Grabbing a spatula from the drawer he absently flipped it in his hand as he watched the eggs. Judging the pan had adjusted to the cold eggs he turned the heat on low and scraped across the pan in long smooth moves, freeing the already cooked eggs and allowing the still liquid mixture to sink to the pan.  The toast popped up from the toaster, and it was a matter of moments before he had them buttered and were stirring the eggs again. They had solidified now but were still glistening slightly when he transferred them on top of the bread. He quickly chopped the chives and sprinkled them on top.

Looking at his handiwork he nodded in satisfaction. Time to eat.

  A glass of orange juice in one hand and plate and utensils in another he moved to the table. He cut off the first bite of egg on toast and close his eyes in pleasure: Crunchy toast, smooth eggs wiith a hint of salt and just a bit of sharpness from the chives.

It felt like ages since he’d just allowed himself to enjoy the moment like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t cook normally it was one of the things, along with reading, he still enjoyed despite everything. He was always just so busy, always so angry.

Like a click in a lock he suddenly realized what he was forgetting. The pits, the Ghost, the cave and Bruce asking him to stay. The thought was an ache in his chest and he set the fork down rubbing his forehead. He wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted. For the longest time he’d convinced himself he was agreeing to working with the bats because it was easier, they’d get less in his way like that. He’d told himself he barely tolerated them. Now, with the pits calmed or whatever they were, he found himself inexplicably fond:

DIck’s persistence even when Jason pushed him away, he always had so much hope, despite Jason giving him absolutely no reason to. Tim who he’d had so much misplaced anger towards, who was so smart, and yet so stupid. Damian, the absolute brat, who behind the arrogant facade cared so much about his family and friends, but was so afraid of rejection.

Bruce was… Bruce was complicated. The pits hadn’t invented his resentment, he had been so hurt to find out the Joker had gone free, that he’d been replaced, that he’d meant so little to Bruce - to his Dad. But without the pits to stoke the resentment, he was just left with this tired old ache. Lashing out had never helped him and he was just exhausted by the constant fighting. He wanted his dad. Not Batman, Bruce, the Dad who would drink his tea in the library while he was reading just to be in the same room with him. The embarrassing proud Dad who would brag about Jason’s grades in the same breath he would brag about Jason nearly stealing the tires of his car the first time they met.

He still had the hurt and the anger, but the longing far outweighed that. He rubbed at his moist eyes. The realization hurt, because he really didn’t know how long this effect lasted or if this realization would stick once the Pits were back - it was just too much to hope this was permanent.

Jason never had that kind of luck.

He needed to talk to the Ghost, but he never appeared so soon again after a theft. For a moment his thoughts dwelled on the device they’d recovered yesterday, some kind of calibrator, if he took it, maybe he could lure him out… but the thought was dismissed almost immediately, even if he took it, he’d have no way of informing the guy he had it.

They really knew next to nothing about the guy.

Jason sighed, and looked down at his now cold breakfast. He started eating again, starvation was something he would never forget and he was not about to waste food. Dwelling on his family, the pits and the ghost, wasn’t getting him anywhere.

It was distressingly easy to push the thoughts aside instead of obsessing with no angry whisper in his ear. Was this how normal people dealt with emotions? Without everything having to be a fight? As easy as deciding he’d dwell on it later when he could actually do something about it?

Helpless laughter bubbled up in his chest. This was so dangerous; it was way too easy to get used to.

next Masterpost for subscription

I feel I need to apologize for the lack of Danny again, but Jason kinda took over and had some more angst to deal with. I promise, next time we’ll get back to Danny’s misery!

#dp x dc #dead on main #MIssed Connections #Jason is catnip to Danny #so sorry we will get back to that part #Jason just needs to get over his existential crisis #realizing he just really misses his family #Yeah you're getting this on a scene by scene basis more or less #when I start posting on Ao3 the parts will be smushed into somewhat larger chapters #right now I'm just trying to focus on keeping up writing regularly

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unicyclehippo · 9 months

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15. kiss on the back for the prompt thing!

Imogen has spent years submerged in the sweet, babbling waters of Laudna’s mind so, while she may not be able to hear her thoughts now, she still remembers their current. And besides, some things don’t need to be said. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—a quirked brow, the tilt of an answering smile—to return Zhudanna’s coin.

Laudna distracts their elderly friend with an enthusiastic—and slightly gooey—recreation of recent journeys while Imogen carries the groceries to the kitchen. She unpacks jars of olives and honey and jam, every pickled thing they encountered, wax-wrapped cheeses, smoked and salted meats, dried fruits and beans, bags of fine-ground flour and spices. She leaves the fresh fruit and vegetables on the countertop with the pumpernickel loaves and, as she does, pulls Zhudanna’s lockbox from its hiding place beneath the beans with a subtle bit of magic.

It’s easy to use her powers now. She knew she was getting stronger but something about being here—where she spent much of her time in degrees of agony with no way to control it or stop it, her powers flaring whenever they wanted to—the difference is stark. How reactive her magic is now, how finely-tuned to her will. A thought, and the lockbox opens. Imogen busies herself selecting and slicing an orange. Another thought, and the coins lift out of the shopping basket and zip over to the box. She arranges the orange segments on a colourful plate. The box clicks closed and slides back into place beneath the beans. It’s all done in a matter of seconds with Zhudanna none the wiser, even if she had peeked over to check on Imogen despite Laudna’s distraction—though how anyone could look away from Laudna for so much as a second during one of her stories - vibrant, enthralling as she is - Imogen doesn’t know.

She lingers a while, helps herself to a slice of orange. It’s tart, almost sour, the way she likes them. The sun blankets half the kitchen in a square of light. Standing in that warmth recalls fragments of an old dream—baking, home, Laudna. The details are too faded and vanish when she reaches for them; in the space where they had been, her memory provides instead the aroma of baked bread and the cool press of Laudna’s lips against her own. Fingers sticky with orange, Imogen twists her wrist and presses her smile to the back of her hand. We kissed, she thinks, giddy, and suddenly the handful of steps separating her from the sitting room and Laudna is too far.

‘—a shape like dripping tar, a great blob of malice, hovering in the air. It struck Orym with a spiralling bolt of shadow, pinning him against the rock!’ Imogen hears as she rejoins the story.

‘Oh!’ Zhudanna squeaks. Her eyes are wide, both wrinkled hands covering her mouth in horror. When she speaks, she sounds so old—had she always, Imogen tries to recall, or is it all of this…this fucking mess around them? The solstice, the god-damning speeches, the fear suffusing the streets like thick jungle mist, the moon, the way oncoming way tilts the axis of every heart. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small, quavering voice, ‘oh dear, oh no, is he alright?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend. Orym.’

The question makes Laudna’s smile falter. Zhudanna, half-blind, probably doesn’t notice. Imogen does. She fills the agonising pause, steps between them to put the plate down next to Zhudanna. By the time she plants herself on the footstool, twin to the armchair Laudna has claimed, Laudna has recovered.

‘Yes. Yes, of course! He’s a warrior—a hero!’ Zhudanna heaves a sigh of relief at that, claps her hands. Laudna continues. ‘He pulled free of the shadow spear with a horrid yell and spray of blood—’

Geez, Laud, don’t forget she’s old as shit.

And? She has such a creative soul, she’s enjoying—ah. I suppose…heart attacks…hmm. Should I…tone it down?

Imogen rests her chin on her hand as she settles in to listen to the rest of the story and, catching Laudna’s eyes, offers a small smile. Just for her, darlin’.

With a wobbly nod—one that makes Imogen want to yank off the circlet and dive deep into Laudna’s thoughts, wade through them muck and all, hear for herself the knotted tangle of fear and nervy tension and trust she knows is causing havoc in there—Laudna launches back into her tale.

‘Together with our dear new friend Prism–’

‘I like her,’ Zhudanna says. ‘Sensible, for one of those wizard types. Getting out there and having a go of it. Good for her.’

‘Indeed. Very sensibly, she and I harried the foul spirit with our joined magic, giving our companions time to protect the Heirophant and dragging them clear of the danger of this hungry shadow. We threw everything we had at it—flaying it of its shadow piece by piece, cracking its sallow face, until there was nothing left of it but a slug of tarred shadow that I crushed, sending it back to whence it came, into the merciless dark,’ she hisses, hand closing in a tight fist, eyes a brittle, glossy obsidian. After a moment, her intensity relents; the faint gloom in the corners of the room disperses like an audience post performance, and as it leaves, air rushes in to fill the empty space. ‘Anyway,’ she trills, ‘apparently that wasn’t the first time it had appeared there, can you believe that? The Heirophant—the elf Orym and Ashton saved—told us that they had fought it before—or was it their order that had? Hm. Don’t recall. But yes - it’s like a recurring thing. Like a bad ex turning up on their doorstep. But not a bad ex because Evithorir—’

‘Evi- Evirerth-’

‘Evithorir. I think. It was so hard to tell, it hissed a lot. Regardless, the shadow spirit, it turns out it was some, like, ancient terrible hungry fey spirit that sought to devour everything in the world, blah blah, the usual. Starting with Oma-Dua who is this - get this - equally ancient druid who buried herself in the last moments of her life in the depths of this cavern centuries ago to sustain the land around this mountain for the rest of time and took on the form of an enormous glowing green crystal…’

Laudna drifts into an odd silence and sinks back into the plush armchair, into herself, looking small and troubled. Her teeth dig well-worn trenches into her bottom lip as she loses herself in thought.

Imogen clears her throat. ‘It’s been an awful long time since we got a proper rest, Zhudanna—d’you mind if we rest a while?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Let me move my easel, dear, and - ‘

‘No, please, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll set it aside, if that’s alright?’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Zhudanna lets herself be distracted gracefully, pulling an old knitting project from the box by her chair. Her eyes—wrinkled, worried—linger on Laudna as Imogen helps her up from the chair, curling a gentle hand beneath each elbow.

She looks so exhausted and Imogen is certain she’s bearing most of Laudna’s weight for her when she pulls her to her feet but she’s so fucking light it nearly has Imogen stumbling, off-balance. A dozen questions cluster behind Imogen’s teeth, on the threshold of her mind. Did you eat at all? Did you rest? Who took care of you? The thought might’ve made her jealous a month ago but now it just hurts. Laudna is too light, bordering on frail. Her hair is stringy—dirty, greasy, like its been a week since she washed it, brushed it, cared for it (for herself)—and Imogen knows the answer. Knows Laudna. She cares like caring is what keeps her alive, will drag the energy out of her own fucking marrow for everyone else and when it comes to her, she shows them something dead and dying, shows them a grinning skull. Something beyond repair, beyond need of care.

Red flickers behind her eyes, smoulders in the cracks that split the tips of her fingers. But her hands stay gentle as Imogen helps Laudna to their old room.

The door shuts behind them, shuts out the world. Blissful. There’s no window in here to show them the ruddy moon. There’s no crowds, no intrusive minds. No guards, no traitors, no one but the two of them.

Laudna’s slow walk turns to a hobble. She sits at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched.

Giving her a little space, Imogen puts their bags at the footboard of the bed and Pate’s birdhouse on the bedside. He’s sleeping in there or pretending to be. Creepy, beloved spy. She moves the easel like she said she would, tucking it into an out of the way corner.

‘She’s really very good, don’t you think?’

Laudna stirs. Glances over, dark eyes flicking between the easel and Imogen, and the smile she manages is a wavering thing but it holds steady at the corners.

She’ll be alright, Imogen decides. Promises.

‘Yes. Very talented, our Zhudanna.’

Her words trail off again and Imogen watches as Laudna begins to fidget, fingers twisting, tugging, pull and plucking in her lap. Was the closed room not blissful for her? Was it too crowded, with Imogen and her and all her thoughts and Delilah and now Bor’dor haunting her? Or was it as simple as the strain of her journey taking its toll? Or was it…

‘Do you regret it?’ Imogen blurts. Laudna stills. ‘The kiss, I mean. Me, kissin’ you. Because I know I asked and I know you kissed me back but if - if you got caught up in the moment or thought it’s what I want - Laud, you gotta know, it doesn’t matter to me how you care for me, I’m so - I’m so happy. So lucky. Just to have you near me. Truly.’

It takes a hell of an effort to shut up then—to bite her lip and give Laudna the room to speak.

Her stomach flips from nerves and her traitor heart follows suit; it flips, flutters in her chest, so gentle and so warmed by the memory of getting to take Laudna’s face between her hands, getting to touch her after so long of only being able to dream about it, getting to lean in and—that kiss! The memory of it fizzles through her, sweet lightning, and it’s ridiculous, actually, because her hands start sweating and her lips tingle and her skin goes hot all over, sensitive. It’s such a silly feeling; she feels like a stumbling foal - clumsy and awkward, unsure, but so fucking eager to get up, go, explore. It’s silly - she feels silly with it, giggly and warm - and then, of course, sense reasserts itself firmly because Laudna hasn’t said anything yet—is staring over Imogen’s shoulder with a tiny, worried frown—and Imogen’s stomach sinks, veins flooding with ice. If she could just take off the circlet, but…

‘Laud?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Do you?’ It’s harder to ask the second time. ‘Do you…regret it?’

‘No,’ Laudna says in that barely-there way. Imogen wants the shadows back. Wants the intensity. Wants Laudna cackling over one of Pate’s horrendous comments, or chiding her for mussing the bedsheets. Anything but this ghost. ‘No, darling. I was - I was only thinking,’ she sighs, ‘how silly it is, how hard it is to talk about…well. About what we want.’ She blinks, dim and distant. ‘I often think that if only everyone were honest, there would be less space for misunderstanding and heartbreak –’ The words send Imogen’s heart sinking ever lower, but Laudna doesn’t seem to notice and continues, ‘– and cruelty and war and, oh, I don’t know. People wouldn’t get away with murder or inheritance trickery and such. I think about all the people who lie whenever they speak and how foolish it is and then it is my turn to speak and I…I’m terribly afraid.’

At that, Imogen crosses to sit beside Laudna on the bed. She takes one of her delicate hands in both of her own. It’s so light; bird-boned, Imogen thinks distractedly, mind cluttered with midnight-plumed ravens and the Duskmaven, of scavenging vultures and red seeping into cracked desert soil, of a canary in the dark. She hopes—as it gets harder to breathe, lungs struggling to contend with the weight of hope and panic—that Laudna won’t warn her away.

‘You can tell me,’ Imogen says, and her words stay blessedly steady. ‘Even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I do. I do.’

For a long moment, Laudna examines their hands. Intertwined. Her own—delicate, long-fingered, pale. The dark web of stagnant veins. Imogen’s—broader, tanned, calloused. The cracked skin, red seeping out. Squeezing Imogen’s hand, Laudna says,

‘I won’t lie, darling. I won’t tell you I wasn’t surprised. I was. I am. You are—’ Dark eyes lift to meet Imogen’s; without thoughts to skim, all Imogen can see in the depths is warmth, a glittering fondness. Sorrow lurks there too, somewhere, even if she can’t see it. ‘You are extraordinary. Young and beautiful and so very alive. I - you wishing to kiss me - you understand why I might be startled. I don’t know what I can offer you, darling. I will always be at your side, of course—to protect you, to wake you from your nightmares, to support you, to - to tether you against the storm, as you said, but - ‘

‘But what?’ Imogen shakes her head with a gentle laugh. ‘Who could ask for more than that?’

‘And the kissing?’

‘We don’t have to do it again. If you don’t like it.’

Laudna tilts her head; it’s not a no, but neither is it a yes. ‘You could choose anyone—’

‘I want only you.’

‘Even though I am—’ Laudna cuts off the words with a snap of her teeth. Turns away, sending a gloomy look to the dim corners of their room.

Imogen’s heart thuds, hard, against her ribs. She rubs at at it, sympathetic. Her bruised heart. She wants what it wants—to be close, ever closer. To hug her, hold her tight. To love her. To rip Delilah out of her—fry the bitch, burn her to ashes, and the ashes to smoke, and the smoke to nothing at all in white lightning—and then offer up her own heart to fill the lack. To welcome Laudna into the red hollow of her ribs, already wondering what kind of home she could make out of them. To take back the ruby ring and present it again, with all the ceremony Laudna deserves. To kiss her. Again and again.

But right now, Laudna doesn’t need a storm, even one of love. She only needs Imogen to listen to her. So she asks,

‘Even though you’re what?’

Laudna’s hands curl into talons and a snarl erupts from her throat. Earlier, Imogen hadn’t known what to make of the idea that Laudna could summon a wolf but she gets it now. Hears it in that mournful, ragged sound.

‘Dead. Broken.’ She claws at her heart. ‘Weak.’

‘No. You’re not, sweetheart, no.’

Imogen cannot resist reaching forward. She keeps her touch feather-light. Skims a high cheekbone before sliding back to the strand of dark hair that has escaped its high bun. She tucks it behind Laudna’s ear with exacting care, thumb grazing the gold ear-cuff. I see you. Every bit. Laudna’s eyes fill with inky tears and, when Imogen lifts her other hand to cradle her precious, lovely face, Laudna leans into the touch.

For a moment, Imogen can only stare.

There is no one in the world like Laudna—so starkly beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. There is no one half as creative. She knows Laudna’s story—saw her die—but no one could spend an hour in Laudna’s presence and leave thinking her anything other than vibrant. How could that be death? And as for broken, well, Imogen thinks of the mosaics in Uthodurn’s royal halls, and of stained glass windows in the Dawnfather’s hall—what little she had overhead of that part of Laudna’s story—and thinks of Laudna’s mendings and crafts and the hundreds of achingly beautiful smiles Laudna has made up just for her and yes, maybe she’s been broken, but who hasn’t? How can that make her less? Less lovely, less wonderful? It doesn’t. It doesn’t. She thinks of faith and lets her pinkie slip down to touch, so gently, the ragged mark of Laudna’s first death. She thinks of destiny and meets Laudna’s eyes.

Beautiful, she thinks, and then - because they are being truthful, because they are telling each other the truth - she says it out loud too.

‘You’re beautiful. You’re my—‘ Imogen falters, tries to think of a word that doesn’t stick in her chest like a knife, but pushes on because her love doesn’t make her fearless, it just makes her brave. ‘My favourite.’

Her blush blooms purple under Imogen’s hands. Laudna glances down, shy, then up from under lashes dark and sticky with inky makeup, splayed like delicate spider legs.

‘It is strange,’ Laudna says, covering Imogen’s hands with her own when she starts to pull away, worried. ‘Don’t leave, darling. Let me… Let me?’

Let her lean in, yes, let her press close, forehead to forehead, yes, stay so still when Laudna touches her cheek, fleeting. Laudna trembles—afraid? excited? damn this fucking circlet—but the contact settles her and when she retreats, she pulls Imogen’s hands from her cheeks but doesn’t let them go. She breathes in and out. Then says,

‘Waking from death is much like waking from sleep, except it hurts. Only a little but all the time.’

Imogen’s fingers brush over Laudna’s wrist, where her pulse plods away. ‘Laudna,’ she whispers, not to interrupt. Only because Laudna ought never go a moment thinking she didn’t care.

‘For all those years, even though I…I ran and built my huts and Pate too, of course, and of course I felt things—fear and loss and joy, too, sometimes—I was alive and awake but. So much of me was still dead. I was so - confused. And angry, often. I was surviving, you see. I had strength enough to hold myself together and fix things, here and there, but no more than that. I was hungry, all the time, I had so many teeth.’ Laudna searches her face. ‘And then I met you and you helped. Cared. These past years with you… It used to be that when I wanted something, it - it was hunger I felt. This endless hunger. A great pit in my chest. And it was hard to tell, you see, what it was I wanted except for everything, anything I could get my hands on. Do you understand?’

Imogen gnaws at her lip. Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She dips her head, catches Laudna’s eyes. ‘Explain it to me?’

Laudna’s fingers shake as she slides them over the backs of Imogen’s hands. Long fingers curl around one of Imogen’s wrists and she lifts it to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips cool against the burning ridge of her oldest lightning scar.

‘You have given me so much. You gave me friendship and purpose and trust. Food. Fun and stories. Strength. A bed. A home. And the hunger…it doesn’t gnaw so terribly, darling. Now, when I - when I want something, it isn’t an impossible task. I needn’t lose myself in that great black pit, blinding searching for what I lack. It starts to make sense. I start to make sense. What I want. Outside of her, and hunger. You’ve given me so much,’ Laudna tells her, and her voice creaks with the weight of her words. ‘How can I possibly take more? How - selfish, how greedy it would be to want… To want.’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ Imogen asks, voice soft. She tries not to sound to hopeful.

Launda holds her hands for a long time. It’s maddening, because Laudna never stays still for long; she doesn’t now either, instead stroking tiny patterns against her skin, fingers sliding over and between her own. At the occasional scratch of her nails, a frisson of electricity crackles down Imogen’s arms, through her body. Finally, Laudna nods.

‘I do. Oh, Imogen, I do. I didn’t know it - I knew I would be content for centuries, the rest of my days, if only I could sleep in your bed, stand at your side, content with any touch or favour you might share with me. And then - to be kissed?’ A shy smile creeps across her lips. ‘Would it be terribly unfunny to say it struck me like a bolt?’

Imogen snorts. Pulls her hands free so she can shove at her—lightly, though, barely enough to make even Laudna sway. Her hands settle on the tender branching of Laudna’s collarbones. The fabric of the new dress is silk-smooth under her palms; the lace neckline, though, catches against her work-rough, scar-rough fingers. She strokes it again, entranced. It’s so soft, the lace, in its reluctance to let her go. It’s so beautiful, the whorling patterns of leaves and flowers, and the contrast of blue-black fabric against Laudna’s pale skin is enough to make her glow. And beneath lace and skin, the steady tap of Laudna’s pulse—a knock on the door, on the coffin lid, here I am.

Beautiful.

‘That’s dreadful,’ she scolds, wrinkling her nose.

‘That’s me. Full of dread.’ A ghostly visage flickers across Laudna’s face, there—skin and skull shifting, FRIDA’s inspiration?—and gone. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘You too?’

‘Full of dread?’

‘Do you wish to kiss me, I meant, actually.’

Imogen swallows harshly. ‘Yeah,’ she rasps. ‘Yeah, I do.’

A frown pinches Laudna’s forehead. ‘Have you been afflicted with this desire for long?’

‘Afflict— You say it like it’s a sickness or somethin’,’ Imogen teases, but Laudna flaps a hand for her to hurry up and tell, so she shrugs. ‘Um. Yeah. I ‘spose I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you for a while,’ she admits, cheeks burning. ‘When I could hear you, it was… Do you remember when Dusk was hangin’ around, you told me you hadn’t thought about it? Hadn’t accessed that part of your brain?’ Laudna nods. ‘I know. I knew that. Because sometimes, when we were close and you…’

Imogen pauses. Sucks in a breath—it’s a little stuffy in their room, no windows, but it smells of freshly laundered sheets and paint and wood polish and Laudna and Imogen lets it steady her.

‘D’you know that you say the kindest, sweetest things sometimes? You always know what to do to calm me down or make me laugh, even when the whole world is—’ She gestures awkwardly to the south wall where the moon hovers in her minds eye. ‘You know. Going to shit. And sometimes—I wasn’t sure how much you…’ She stops again, lips twisting, frustrated. ‘I knew that you cared for me because, well, because you do.’

‘Naturally, of course.’

‘But sometimes I wondered if…if you wanted to kiss me, like I sometimes thought of doing. But when I looked into your mind, you were never thinkin’ about it so -’ Imogen shrugs, cheeks hot. ‘I never brought it up. You hardly ever thought about it when other folk were flirtin’ or talkin’ about it, so I figured it wasn’t something you wanted. And that didn’t matter to me! Just so long as you were with me, and we were together, I was happy with that. But then Dusk,’ Imogen strangles the name in her throat, hopes fiercely that Yu can feel it, wherever the fuck they might be, ‘put the idea in your head and then they…left…and you were confused and I’d sometimes catch flashes of it in your head but it didn’t feel right to bring it up, even though sometimes I thought—the way you were lookin’ at me, and not pullin’ away when I was lookin’ at you—I thought…maybe? Maybe it was - Maybe you could. Think like that. And when you died—’ Her voice cracks. ‘That wasn’t the right time either, obviously,’ she scoffs. Pulls a hand back to swipe at her eyes.

‘Darling,’

‘It had to be your choice. All of it. Everything, after what happened. And I was fucking terrified because of all those questions in my head like if I’d be pushin’ you if I asked, or makin’ you more of a target, burdenin’ you with all this Predathos moon shit—’

‘Never. Never a burden.’

‘—and then I got this,’ Imogen taps her circlet, ‘and I couldn’t hear you anymore, couldn’t check, and so, yeah, Laudna, you could say I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.’

‘Thinking about,’ she says, so carefully, like she’s afraid if she speaks it too loud or too fast the whole thing will break, ‘kissing. Me.’

Imogen laughs. Smiles at her with her whole face, her whole heart. Every soft, exposed, grotesque, tender part of it. ‘Yeah, sweetheart. Is that alright?’

Laudna nods jerkily. Eyes Imogen’s mouth curiously. ‘Can I - that is, if it’s alright with you,’

‘Please,’ Imogen whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s reading her own mind or if Laudna’s is loud enough to overpower the circlet, if she’s letting the power of it subside in her eagerness to know if Laudna wants what she wants, but it’s so clear—Laudna’s dark eyes, warm and kind and wanting; her reaching hands, aligning them hurt to hurt, heart to heart; plum lips pressing, ever so gently, against hers.

The kiss lasts a heartbeat. Barely long enough to register the touch. Even so, Laudna flushes deeply. Touches her fingers to her mouth and breathes out, shaky.

‘Oh. Imogen.’

Imogen lifts a hand—‘Can I? Let me, please’—to Laudna’s neck, grazing the high collar she’d been so jealous of in the store for getting to touch Laudna’s neck, but adores now as she coaxes it down so she alone can see, can touch the soft skin of her neck. Feel the way Laudna’s breath hitches when she does, her shiver as Imogen’s fingers slide forward, following the path of her jaw and swiping beneath the hinge of it—tender, awed, lingering on the mottled silver marks of bullet holes and torn skin—before she slides her fingers into the curtain of dark dark. She presses gently, guides her forward for another kiss. Her lips find the corner of Laudna’s mouth and smiles at the noise of displeasure it pulls.

‘I think,’ Imogen whispers, kisses her more solidly. Tilts her head and loses herself in Laudna: Laudna’s nose nudging into her cheek; Laudna’s hands fluttering between her elbows and shoulders before laying gently on her back; a clumsy bump of lips, which is actually mostly chin, a giggled apology, and then something gives and Laudna’s lips are on hers again, steady and slow and careful, like they have all the time in the world, like now that she is here there is no where she would rather be. Imogen pulls back, licks her lips. Citrus bursts on her tongue.

Laudna stares at her mouth. ‘What - ‘ She has to clear her throat, voice breathy, like Imogen has kissed all the air out of her and the thought makes want crackle beneath Imogen’s skin. ‘What do you think?’

‘Amazing. Great. Perfect.’

Dark eyes gleam. Laudna smiles—no, she smirks. ‘Darling. You were saying something, that you thought…?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen starts to speak—and has to stop. She laughs. ‘Y’know, I’ve totally forgotten?’

‘Oh.’ Laudna’s blush deepens. She’s so fucking pretty. ‘It will come back to you. If it’s important.’ She fidgets. Reaches out a hand to touch Imogen’s elbow, her knee. She looks for a moment as if she is about to speak but then a calm settles over her and she only smiles and nods. ‘Do you mind, dearest, if I take a little time to fix the birdhouse? Only Pate said it’s dreadfully uncomfortable and I think - if I add some soft cushion fabric, maybe curtains - I can fix the place up for him.’

Imogen nods. She understands—and could do with a minute to calm down too. She crawls around Laudna up to the headboard, props herself up against it.

Laudna frowns. ‘Really? Boots on the bed?‘

She smiles, closes her eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll magic the dirt away after.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Laudna insists. After a few moments of Imogen ignoring her, Laudna sets aside the birdhouse and begins to unbuckle Imogen’s boots. Imogen watches, thoughts far too chaotic to pin down. It doesn’t take long—Laudna has helped her before, when migraines stopped her from doing just about anything—and she pats Imogen’s shin, tuts at the unhappy state of her socks, and mends the hole by her big toe with a needle and thread of black shadow. It looks good as new when she is done.

‘There,’ Imogen drawls, snuggling down into the pillow at her back. ‘What would I do without you?’

Laudna laughs. ‘You’d wear boots in bed and put your cups upside down on the shelves–’

‘First of all, I’m right about that and second of all,’ she nudges Laudna with her toe, ‘I never wanna find out.’

She smiles and, oh, Imogen thinks, Dawnfather, eat your heart out. You don’t know light like this. You couldn’t make a light like hers if you had a thousand solstices.

They spend a lazy afternoon together. They don’t kiss again—Laudna is far too intent on her work, and Imogen merely watches her and allows time and proximity to ease the tight, grating knot of nerves in her chest that had built with every moment of Laudna’s absence. She asks easy questions and retreads old, familiar jokes and stories, and everything resettles. In some ways, it is as it has always been. It’s the two of them, together. It’s also new in a way that makes Imogen’s heart flutter every time she remembers; I kissed her, I can kiss her.

‘Pate,’ Laudna croons, as she takes apart old clothes and blankets, stitches them into cushions for the interior of the birdhouse. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she sings, and the rat-bird clambers out of his wooden house and up her arm, waits until she’s packed the cushions into place to skitter back inside, taking pride of place in the decadence. ‘What do you think of your new ho-ome?’ It’s so fucking weird. They both are. Imogen has to get closer to her. Tucks a foot under Laudna’s knee—who beams at her, wraps a chilly hand around her ankle and keeps her close—and makes a note to kiss Pate on top of his awful little skull soon. Just because. ‘What do you think? Will this be more comfortable?’

‘It’s nice!’ he croaks, little paws patting walls and floor. ‘I do have a suggestion, though—’

‘What! You’ve only been alive for a few months, what could you possibly know about decorating?’ she demands, aghast.

Pate flies from the house, landing on the roof. There are no eyes in his bird skull but Imogen swears he rolls them anyway. ‘Pfft! What don’t I know? I’m the whole package, you know. Bird brains and rat cunning, fanks very much.’

‘Fine, then, if you’re so smart! What’s your suggestion?’

‘Curtains.’

‘Curtains?’

‘Curtains. For, you know, setting the mood, or sleeping in the day. Or if you two need a little, heh, private time to lock lips—’

‘Alright, yes, fine!’ Laudna yelps. ‘I’ll make you some damn curtains!’

Pate chuckles. His wings peel open with a wet squelch that Imogen is never going to get used to—how could he be wet, he’s been dead for years, that’s what she wants to know—and he takes off with one, two laborious flaps of his wings, gliding down to the bed covers and scampering back into his now-comfortable home. ‘Thank ye kindly,’ he calls out from within.

Laudna grumbles as she pulls together curtains rather quickly, delving in her pack for supplies. She pulls out shards of metal–splinters, almost, but as long as her palm.

‘What’re those?’ Imogen asks, as she tries to bully the pillow under her head into a more comfortable shape.

‘Hm? Oh - one of Ashton’s climbing pitons. It shattered.’

The pillow refuses to be comfortable; Imogen gives up, gets up to search the room for wherever the other pillow went. She finds it, after a while, on the top shelf of the little linen closet and jumps for it before remembering she knows telekinesis. How in the nine hells Zhudanna even got it up there, she has no clue. Wandering back to the bed, Imogen watches over Laudna’s shoulder for a minute as she crafts.

‘You went climbing?’

‘When we were separated, that’s where we landed,’ Laudna says. ‘On a cliffside. Jagged rocks, Steam vents. Now that I think about it, we were rather lucky, actually, that we didn’t appear in the air above a sharp spike or roll off the cliff. But yes, we had to climb,’ she says, and tells Imogen all about it— finding Deni$e - Mona, at the time—and the climb and the endless valley of verdant trees.

Imogen listens carefully, heart heavy. She thinks of a long, cold walk and finding truly kind friends at the end of it - a celestial bull they befriended - shopping - the warmth and bustle and commerce and, yes, anxiety, of Uthodurn, and meeting royalty—and she thinks of Laudna, who dislocates something whenever she sneezes, having to pull herself up a cliffside. She rubs Laudna’s shoulder and dips her head, presses a kiss there on her back—because she can, because she wants to, because Laudna wants it too. Laudna hums, a happy sound.

‘I’m sorry you ended up there.’

‘It wasn’t all bad. It was rather beautiful. I would have enjoyed it, I think, if you had been there.’

‘Maybe we’ll go together someday.’

Laudna smiles. Affixes one of the piton curtain-rods into place as Pate guides her—’Higher, higher on the left - other left - all of it lower now - perfect!’

‘I think Ashton will want to go back.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was something of the Hishari there - a town. Cursed now, apparently. He wants answers.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Imogen agrees. ‘Kill the moon, then go on holiday to a cursed town in Issylra. Sounds nice.’

‘You were right, by the way,’ Imogen says later, as they walk back from the Windowed Wall to their friends.

‘Of course I was.’ Laudna beams across at her, tone bright, teasing; it’s such a shift from her mood of the morning that Imogen can do nothing but smile back at her. ‘About what, though?’

‘You said if it was important, I’d remember what I was gonna say. And I remember now.’’ Imogen wraps her arm through Laudna’s, pulls her in tight. There aren’t many people crowding the street but she doesn’t need an excuse to hold her close anymore. ‘You know, the thought you kissed right outta my head?’

‘Imogen!’ Laudna slaps her hand lightly, but her eyes gleam. Imogen thinks she might be pleased by the idea of driving her to distraction. ‘Well, go on then. What was it?’

‘You asked if I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Kissin’ you. I was gonna say, I think I’ll never get it outta my head. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about kissing you forever. If that’s alright with you.’

Laudna’s chin lifts - proud, pleased by the idea, clearly - and she gains what could only be called a strut. Her cheeks colour faintly. ‘I’ll be thinking about it too.’ Her eyes glitter brightly over a sweet smile. ‘After all, you’re very capable,’ she teases, and laughs, delighted, at the blush her words pull from Imogen.

They’re still smiling when they rejoin their friends. It earns them strange looks, but fond, relieved. No one pries—though Ashton has a stare like a crowbar—and they say nothing, for now.

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #cr tag #imodna my beloveds #imodna

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moondirti · 1 year

Text

a pearl

Still scarred; you don’t think he’s ever not been. Still scarred, yet vivid enough to accept a gentle caress he said helped muffle the phantom pain. He’d tell you the stories as you did (hardly ever pleasant), and you’d cherished them enough to remember.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around.

pairing: Captain John Price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.5k summary: what follows bloodshed warnings: angst, seriously - angst, canon typical violence, gore, allusions to childhood abuse, lots of unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort, a happy ending (the bare minimum), rough sex, marking, p-in-v notes: i have nothing to say for myself. there's no plot, just vibes. sorry (not). very much based off the mitski song of the same name.

It starts a little something like this–

Moments caught in the rhythmic flicker of a bedside lamp; golden, dim, dark. Golden, dim, dark. Pink flesh, blushed in foreign warmth, mottled in crops of chestnut hair you can’t help but run your fingers through. It’s sticky when it presses to you, slicked in half-dried sweat and the brine of a sour mission. You lick the salt from his collarbone, trying your best to place a firm kiss to it against the bludgeoning thrust of his body.

He fucks you like he hates you.

Not always. No.

But tonight, and in that perennial week that trails behind him when he comes home, he does. He finds you, supple enough for the two of them, with a restrained agony swimming in florentine eyes. It bleeds into blunt fingertips (calloused, too. Barnacles that rub rough on your breasts), staining you across the chest. You feel it in your lungs, scraping bone to marrow, your ribs a collapsible cage of sponge. And with the way he bears his weight on top of you, you think you just might.

It’s entirely too much, violent in a way you don’t find behind a plate carrier, the heavy security of a gun in your arms. Vulnerable – some crushed flower, one might say. Ripe with gallons of water at its centre and nothing to use it on. You’re plucked, right off your stem, your petals caught between teeth.

His hands stay planted on your hips, pinning them down to a sleep-soaked mattress while he plunges into you. One, ten, fifty times – years together and you’ll still never grow used to how thick he is. His cock is splitting, cleaving your cunt into two halves, filling you until a mushroomed head meets the gummy wall of your cervix. It falters then, nestled in that sweltering heat, before pulling back out to bruise you again.

And you take it. Your own limbs remain wrapped around his back, curved to fit rippling muscle, your nails digging into the sinew. You could push him away, should you please, you’re far too familiar with this routine to kid yourself into believing he wouldn’t listen to consent. Fight and watch as he reluctantly breaks away, turning to less delicate vices; a Maduro cigar, toasted. Scotch with a water back, neat.

But you cling to a sweet nothing he’d whispered to you once, crowded in the back of his old Audi Q5, his beard abrasive on the soft stretch of your neck, trailing desperate kisses.

Bloody christ. Can live off you alone, sweetheart.

It had held some semblance of truth then, caught under bad weather with the sky open to the heavens, a great cataclysm of rain pelting down on the car. A revenant vow, no witnesses; something for just the two of you until the day’s promised wedding – a novel, diamond-encrusted band, thin on your ring finger.

(You now wear both his and yours on a chain around your neck. His embellishments narrow down to those dog tags, the ones that hang over you when you fuck – silver slips the only indication of the man beneath the uniform, a body to be brought back home once it’s been bled through.)

Younger. You remember it distinctly; right out of SAS training, his skin a canvas for memorised marks. You’d been able to map each one to its source; rings of red concentrated at the wrist, cigar shaped but not self inflicted. Silver lines on his knees, founded atop the Brecon Beacons from his long drag assessment. Scabbed knuckles that never seemed to heal, not since he’d punched through a concrete wall the night he decided to leave home.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around. You imagine it tastes bitter, bitter and much like the ichor that blooms to your cuticles. You don’t expect him to reel those horrors back with him – the sight of a dead mother after his executive order to shoot all potential hostiles. You know he’d much rather find sanctity here, with you. But he bends under the perceived punishment you inflict, groaning when you carve crescent shaped divots into him; and it comes clearer to you than anything else.

His burden as Captain finds him far beyond the field. You’re just not made privy to it.

You let him express it in the only way he can.

It goes a little something like this–

You don’t ask, despite the named tension that floods the chilled bathroom.

He lets you shower first. Actually, almost commands you to, murmuring the words into sex clogged air while he cradles your quivering thigh. He waits until you find your strength again, nudging a tear away from your cheek with restrained tenderness. He guides you while you make your way, his touch smoothing from the small of your back to your shoulder, where it clamps down to steady you.

You can’t pinpoint the expression that twitches beneath his moustache as he does. It’s much too complex under the varicoloured delirium that clouds you. You see, you hear, you feel and smell and taste the oceanic headiness at the back of your mouth, yet none of it crackles back to your synapses where you can properly process his disquietude.

So, you whimper a little asseveration in place, the sound of it lost amidst hissing pipes when he sets the shower for you.

I missed you.

Maybe he doesn’t hear it. Maybe it’s drowned in the same chasm that eats him alive. But his eyes catch yours before he turns to leave, and they flicker with the light reflected off the faucet. Or, you’re tricking yourself, and it’s recognition of something he can’t reciprocate.

By the time it takes you to clear your throat, he’s gone – off to his spot on the balcony, no doubt, stretched on an armchair you’d bought especially for him. You’d set a Maduro box on the coffee table between his seat and yours.

And you can smell it on him when he returns.

He must time it so you’re already out when he comes to wash up. You check it on the watch he’d discarded by the sink – forty five minutes to the second, a gratuitously long stretch to press on sore legs, but the water had been nice. He’d known the exact temperature to turn it to.

(He used to avoid the spray during your times together, too.

Any hotter, eh? It’s barely blistering.

You were the one who insisted on joining.

And kneaded your reddened flesh when you asked him to moisturise your back.)

His baths are militaristic in comparison to yours – he’s always in, soaped, and out before you get to your hair. You’d teased that he does it to avoid those grim thoughts that taint deluge silences – the ones no one is immune to. Perhaps you’d been on the mark.

So, you don’t ask. But you try and bear through ten more minutes upright, standing in front of the mirror, a towel around your bust, untangling the jewellery that’d been neglected in his absence.

You hardly get through your wedding chain when he finishes, picking at the same stubborn knot.

“You’ll get sick,” John gruffs, padding up behind you. You move over for him to reach the towel rack and pointedly avoid the large mass in your peripheral, hanging between thick thighs, nested in chestnut curls.

“If rearranging my guts wasn’t enough to ail me, then what harm can a bit of cold do.” You jibe. He gives you a grunt in response, tucks a corner into the wrap around his waist and sticks his hand out.

“Let me see that.”

You blink, looking up at him for a split second, before handing over the chain. The bathroom provides a brighter luminescence than the glow of the hazy bedroom.

It’s then you notice a hardly healed cut on his shoulder, sutured with black stitching.

And one on his chest.

And leg.

A purpling bruise, stippling the expanse of his abdomen, furling over the side of it to darken into black.

You’re caught like that – staring, hands at your chest – for far too long. If he realises, he doesn’t say, pulling at gold strands until something gives.

But his elbow tucks closer to hide the discoloration, the gesture veering on childish insecurity. Though that conclusion rolls between your teeth; a pearl that won’t dissolve and is much too large to swallow. Things can never be so simple with John. He fits the world in ways you’ve spent your entire marriage attempting to figure out – like a sole jigsaw piece, made with no greater picture in mind.

(You cut yourself to suit it, sometimes. He changes shape before you can catch up.)

The action is an inclination you can never fully acknowledge, then; not until it’s you racing to see what can heal first – your body, or your mind. So you single in on the bulk of his arm instead, expanding thew with the movement, choking back the stone lodged in your chest. It becomes easy to lose track of time like this, returning to your perpetual dysthymia.

You’re only snapped out of it by the smokey gravel of his voice, somehow simultaneously full-bodied and edging on a whisper. It pops like wet wood on a campfire, seething with an undercurrent of resignation, like it’s aware of its failure to fully fuel the kindling heat.

(You still feel it though; like a deafening salvo in the chamber of your hollowed gut. Butterflies turned gunpowder. It holds the same effect.)

“Here.”

And he hands you your necklace back, unravelled.

Brushing your teeth, you point to the hickeys decorating the column of your neck, then at his own wounds.

“Look, we match.”

His reflection tenses, the razor pulling away from his jaw. John opens his mouth – knuckles blooming white, clutching the edge of the sink – then snaps it shut upon scanning your foamy grin.

He goes back to lining his mutton chops, his lips pursed in a grim line.

Maybe you should’ve stayed quiet.

It ends a little something like this–

Moonlight filters through sheer curtains, ballooning with the tranquil breeze. You left the window open to allow some air while he finds his rare sleep.

You’re usually the first to knock out, but you stay awake on certain nights, these nights, stuck on vigilant duty against forces you can’t quite keep at bay. You know where he keeps his guns – taped to the sides of dressers or under a chair. They aren't anything you need. No. Now, you weaponize your hand, spread flat and smoothing over a coarse head of hair. You brush the strands that stick to his sweaty forehead and pull down the duvet when you notice his continuous battle with the heat.

Then, the nightmares start.

It’s subtle at first. No stranger would notice.

You cradle his forearm and his pulse quickens under your thumb. Doldrums, a war cry. His body thrums with awakened adrenaline as his pupils thrash behind fluttering eyelids. It’s an unsettling tremor that vibrates through you, the mattress, the still midnight where things tend to find their peace. You bite your lips through it and hope the worn-film memories go easy on him.

His breathing breaks into a stuttered pace. He’d forgone a shirt, clad in just plaid bottoms, and his chest gleams with a thin layer of cold perspiration. It shakes with him, rapid inhalations, his lip twitching while his body tries to regulate the instinctual fear. Your touch never leaves his head, your other, freer hand wrapping around twitching fingers.

And so begins the paralysis. The purgatorial state where nothing exists outside of stifling sheets and the distancing sounds of fusillade. You can tell when he comes to uneasy wakefulness – wavering in and out of a fight long since filed away in manilla cabinets – when his digits go rigid underneath yours. He gasps in one final, drawn-out convulsion, assured in his survival, before his eyes snap open to the present.

He grabs your wrist and flips you over in the split second afterwards.

You can’t help the scream that pitches at the assault. It’s not the first time this happens, but never has he been so quick to act.

“John–”

“Fuckin’- Fucking hell.”

His inflection warbles, still a victim to whatever profound helplessness overtook his dream.

“Are you okay?” You lament into the scant space between you. His nose brushes yours. You can feel the red-hot distress radiate off him in waves.

“Y-You… Affirm– Yes. Yes, I’m solid.” Though his eyes don’t meet yours.

You nod. He doesn’t let go of you.

“Water?”

“Scotch.”

“You’re not going back to sleep?”

“No.”

He flinches when you caress his cheek, brushing over wrinkled crows feet.

“You need your rest, John.”

“You haven’t slept, either.” The reaction holds more venom than he likely intends. You use the lowlight to memorise the way he appreciates his anger, the hissed admonishment echoing back with full force. Before his brow can crease again, you place a tentative peck to his chin. His jaw ticks at the movement.

“I will if you do, yeah?” He doesn’t agree, but his shoulders drop with an exhale. “Let me go, I’ll fetch a bottle for you.”

His face bows, a retired concession. It’s a side of him you hadn’t had the privilege of seeing, not until your first morning together, post-honeymoon.

(I have to go, love. My flight’s in an hour.

Stay. Just ‘till I fall back asleep.

He had.)

You’d miss it if you had stayed basking in the thought. His lips, chapped and bitten and cracked, brush over your knuckles when he pulls away.

You smile like a fool on your mission for refreshments. And, on your way back from the kitchen, you clasp over the rings on your necklace. An old habit, a happy tick.

(You almost drop the water when you feel only one; your classic, round diamond ring.

But you find his adorning his finger when his left hand reaches for the bottle.

You hadn’t noticed he’d taken it off the chain.)

The next morning, he tells you about Serbia and the calamity that brought upon new disfigurements. He grieves it in between thrusts, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck, his grip unabashedly bruising on your breasts. So we match, he echoes.

Still scarred. Always will be. But he dives deep into the personal upon remembering the comfort in your low hums.

(Your nails circling the marks on his palms - he’d told you about his dad two years in.

It helps.

What does?

When you trace over them like that.)

A week after every return to his house, John finally settles and rediscovers home.

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aguineapigcouldntdothis · 4 months

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very quick turkish sephardic food guide

sephardic savory foods: never fear acidity and add it to every dish. if it's actually sour that's even better and lime is your best friend. main flavors are paprika, cilantro/coriander, cumin, tomato, onion, and garlic. if you're wondering whether or not to use rice the answer is yes. use lots of summery vegetables, salty cheeses like feta, and dont be afraid to eat the meals cold sometimes. if you decide to use meat go for things like lamb, chicken, and fish (beef is less common and ofc no pork). season to your heart's content and season some more.

sephardic sweet foods: still don't be afraid of acidity citrus is very very good. main flavors are orange, honey, lemon, fig, almond, cinnamon, pistachio, and raisin. you're gonna be making a fuck ton of pastries. save the homemade dough for REALLY special events otherwise just get it premade. they should be sweet but not overly sweet. think sweet like fruit would be, not sweet like a chocolate chip cookie. get almond extract and vanilla extract they'll make everything so much better and add a pinch of salt to every dessert.

overall: if it smells good together it'll taste good together and 80% of sephardic cooking is just winging it. you can make it whatever spice level you want but most savory foods taste best at a medium/medium-high spice level. dont worry too much about appearance its supposed to be a little bit messy. if it makes you think of mid-late summer you got the flavors right. there are also a bunch of different sub-cuisines of sephardic food this is just what i make now and have been making since i was a little kid.

edit: i had an old edit on this post saying lamb isnt kosher which isnt true it is kosher. i think i was thinking of some other animal and typed the wrong thing. now i have no clue what i actually meant to say

#jumblr #jewish joy #sephardic

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plutopitou · 10 months

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◇ Sugar and Salt

gojo satoru x female reader

genre: smut

In an effort to have the white-haired man's more sincere bestfriend, he finds your snarky attitude cute and admirable. He'll show you how to turn your bitterness into something sweet. | MDNI 18+

word count: 2k

warnings: smut, gojo is persistent and annoying but hot, geto and gojo mention, fingering, exhibitionism, hand fetish lowkey

new jjk season and episode so Gojo and Geto are still rotting my brain and I did this in 3 hours, enjoy haha

The old red boothed cushion is horrible doing it’s only purpose to comfort you next to him.

It takes a minute to focus in on the muffled voice next to you that was rambling on as usual, not caring who around could hear. You supposed for the time you spent around him, it was a quality of his you admired.

When you take a closer look, there weren’t many people around at all. At ten at night, there is single light dimmly hanging above the walk way. You can see bodies sprinkled around the diner leaving or hanging around acting as people your age do.

“Hey, why aren’t you paying attention to me?” The white haired man pouts. Resting his head in his hand, your bodies face towards eachother.

Being a couple inches from an unpredictable man that knows how much power he withholds is a dangerous game to play, especially when a normal person has no idea; it’s one you don’t want to gamble on winning. You both know you’d lose.

As much as you wanted to leave, his large frame has got you blocked in. The dirty floor you bet has never been cleaned was not an option to crawl under to leave.

“I am listening.” You smile politely, not wanting to own up to you zoning out.

He purses his lips with a determined look. “Alright then, what did I say?”

Fuck.

You sigh and cross your arms in defeat. “Okay fine, I wasn’t listening. But christ, Gojo, you talk so damn fast I’m surprised anyone can keep up anyways.”

“Geto can keep up just fine.” He returns hastily.

“Yes, your little boyfriend can keep up with you just fine.” You retort sharply.

Was it as obvious to him as it was to you? You eagerly awaited the return of the long-haired man that sat across from you minutes ago who left to take a smoke break, leaving you with his contrasting bestfriend.

The infactuation you had with Geto Suguru is a single seed that just kept sprouting. No immense amount of weed-whacker was enough to destroy it. Soon enough the entirety of your field was infested with pretty black flowers. Naturally, you found yourself leaning into that desire to get to know him better, but that came with having to understand the person at his hip as well.

“You’re a little sour today, aren’tya?” A long slender finger pokes at the plumpness of your cheek.

You swat his hand away. “I’m not sour.”

Laying his head back he stretches his long legs and crosses his arms. He smiles widely. “Sour Sally.”

“Whatever, Gojo.” You kick his leg. It takes a second to remember, you can’t do no real damage to a man like him. “Gosh, you’re so annoying.” The smile on his face never drops as he looks ahead unbothered.

You can see someone’s true intenton not by their body language, but by their eyes, eyes that are concealed by black shades and you’ve yet to understand his true intentions.

Warm fries sit untouched on the table that Geto offered to buy you. You pop one into your mouth, the salty flavor erupting in your mouth as it turns bitter. Spitting it out, your tongue feels stripped of its moisture, you chug the cold water as your whole mouth has become dehydrated and grainy from salt.

Laughter.

Water droplets drip off your chin. Heaving, you stare at him in shock.

Gojo can barely catch his breath. “How did you not notice!” Hunched over, he clutches his stomach failing to settle his laughter.

You pondered when the hell he ever got the chance to mishandle your food with a ridiculous amount of salt.

You’ve had enough of his stupid games.

“Get up, Gojo. I’m leaving.” The temper in your voice catches his attention.

He looks at you with empathy. Sighing he faces towards you again unmoving. “C’mon, I won’t do it again, Sally.”

“Stop calling me that.”

With a loud sigh, he agrees. “Fine. I won’t call you Sour Sally anymore.”

“Thank you-“

“I’ll call you Bitter Becky,”

Was this idea he has as a joke really just a joke? Gojo Satoru is far from a stupid man- he is just childish. You felt exposed from his relentless teasing you felt came from your hypnotism of his more solemn bestfriend.

You’re ready to use as much bodily force you have to try and push him out the way.

He leans in closer unafraid, your stomach flutters as he speaks up.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your overly sweetness for Suguru. You’re so bitter to me, Becky, you’re gonna hurt my feelings here.” He grins provokingly. Gojo finds your little attempts to push his slender yet strong body out the booth to escape are cute.

But he finds your personal insults even cuter.

You roll your eyes at his accusations, trying to hide how he seems to hit it right on the mark. “Why do you even care?

“Well, the use of sugar and salt aren’t that different, don’t you think?” He speaks again before you can reply.

You’re not sure what else to say in response to his sudden monologue. There was a slight feeling he wasn’t saying all this just to be annoying, but rather he really feels this way about your character.

“This is stupid, just move-“

“I mean, can you really have one without the other?” He continues. “Salt is used to enhance the flavor of sweetness; sweetness being used to balance out the saltiness in something.” He turns his head with a grin. “I know my sweets, Becky. They work perfectly together,”

“and I think your bitterness needs to be balanced out a little.”

Gojo pulls out the salt shaker he used from his pocket and leans to grab leftover sugar packets from Geto’s abandoned coffee.

Your stomach is a butterfly swarm watching him prep for whatever little game he wants to play.

Gojo likes to pick the game and make the rules.

“Close your eyes.”

What came over you to do exactly as he says? The sudden change in atmosphere at the little booth made you feel that the handful of people in the restaurant have disappeared, and it was just you and him.

You can just barely see a glimpse at his long white lashes and diamond eyes behind his black glasses. He held a serious face and it was the last you saw before you finally closed them.

“Hold out your tongue.” You do what he says.

You’ve given up your sense of sight at will, it was crucial to focus on your hearing and touch from now on.

You flinch feeling grains hit your tongue. You pull it into your mouth and taste it.

“What is that?” He questions lowly.

Sugar.

You respond with the answer and hold out your tongue again.

The familiar grains sprinkle on the flat of your tongue; you eat it and quickly answer again.

“Salt.”

He lowly hums, satisfied with your cooperation. You gasp feeling a slender hand smoothly run across your bare thigh, slowing moving them apart. He won’t touch there, no, not yet. Instead he finds satisfaction in feeling up your body.

He likes the softness in your thigh, the cute short skirt you decided to wear paired with soft knitted thigh high socks. He can read you from a mile away, your silent plead of attention. How he undoes your tucked in buttoned shirt to appear more formal and innocent, running his hand along your soft waist and curve of your bare back sending sparks up your spine.

Your thighs clench at his movement, but you don’t want to stop it. The chaos between the two of you is unfamiliar but unfamiliarity doesn’t equate to lack of comfort. Even with your sight stripped away just from his order, you felt safer than ever letting him feel up your body that responded to him eagerly.

He alternates between the salt and sugar; he was correct on his preaches. They taste better together.

Your thoughts erupt in blazing fire.

Awaiting the next taste, you feel the pad of his finger slowly enter the hot cavern of your mouth, dragging down to the tip letting you get every bit of the taste of salt that bursted on your taste buds.

He watches you clamp your lips around the tip, grabbing every grain before letting go. Gojo can’t help but feel a little entranced by your seduction, your eagerness to suddenly please him. He started this game he was going to be the one to finish it.

Your skirt is ruffled up your thigh, Gojo making way pushing your laced panties to the side as he runs that same finger up and down your already slippery slit. Your breath is uneven, your pelvis trying to meet the pad of his finger for more of his endearing affection. To feel his large slender hands push itself into you.

“I want you to be a little sweeter to me, y/n, can you do that for me?”

You don’t respond, you can’t. The best he can get was a quick nod, but it’s good enough for him. Gojo just couldn’t help himself.

Gasping, his mouth meets yours, tongue pushing in trying to bully you from the inside, letting you struggle trying to adhere to the sudden kiss with a hint of sugar from his mouth.

You wanted to push down your moans, yet with Gojo proding into your wet cunt and hot mouth at the same time, insecurity left your body just as he wanted you to.

He didn’t like your bitter stuck-up attitude with him, presenting yourself as some do-gooder who internally cares too much about what people think. Any passers would see his large frame cornering your pretty defenseless self moaning and pushing for more.

There was an ache in his mind that wanted to be released and watch you finally let loose, moan into the air and not give a fuck about the nobodies that could be stalking around. At the end of the day, they didn’t matter.

What mattered at the moment was the stretching feeling of Gojo Satoru fucking your tight pussy with his milky white hands until you soiled yourself around them, watching you overstimulate yourself trying to feel more of what he’s got to give you and feel a little sweetness in your life.

He got off on feeling your hips struggle and push themselves onto him like a doggy in heat, gripping onto his muscular forearm in an attempt of feigning your desire.

You moan into his mouth as he squeezes another finger into your wanting pussy. Smiling at your lustfulness, your eyes still closed like a good girl just like wanted five minutes ago.

The slosh of your wet hole felt so vulgar and loud from Gojo’s prominent thrusts with his hand.

“You’re gonna let loose for me, right? You’re gonna finally be a sweet girl for me and cum?”

In the air there was only your gasps and lustful greed as the coil in your stomach unfolded, your hips jerking into his skillful hand, Gojo whispers obscenities as he pushes even harder from the feeling hot liquid hit his palm, the squelch of it running down his wrist and drip to the base of the seat.

He pulls his hand out with an amused sigh, light strings of arousel connecting you both. You slump into the corner of the booth, your skirt ruffled up your hips, flashing your now wet panties; inner thighs glistening with dripping wetness and random twitches of your pelvic area still aching for more.

Gojo admires the light flush on your cheeks; half lidded eyes trying to process the sudden light after the darkness ten minutes ago. He readjusts your pretty plaid skirt into place and fixes little stray hairs back as his friend walks back into the perimeter.

He nonchalantly licks up the remains of your cum from his hand while you’re fucked out slumped besides him.

Any other person to walk past would be concerned.

Geto comes from around the corner. Surprised but not bewildered, just amused. “What is that?”

He couldn’t help but display a teasing smile as he nods to your heaving, unobservant self.

“Sugar.”

Writing a reader and satosugu threesome sounds super good right now someone ask for it lol

Also i challenged myself to use more dialogue and am proud of myself ok bye bye love u

Please like, follow and reblog ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic #jjk oneshot #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #gojo fic #jujutsu kaisen smut #smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru #pitou.writes #pitou.fics #tw.dubcon

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najia-cooks · 9 months

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[ID: Rice noodles topped with yellow fried tofu and chives; piles of chili powder, peanuts, and chive stems to the side. End ID]

ผัดไทย / Phad thai (Thai noodle dish with tamarind and chives)

Phad thai, or pad thai ("Thai stir-fry") is a dish famous for its balance of sour, sweet, savory, and spicy flavors, and its combination of fried and fresh ingredients. It's commonly available in Thai restaurants in the U.S.A. and Europe—however, it's likely that restaurant versions aren't vegetarian (fish sauce!), and even likelier that they don't feature many ingredients that traditionalists consider essential to phad thai (such as garlic chives or sweetened preserved radish—or even tamarind, which they may replace with ketchup).

Despite the appeals to tradition that phad thai sometimes inspires, the dish as such is less than 100 years old. Prime Minister Plaek Phibunsongkhram popularized the stir-fry in the wake of a 1932 revolution that established a constitutional monarchy in Thailand (previously Siam); promotion of the newly created dish at home and abroad was a way to promote a new "Thai" identity, a way to use broken grains of rice to free up more of the crop for export, and a way to promote recognition of Thailand on a worldwide culinary stage. Despite the dish's patriotic function, most of the components of phad thai are not Thai in origin—stir-fried noodles, especially, had a close association with China at the time.

My version replaces fish sauce with tao jiew (Thai fermented bean paste) and dried shrimp with shiitake mushrooms, and uses a spiced batter that fries up like eggs. Tamarind, palm sugar, prik bon (Thai roasted chili flakes), and chai po wan (sweet preserved radish) produce phad thai's signature blend of tart, sweet, and umami flavors.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Serves 2.

Ingredients:

For the sauce:

3 Tbsp (35g) Thai palm sugar (น้ำตาลปึก / nam tan puek)

2 Tbsp vegetarian fish sauce, or a mixture of Thai soy sauce and tao jiew

1/4 cup tamarind paste (made from 50g seeded tamarind pulp, or 80g with seeds)

Thai palm sugar is the evaporate of palm tree sap; it has a light caramel taste. It can be purchased in jars or bags at an Asian grocery, or substituted with light brown sugar or a mixture of white sugar and jaggery.

Seedless tamarind pulp can be purchased in vacuum-sealed blocks at an Asian grocery store—try to find some that's a product of Thailand. I have also made this dish with Indian tamarind, though it may be more sour—taste and adjust how much paste you include accordingly.

You could skip making your own tamarind paste by buying a jar of Thai "tamarind concentrate" and cooking it down. Indian tamarind concentrate may also be used, but it is much thicker and may need to be watered down.

For the stir-fry:

4oz flat rice noodles ("thin" or "medium"), soaked in room-temperature water 1 hour

1/4 cup chopped Thai shallots (or substitute Western shallots)

3 large cloves (20g) garlic, chopped

170g pressed tofu

3 Tbsp (23g) sweet preserved radish (chai po wan), minced

1 Tbsp ground dried shiitake mushroom, or 2 Tbsp diced fresh shiitake (as a substitute for dried shrimp)

Cooking oil (ideally soybean or peanut)

The rice noodles used for phad thai should be about 1/4" (1/2cm) wide, and will be labelled "thin" or "medium," depending on the brand—T&T's "thin" noodles are good, or Erawan's "medium." They may be a product of Vietnam or of Thailand; just try to find some without tapioca as an added ingredient.

Pressed tofu may be found at an Asian grocery store. It is firmer than the extra firm tofu available at most Western grocery stores. Thai pressed tofu is often yellow on the outside. If you can't locate any, use extra firm tofu and press it for at least 30 minutes.

Sweetened preserved radish adds a deeply sweet, slightly funky flavor and some texture to phad thai. Make sure that your preserved radish is the sweet kind, not the salted kind.

For the eggs

¼ cup + 2 Tbsp (60g) white rice flour

3 Tbsp (22.5g) all-purpose flour (substitute more rice flour for a gluten-free version)

1 tsp ground turmeric

About 1 ¼ cup (295mL) coconut milk (canned or boxed; the kind for cooking, not drinking)

¼ tsp kala namak (black salt), or substitute table salt

Pinch prik bon (optional)

To serve:

Prik bon

2 1/2 cups bean sprouts

3 bunches (25g) garlic chives

1 banana blossom (หัวปลี / hua plee) (optional)

1/3 cup peanuts, roasted

Additional sugar

Garlic chives, also known as Chinese chives or Chinese leeks, are wider and flatter than Western chives. They may be found at an Asian grocery; or substitute green onion.

Banana blossoms are more likely to be found canned than fresh outside of Asia. They may be omitted if you can't find any.

Instructions:

For the eggs:

1. Whisk all ingredients together in a mixing bowl. Cover and allow to rest.

For the noodles:

1. Soak rice noodles in room-temperature water for 1 hour, making sure they're completely submerged. After they've been soaked, they feel almost completely pliant. Cut the noodles in half using kitchen scissors.

For the tamarind paste:

1. Break off a chunk of about 50g seedless tamarind, or 80g seeded. Break it apart into several pieces and place it at the bottom of a bowl. Pour 2/3 cup (150mL) just-boiled water over the tamarind and allow it to soak for about 20 minutes, until it is cool enough to handle.

2. Palpate the tamarind pulp with your hands and remove hard seeds and fibres. Pulverise the pulp in a blender (or with an immersion blender) and pass it through a sieve—if you have something thicker than a fine mesh sieve, use that, as this is a thick paste. Press the paste against the sieve to get all the liquid out and leave only the tough fibers behind.

You should have about 1/4 cup (70g) of tamarind paste. If necessary, pour another few tablespoons of water over the sieve to help rinse off the fibers and get all of the paste that you can.

3. Taste your tamarind paste. If it is intensely sour, add a little water and stir.

For the sauce:

1. If not using vegetarian fish sauce, whisk 1 Tbsp tao jiew with 1 Tbsp Thai soy sauce in a small bowl. You can also substitute tao jiew with Japanese white miso paste or another fermented soybean product (such as doenjang or Chinese fermented bean paste), and Thai soy sauce with Chinese light soy sauce. Fish sauce doesn't take "like" fish, merely fermented and intensely salty, and that's the flavor we're trying to mimic here.

2. Heat a small sauce pan on medium. Add palm sugar (or whatever sugar you're using) and cooking, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot often, until the sugar melts. Cook for another couple of minutes until the sugar browns slightly.

3. Immediately add tamarind and stir. This may cause the sugar to crystallize; just keep cooking and stirring the sauce to allow the sugar to dissolve.

4. Add fish sauce and stir. Continue cooking for another couple of minutes to heat through. Remove from heat. Taste and adjust sugar and salt.

To stir-fry:

1. Cut the tofu into pieces about 1" x 1/4" x 1/4" (2.5 x 1/2 x 1/2cm) in size.

2. Separate the stalks of the chives from the greens and set them aside for garnish. Cut the greens into 1 1/2” pieces.

3. Chop the shallots and garlic. If using fresh shiitake mushrooms, dice them, including the stems. If using dried, grind them in a mortar and pestle or using a spice mill.

4. Roast peanuts in a skillet on medium heat, stirring often, until fragrant and a shade darker.

5. Remove the tough, pink outer leaves of the fresh banana blossom until you get to the white. Cut off the stem and cut lengthwise into wedges (like an orange). Rub exposed surfaces with a lime wedge to prevent browning. If your banana blossom is canned, drain and cut into wedges.

6. Heat a large wok (or flat-bottomed pan) on medium-high. Add oil and swirl to coat the wok's surface.

If you're using extra firm (instead of pressed) tofu, fry it now to prevent it from breaking apart later. Add about 1" (2.5cm) of oil to the wok, and fry the tofu, stirring and flipping occasionally, until golden brown on all sides. Remove tofu onto a plate using a slotted spoon. Carefully remove excess oil from the wok (into a wide bowl, for example) and reserve for reuse.

7. Fry shallots, garlic, preserved radish and tofu (if you didn't fry it before), stirring often, until shallots are translucent. Add mushroom and fry another minute.

8. Add pre-fried tofu, drained noodles, and sauce to the wok. Cook, stirring often with a spatula or tossing with tongs, until the sauce has absorbed and the noodles are completely pliant and well-cooked. (If sauce absorbs before the noodles are cooked, add some water and continue to toss.)

9. Push noodles to the side. Add 'egg' batter and re-cover with the noodles. Cook for a couple minutes, until the egg had mostly solidified. Stir to break up the egg and mix it in with the noodles.

10. Remove from heat. Add half the roasted peanuts, half of the bean sprouts, and all of the greens of the chives. Cover for a minute or two to allow the greens to wilt.

11. Serve with additional peanuts, bean sprouts, banana blossom wedges, chive stems, and lime wedges on the side. Have prik bon and additional grated palm sugar at table.

#phad thai #pad thai #vegan recipes #cooking #thai #gluten free #garlic chives #Chinese chives

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kcrossvine-art · 5 months

Text

Hiiii friendssss! What the FUCK is up. What the fuck is up. What the Fuck is up. On todays cute little cookin excursion we are going to be deep frying things and using a wok. If you dont feel comfortable deep frying, and dont have a wok, im sure theres other ways to do it silly :DDD

I believe in you.

From LotR online we're gonna be making Fried Beetroot Sticks!!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into Fried Beetroot Sticks?” YOU MIGHT ASKSlices of sweet little beated root dipped into a batter with, watch out, special flavors too.

2 Beetroots

Corn flour

Salt

Red Chilli Powder

Garlic Paste

Baking Soda

Water

Peanut oil

And we'll also be making some horseradish sour cream dip to go along with it;

Sour cream

Prepared horseradish

1 Green onion

Few splashes of lemon juice

Salt to taste

Ground pepper to taste

"Cooked, tender beetroot sticks are dredged in a light batter and fried to give a crispy exterior and a soft, sweet interior. Served with a bracing horseradish sour cream, this snack is both filling and delicious."- LotRO Tooltip

AND, “what does Fried Beetroot Sticks taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKThis is like homemade fair-food and it sounds like a contradiction but its not

But maybe its just because its fried food? American brained, sorry.

Retains the inherit sweetness to beetroot

And similar to pickled beetroot the sweetness contrasts the spicey of the batter

(which i encourage you to amp up if youd like more spice)

The horseradish sourcream dip is to die for

Measure with your heart for that one, and save some green onion to top it with when you serve

This would pair very well with a lime italian soda or with shaved ice cones

Im always very anxious about deep-frying things, or working with oils at high temperatures, but i didnt run into any complications with this dish. Just make sure to keep best practices and safety precaution in mind, especially with a wok as it can tilt!

. If you dont have corn flour, you can substitute all-purpose flour . If you dont have peanut oil, look up oils with the same smokepoint to decide what else to use

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The recipe stuck out to me, as i was assembling a list of foodstuffs from tolkiens work, for being such a "regular" named food. Also its worth 19 silver 69 copper in the LotR MMO and im immature.

I think the dip has the most room for improvement and tinkering. I've never made horseradish sourcream before, so more practiced tastebuds could perfect a simple thing like this. In the future id also like to try adding red pepper flakes along with the the powder and garlic paste, to give more visual variety and spice. I think cumin in the batter would be a nice midtone flavor too.

I give this recipe a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) for its relative simplicity and modularity with things you could add.

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Beetroot Sticks Ingredients:

2 Beetroots

130 grams corn flour

1 tbsp salt

1 tsp Red Chilli Powder

1 tsp Garlic Paste

1/4 tsp Baking Soda

178 grams Water

432 grams peanut oil

Horseradish Sour Cream Ingredients:

225 grams Sour cream

200 grams Prepared horseradish

1 whole green onion (green and white parts VERY finely chopped)

1 tspn lemon juice

Salt to taste

ground pepper to taste

Beetroot Method:

Peel all beetroots and cut them length-wise into rectangles.

Combine flour, salt, chilli powder, garlic paste, baking soda, and water in a bowl.

Mix well into a smooth batter.

Heat peanut oil to medium in a wok and dip beet roots into batter. Deep fry until golden brown in color.

Stack beetroots on paper-towel lined plates to cool and dry as you go.

Serve with horseradish sour cream!

Dip Method:

Mix all ingredients

Cover and let stand at room temperature for 1 hour for the flavors to blend.

#cross cooks lotr #lord of the rings #middle earth #food recipes #digital art

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ratsoh-writes · 5 months

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What kind of meals/food can you only find in Ebbott? (And be specific! Don't just say "magic" Ratsoh)

lets start with a list of all old (and some new) ebott only crops and animals:

Powder shrooms: these are gears favorite mushrooms. It’s a small honey colored mushroom with a black circle on the head. They have a very nice buttery taste and can be eaten raw but are best as stuffing for savory dishes. They get the name because they dry fast and the powder was used as flour for the nomads. They also grow like weeds and are easy to maintain

Snap root: it was showcased in the 1k event. It’s a spiny purple skinned root with a brown flesh. It gets its name from the way the vines “snap” up when sunlight hits it. The root has a lovely taste like a cross between pumpkin, sweet potato, and nutmeg and is mostly used in pies and sweet dishes

Crab “apples”: a fruit shaped like a crab. It’s technically not an apple despite the similar taste. It’s the most common fruit of the underground and the farmtale valley. The fruits are slightly sour and rarely larger than the palm of a small hand. The most common shape is the crab shape, but they also come in ducks, pyramids and spirals.

Flossy sticks: it’s a celery like vegetable. The plant looks like a normal leafy bush with very long stems, but as soon as you cut one stem off, it explodes into thousands of tiny floss like strands. They can be boiled into pasta, dried and powdered to be used as flour, or eaten raw. They have a crisp lemon and basil like taste.

Twigs: nobody knows why the vegetable is called this because it looks nothing like a twig. It’s a large orange long cucumber like vegetable. Normally about 3 feet long and 6 inches wide. It has a woodsy tea leaf taste to it. Also puréeing the flesh and mixing it with alcohol is what makes drinks that can temporarily change hair and eye color.

Lion lily: the fruit is named after the striking maned flowers that come before it. The flowers look like lilies but at the base of the flower is a fluffy golden “mane” of cotton strands. The fruit is the size of a tangerine and is golden and perfectly round with a large pit in the middle. It has an extremely sweet taste and soft juicy flesh. It’s so sweet it often doesn’t need sugar added when used in cakes and pies.

Golems salad: a massive fkn head of kale. Like this thing is freaking the size of a car. It’s a magical variety that grows when eight heads of kale are planted in a circle, and carefully nurtured by a golem monster each day. The result is that monstrosity. Overnight the kale comes together, morphing into one plant and will grow to monstrous sizes. It’s said the bigger the salad the stronger the golem

Tumblers: it’s identical to a normal cabbage and tastes like a normal cabbage, but if you wait too long to harvest it, it will literally jump out of the ground and run away at the vibrations of footsteps. It also hisses.

Sweet salt: a spice from the underground that is ground from the seeds of the fir trees that grow in snowdin. It’s very sweet and is described to taste like a blend of brown sugar, cinnamon and black pepper. Tastes like gyftmas

Gyftmas ornaments: the same seeds you can get from snowdins fir trees can also be peeled and pickled. They make a lovely sweet sour treat and are usually dyed to match gyftmas colors.

Tarotile: a flat leaf from a magical plant related to poison ivy. The plant is toxic to humans but delicious to monsters. It’s banned outside of ebotts shores, and has to be labelled very clearly before being sold. Monsters describe it as tasting like a delicious wild berry blend but with a leafy texture. Makes a delicious tea and is wonderful in sweet salads

Sea eggs: an ebott only variety of seaweed will grow these pockets of soft cucumber like fruit in the stalks. Reportedly all the sea monsters have seen and harvested this plant before the crash. It tastes a bit more sour and citrusy than a normal cucumber but has all the texture and water content of one. Weirdly enough there’s nothing magic about this plant. It just likes ebott

Cattails: not to be confused with the non magical reeds that grow near water, cattails is a popular vegetable grown in ebott. It prefers dryer land, only wanting water every few days. It resembles a golden long grass, and when it’s ready to harvest, the grass ends open up to reveal a fluffy thick fiber inside. The result is a pretty feathery plant resembling a cats tail, hence the name. Pull the fibers and on the ends are little grains that are boiled to use a porridge, a flour substitute, or the binding agent of ebotts famous lion jello.

Heartyheads: a thick leafy bush, what makes it classed as magic is that it literally turns into rose quarts when exposed to fire. But it’s not reliable as a source of quarts since it slowly turns back when cooled down. The young leaves can only be eaten raw but are an amazing source of iron and are said to help with inflammation. This plant can only be killed by being dug out of the ground and left to dry out.

Fizzlers: a tomato like plant that grows small baby tomato sized pink, purple and blue fruits (ornamental ones only for blue) the fruit is a key ingredient in fizzy drinks in place of carbonation. The fruit produces lots of bubbles when exposed to water. They’re delicious and taste just like that fake grape flavor humans love

Gauzeberries: a berry that came from the outer-AUs. They all say they found the mysterious bush growing on the asteroids of the asteroid belt they orbited. The bush has silver white leaves, is very small, rarely growing higher than 2 feet, and produces small white berries encased in a gauzelike silk pouch. The plant only grows in cold temperatures and must be kept in fridge rooms with natural sunlight any month except winter. The berries have a crisp grape like taste and when eaten, causes one to float a few inches off the ground for an hour

Rougish grapes: this is a grape variety developed by two monsters from birdfell, and the rights bought by harpy. It’s a very large crimson red grape, each individual fruit nearly the size of an apricot, and is able to be harvested from summer to fall. The grapes have a sweet but peppery taste and are best fermented into wine. They are also proven to be amazing with hair loss.

Baited breath: a small thistle-like herb that grows beautiful thorny blue flowers. The flowers when they open in the mornings make a sighing noise, like someone exhaling. The seeds of this plant are sweet and aromatic, so are often added to a wide variety of dishes. They were also historically chewed on to clean teeth and are known to help humans and monsters alike recover from cavities

Dragons breath: the larger cousin to bated breath, this large thistle like herb grows to five feet and can make thorny black flowers the size of a humans head. The dragons breath flowers let out a brief puff of flame when they open in the morning, and their seeds are large and spicy in flavor. A very popular snack through all of ebott. They are also ground into a spice called dragons hoard.

Whimselites: this is a small bundle of leaves on a whimsot plant, a low growing vine. It was found in every underground au, and continues to be grown and harvested in the underground. If new leaf growths aren’t harvested, eventually the little bundles open up and pop off the mother plant to start a new one. They go great in salads and taste a lot like rocket leaves.

Snails Bane: the plant looks like a rock, but if you step on it, it’ll squish down secreting a snail like slime. It’s also very toxic to snails and should never be kept near them. The plant when cooked, is cut open and left to dry in the sun, before being sliced and put into stews as a flavoring agent. It tastes like chicken and is a favorite among ebotts vegetarians.

Loomy runners: a small magical radish that has two large roots at the end of its bulb. When exposed to fire, the radish will stand up on its roots and run away like a wobbly baby learning to walk. It must be cut up in pieces before being eaten, and sometimes the radish pieces will still flip around in the oven so covered baking dishes are recommended

Garwins Gourd: a large twisted gourd native to farmswap, garwins gourd is an attractive flamingo pink color when ripe and has a sweet taste not unlike a sweet potato. It can be cut up and puréed for pies or stews, boiled and mashed, or sautéed, but it cannot be eaten raw as heat is needed to bread down the thick fibers of the raw vegetable. The gourd also can be dried and is used as a cute storage container by many farm monsters. In recent years, fans of the plant have been able to grow yellow and orange varieties

Bloodroot: edible by monsters, but must be strained several times to be safe for human consumption, bloodroot is a thick large carrot like root that “bleeds” a crimson liquid when cut. The root eaten on its own tastes like a woody earthy grape mixed with a parsnip. It strangely smells like beef until cooked. The reasons for this is that the plant uses an animals digestive tract to strip the thick outer coat on its seeds. And when they come out the “other end” they can safely sprout when freed from their confines. Carnivorous animals are drawn to the root

Claymore mushroom: if directly stepped on by something heavy, this large blue grey mushroom will explode into large chunks catapulted into the air at speeds of up to 15 mph. It’s native to the factory monsters and farm AUs. The farmtale monsters made a winter sport of catapulting the mushrooms before the crash. The mushroom can be safely harvested by cutting it at the base of the stem, rendering it non-exploding.

Triangle of the coast: a magical cousin to broccoli and cauliflower, the triangle is a triangle shaped broccoli like growth that grows directly in the sand of beaches, and is farmed along a section of ebotts coastline in the winter months. The vegetable is a yellowish green color and tastes just like young broccoli. And for some reason, when picked, it secretes a pheromone that attracts crustacean sea creatures. so it’s also used as fish bait and a vegetable

Ferris-weeds: a cousin to the yarrow herb, Ferris weeds are a magical variety native to the farm and Drake AUs. It’s a tall growing herb, reaching up to 10 feet in height, and has a beautiful pale pink flower in the spring and summer. It’s mainly used to line fences as decor, but the flowers can also be eaten raw, pickled, or sautéed. What makes it magical is that it’s known to provide a full days worth of vitamin D in one meal, no matter the amount of flowers eaten. No one knows how the plant accomplished this

Pygmy pomegranates: this trees only been an official breed in the last five years. Developed by a monster from farmtale, Pygmy pomegranates are a cross breed between crab apples and standard pomegranates. They are perfectly dome shaped with a circle top and a completely flat bottom. The fruit is small, onky the size of a child’s fist, and full of orange pomegranate seeds with a purple skin. They taste just like a normal pomegranate

Deaths pearl: a small bundle of leaves, found deep in the ocean. The roots and lower halves of the leaves are pitch black, while the tips are a transparent blue. The vegetable gets its name from seafell, where a fraction of monsters fought to the death with a sea creature for a patch of the plants. This vegetable is completely edible from its roots, leaves, stems and seeds. It tastes very similar to celery mixed with cucumber. Nowadays it’s cultivated by sea monsters all along ebotts coast and is considered a staple vegetable due to being able to grow year round.

Star seeds: contrary to the name, this is not from the outer AUs but was an underground crop. The seeds of an echo flower are the plants only edible part, and are ground into a fine iron filled flour. They’re rather bitter though, so bread made from them nowadays is often paired with cheese to flavor it.

Spiderbloom: pollinated only by spiders, this plant flowers in the fall and produces fruits in the winter. It creates an eerie black and purple blossom who’s pollen only sticks to spider silk in order to pollenate. The fruits have a soft flesh and taste a bit like figs and blueberries.

Golden flowers: a favorite of the royals, and ebotts national flower and crop. Golden flowers are a beautiful gold magic buttercup that can be dried and turned into tea. They have a lovely effect of softening the hair and skin, and humans claim the tea helps with acne. It’s delicious, sweet and has small hints of lemon in the taste. The flowers are mostly indoor plants as they burn up in direct sunlight.

Mandrakes: a four point magical root that screams when unearthed, the mandrake root is extremely popular for its soft potato like flesh, and the large lineup of nutrients it holds. It’s often mashed, used as a potato substitute, or thrown into stews and soups. It’s a popular baby food as well as its mild taste is comforting for kids, and the quality of it helps parents ensure picky eaters get what they need in a meal

Frog stool mushroom: a large aquatic mushroom resembling a lily pad. It’s found in shallow freshwater areas like lakes and larger parts of streams. This large mushroom is nutty in flavor and is often planted in ponds by farmers for not only its flavor, but also to filter the water on their property to make it safe for the animals to drink. It’s recommended to only eat the small young ones as the large ones after so many years of filtering are more waste than nutrients.

Fishweed: a seaweed that grows along the seaside cliffs of ebott. It’s named after its strong fishy smell. It’s dried and cut into strips and eaten as a snack like jerky or chips

Pearwood tree: this tree has a beautiful bark pattern in the shape of sliced pears. When dry, the bark begins to chip and is easy to peel off. The bark can be infused into drinks giving a crisp grape and lettuce flavor, and has the magical effect of making harmless sparks come out of one’s mouth when they speak. Because of the attractiveness of the trees bark, and the pretty pale green fir spines as leaves, it’s also a popular garden ornament plant as well as a crop

Cinderpetals: a small magic herb with red tipped star shaped leaves. This plant as a defense mechanism will burst into flame when the leaves are picked off. Don’t be alarmed though, the fire is harmless and even adds to the flavor as many monsters say. The leaves have a crisp almost citrusy flavor and are put into potions, drinks and energy tonics due to their natural caffeine content.

Boarberry: it was only seen in horrorfarm and drakefell before the crash. It’s a wild berry bush that parasites off of trees, growing on the sides of the trunks. The berries are a creamy pale green and taste like a bitter plum. They were traditionally used to flavor meads, and were made into jams, pie fillings and baked into breads.

Honeybeans: a climbing magic bean plant that only grows near beehives. It will grow around the hive protecting the bees by secreting pheromones that deter would-be predators, and in return it feeds off the honey as well as the soil near the hive and sunlight. Because of this, the beans are deliciously sweet, tasting like caramel but with the buttery texture of a Lima bean. What makes this plant magic is that when seeds are planted, it seems to summon bees to it. Bees will abandon hives to start building around the bean, or if that’s not convenient enough, the bugs actually uproot the plant itself and Carries it to the hive in an amazing show of teamwork

Silver bells: a droopy vine with silver tipped leaves. It grows a berry like vegetable that resembles a tomato, but with a blue grey skin and a deep purple flesh. The magic fruit entices one to eat it by “calling” its harvester with a tinkling bell noise. The vegetables when hitting each other sound like the light clinking of metal. The vegetable is rather tasteless save for a faint cabbage flavor. It’s very beneficial to bone growth though and is highly recommended that young growing children and the elderly eat some every week.

Ground cherries: a strange magical fruit tree that grows its fruit beneath the soil. The very tip of the small cherry sized fruits are visible peeking through the dirt when they’re ready for harvest. They taste like blue. Some college human students say it’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to the taste of blue Gatorade in ebott

Ebott-only livestock:

Greater turkey: like the name suggests, this is just a massive variety of turkey. The birds can reach the size of cows. Naturally they’re a breed made by the farm AUs. They’re slowly becoming more popular as a holiday food for larger families. Last gyftmas broke the record of greater turkeys slaughtered and sold in one season. Thankfully for the farmers, these birds were bred for temperament as well and are quite gentle and docile

Jimmy crickets: they were previously called roasting crickets, but one witty monster renamed his after Disney started streaming in ebott, and the rest copied him as the bugs became a popular food for kids. It’s a magical variety of cricket that was cultivated underground. They eat moss, and are high in iron, copper, and folate. They’re brightly colored, most normally a bright red. They taste a bit like bacon bits.

Struggle grubs: like the name suggests, this bug was cultivated to be cheap, year round and plentiful. It’s a comfort food for many underground monsters who lived through poverty before the crash. The grubs will eat anything hence why they were labelled as “poor food” as underground they were fed mainly trash. Nowadays farmers feed them much healthier foods and the grubs are much better quality.

Riding/battle boars: funny enough, this type of domesticated hog was only found in horrorfell and drakefell before the crash. Many think that there’s a special connection between the two AUs cause this isn’t the only thing they share. In drakefell they were known as riding boars and were used to pull carts and plows, for eating and dairy, and battle of course. In horrorfarm they were only war animals, used to sniff out enemies and ram through enemy lines. The boar is intelligent like a dog, easily trained, and has an amazing sense of smell. They’re still used as farm hand animals to help plow and de-bug fields. The females can be milked and the cheese made from that milk is very heavy and fatty. They taste like pork, but because of their sacredness to the drakefell monsters and humans, it’s considered a big dishonor to eat one that didn’t die of natural causes.

Lesser deer: a small goat sized deer only found in ebott, they were originally found in the nomads forest. They’re very passive creatures and easily domesticated. Many farms are beginning to add them to livestock because of the delicious soft meat on the animals, and their varied diets.

Rolland’s horned snail: a large cow sized snail bred by the Rolland family from farmswap. The snails on average are the size of draft horses and can weigh nearly a ton. They’re bred purely for their meat and the shells are also sold as decoration, or ground as a binding agent mixed into cement. The snails are fed mainly sawdust, dried grass, and weeds. It takes nearly 20 years for one to reach full size though.

Pearled salmon: a freshwater salmon native to ebott, it can be caught wild or bought from a hatchery. The scales look like pale pink and white pearls underwater, but turn grey when dry. The salmon has a white flesh and the taste is subtler than normal salmon.

Ice pips: this is a thin needle like magic fish that loves cold temperatures so much it creates its own chill. Any room the fish is kept in stays just cold enough to freeze the top of the water in its tank, but not so cold to freeze the whole tank. It is a farmers essential for any farmers who want a proper freezer basement or shed. Almost every farm monster owns a tank of them as it’s much cheaper to feed a few fish crickets every couple days than it is to pay electric for a large shed/room. Rancher and peaches have a tank of pips in their basement, and harpy has a whole massive storage shed cooled by her own tank.

Gremlins: small quail sized ugly little creatures that resemble a cross between a toad, gopher and pug, with wrinkled faces, round bodies and bumpy hairless skin. These little creatures are extremely easy to train and are used on farms to control bug pest levels. They are also slowly gaining popularity as a household pet because of their friendly natures. What makes this animal magic is its tongue which can stretch and shoot out nearly 12 feet at a time in pursuit of a big. Which is clearly magic as the tongue is only a few inches long when resting in the body, and when (gently) pulled by an outside force, it barely gets out of the mouth. A gremlin is edible as well, tasting like chicken by most reports, but farmers who raise them dislike eating the critters as they often can’t help but start viewing them as family.

Land shrimp: it’s literally a shrimp that survives on land. They’re fast breeders and must be kept indoors to prevent an outbreak. They’re fed a mixture of grain, oats, bone, and unwanted meat cuts. The magic shrimp will resort to cannibalism if not fed on time, so require dedication to raise. And yes, they taste like normal shrimp

Smithers basilisk: a long bodied lizard that’s roughly the size of a basset hound, the Smithers basilisk’s true origins are unknown, but have been a common livestock animal for generations among the Drake monsters and humans. The large lizards have a poison sack behind the eyes that are removed after they hatch for safety purposes. They’re raised for a number of reasons: their scaled hides make great leather, the eggs are large and females can lay year round if there’s a male in the pack, and they’re great ratters. So many farmers keep a few to help control the pests on their farm.

Jeweled scarabs: both an animal raised as livestock and a popular pet, these palm sized beetles have stunning shells in a beautiful glossy array of colors looking just like crystal. They’re raised primary for the shells which are harvested when the beetles die of old age. The shells are broken and polished to be used as jewelry, decoration, tile and even used in pottery and glazes. They have a short lifespan of just 2 years sadly, hence why they don’t beat out snails as the most popular pet. The bodies of the beetles are also ground and used as feed for other animals needing protein in their diets.

Roc birds: a poultry bird native to the bird AUs, this was a fat flightless bird that is accustomed to living on rocky cliffs. It has very strong talons and legs in order to climb and move around safely. And a huge oversized beak strong enough to break rocks. The birds are about the size of a duck and have grey speckled feathers. They were bred for their eggs and meat, the hens laying several a day. But they’re difficult to raise as they’re aggressive.

Wooly snails: these snails are about the size of a standard goose when fully grown, and the shells grow a thick fur that needs to be peeled off every few weeks to keep the snail comfortable and mobile. The pelts are then throughly washed and used for clothing, pillow filler, and all other kinds of things. The snails come in a variety of colors with white being the most common, but also a powder blue and lilac. They’re raised mostky by monsters at the top of ebotts mountain range as the snails need cool temperatures to be healthy

Dwarf rock bees: ebott’s special bee variety, the only bee known to be underground. The dwarf rock bee resembles a black fluffy bumblebee, but is so small it can barely cover Abraham Lincoln’s face on a penny. The bees will only create hives in stone structures (or around a honey bean plant) and hives can host millions of bees at a time. The tiny fluff balls are stingless and extremely prone to predators as they had very few underground. When alarmed, they make a shrill buzzing noise together, and copy a frequency that they know scares animals away. For most hives, that means turning their buzzing into a car alarm. Some enthusiasts of the bee keep them indoors in smaller controlled hives and have even trained the bees to copy songs that are repeated often around them. And of course they make honey

Alrighty! There are three ways one can make magical food!

1: it’s a learned magic to add intent to food. Every monster learns it as children. It’s just one of those things your parents are supposed to teach you, like driving or how to clean.

Intent affects the foods taste and sometimes even gives it mild healing properties. So someone making a batch of cookies with a lot of love and passion can make some hecking fine cookies. However there’s a limit. Pour too much passion (or any type of intent really) and you’ll burn the food. Even if you’re not using heat to cook.

This is why undyne regularly nukes her kitchen

2: plants can become magical after several generations of being exposed to magic. That’s why the underground was able to host so many plant varieties despite the lack of sunlight. This can’t really be controlled since it happens randomly. Any food cooked with the plants has magical properties as well

3: the farmtale monsters have perfected earth magic over the centuries. Any native born farmtale monster has the ability to bond to the land they own and produce much higher quality, quantity, and magical produce. This includes animals too. They become more docile, intelligent, and produce more. The magical skill of bonding to your land is seen as familial magic and can only be passed down through blood

And finally, some famous drinks and dishes only found in ebott!!!

Gauzeberry freeze: the expensive but delicious drink consists of milk, shaved ice, honey, blueberries, coconut and of course gauzeberries. It’s sold only in special occasions like national holidays. Otherwise the only way to get it is to make it at home, which is quite difficult due to the nature of gauzeberries. It does make one float a few inches off the ground for an hour after drinking

Fries and bits: mixed bugs, most commonly crickets, are cleaned and fried with potato wedges, and in fancier dishes, onion rings and fried artichoke hearts are added. It’s a greasy but delicious meal and many fried fast food places sell this dish

Boars honor stew: a dish coming from drakefell. When a drakes boar dies, whether from old age, an injury, or sickness, never intentionally slaughtered for food, their burial ritual for the animal is to stew it in a massive pot filled with potatoes, other root vegetables, blood root, boar berries, dragons breath and a load of mushrooms. The boar is carefully cleaned, and the blood used to fertilize the drakes, or communities crops. Then the animal is put in the pot whole and stewed for around four days before being passed around and eaten. It’s a dish meant to be shared, not bought. So to be offered some is a great honor

Roc on rocks: it requires a roc bird for the traditional version of the dish, but chicken will do too for a close substitute. The breast meat of a roc bird is thinly sliced and marinated in an orange citrus sauce for a few hours. Then traditionally a flat rock is heated up, and the thin slices are cooked on top, then laid on a bed of cabbage and thinly sliced carrots before being served. However pan frying is a safe at home substitute if one doesn’t have a big rock and outdoor campfire

Golden pearwood tea cake: goldenflowers and pearwood bark are dried and made into tea. The tea must be strained and left in the fridge to chill while the cake base is created. It’s preferred to use a nut flour like almond or hazelnut. The cake flour is then moistened with the tea, and a light honey glaze is added on top when it comes out of the oven

Cinder-spark: a popular energy drink brand made in ebott from cinderpetals. It comes in three flavors: jalapeño, spicy strawberry and electric orange. All flavors are spicy with electric orange being the mildest. Never drink more than two a day

Treasure chests: a shiny beautiful salad dish of heartyheads, leafy greens, beets, sea eggs, deaths pearl, and topped with cooked pearled salmon. It’s a beautiful colorful dish and a favorite at seafood restaurants along seashore. And it’s extremely nutritious

Snaproot pockets: like the name suggests, it’s a little baked pouch filled with puréed snaproot. It’s created with either mochi flour or cattail flour, the little flour pouch is filled with mashed or puréed snap root, and is topped with seeds like sesame after being baked. This dish can also be made with pumpkin and garwins gourds instead of snaproot.

Lions jello: made from boiled cattails, and infused with goldenflower tea, this is ebotts national desert. The cattails make an attractive milk white jello with a light airy taste, and the goldenflower adds flavor and speckles of gold inside. It’s a beautiful dessert and is a favorite of many of the royals

Snail pie: ebotts national dish: this is a pie filled with cubed snail meat, pearled onions, garlic, many spices to taste, and spinach. The pie is baked like a normal pot pie and is usually topped with seeds for better looks. Mini versions are sold at festivals and food trucks, and kids in public school get mini snail pies on Fridays for lunches.

Silver broth: made from boiled silver bells and bones, this broth is a popular soup base because of its mild taste, and is highly recommended that parents use it when cooking for their children as it promotes healthy bone, teeth and ecto growth. In winter months too, it’s sold alone as a savory drink with sliced dried mushrooms and spring onions as an alternative to sugary hot drinks

Wailing baby mash: it’s a terrible name but parents seem to think it’s funny. Mandrakes are mashed with other veggies (and often a bit of silver broth is added) to make a soft baby food safe for monsters and human babies old enough for solid food. It has a mild taste which is pleasant for kids. Many parents used mashed mandrakes in place of mashed potatoes well into their kids childhood as a healthier and cheaper alternative

Goths on toast: another terrible name, Asgore really sucks at naming things, and he’s to blame for this one as the creator asked him to endorse the dish. A delicious spread is made from the fruit of a spiderbloom, blackberries and dark or ground cherries. The fruit spread is spiced with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg and spread on bread as a sweet morning breakfast. It’s often paired with fancy cheeses and is served as a dish to show off your class. No charcuterie board in ebott is complete without this spread

Pigment potion: twigs mixed with alcohol creates a magic drink that can change the color of one’s ecto, hair/fur and eyes. The more diluted the drink, the shorter the effect. And to control what color the drink becomes, it needs to be hand made with a certain color in mind. A drink of magic, intent and booze. Any sort of alcohol does fine so usually cheap wine is used. And in festivals, watered down versions are allowed to be sold to children as long as a parent is present

Gyftmas cookies: of course they have to be baked with sweet salt. These brown cookies are made with the sweet salt spice, molasses, plain flour and honey. They’re decorated of course and are part of a popular gyftmas tradition called the cookie trade. At parties, each family shows up with a plate of cookies, and they go around having to swap one of their cookies on the plate for one from another’s family. By the end of the party, they go home with a plate from multiple families.

Crabby patties: this name was popular way before SpongeBob was introduced to ebott. There was a fierce legal battle between Marcelo and Nickelodeon for him to keep the name of the popular dish sold at his grocery stores. He just barely won, and the name is only allowed to be used with free reign in ebott lol. Crabby patties are smoked crab apple thinly sliced and pickled, then placed on a slab of either cooked snail or cooked hamburger patty. The bun is traditionally wrapped cabbage leaves, but bread buns are more popular on the surface these days. Every hamburger place has a crabby patty burger on their menu.

Fae floss: pasta from boiled flossy sticks is topped with a thick brown sauce made from goats cheese, powder shrooms, and finely chopped herbs. Other mushrooms are added to the pasta and often bugs like grubs, chopped beetles or worms are added. If bugs aren’t your cup of tea, shredded chicken is fine instead

Mead of lady magic: this mead is flavored with pomegranate seeds and honey beans to make a rich mild drink. It was also used in rituals by the temple monsters before the crash, and is still considered a holy drink by them. Only made and drank on sacred days.

Sun therapy: this light sandwich is made with pickled Ferris weed flowers, salami and mozerella cheese. The sandwich is toasted and topped with more cheese. A delicious meal full of vitamin D

Tarotile cheesecake. A plain slice of cheesecake, colored a deep forest green by adding Tarotile to the cooking process. The cake tastes like a wonderful wild berry blend according to monsters, but is highly toxic to humans and mages. Any one who dares sell it to a human without signed consent can be arrested and held for trial on attempted bodily harm.

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #worldbuilding

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atundratoadstool · 6 months

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Very important question, my friend visited Hungary and brought me some paprika (both sweet and hot). Obviously now I have to make the paprika chicken, but what would be the recipe closest to the one Stoker describes?

This has been sitting around in my inbox forever, and I hope you've managed to find a recipe to your liking in the meantime--particularly as my advice on the topic probably isn't all that stellar.

Stoker's knowledge of paprika chicken came from his sources on the topic (all of which should be noted tend to be inaccurate and condescending as regards the regions they describe), and we can get a rough idea of what he was envisioning pretty readily. Of the sources he listed that mention the dish, he took his notes for the novel from Andrew Crosse's Round About the Carpathians (cw: slur on linked page), but Crosse doesn't give us much more information than "chicken with red pepper." Nina Mazuchelli's Maygarland elaborates a little more by telling us how "a fowl that, in blissful unconsciousness of the immediate future, has been picking up the crumbs that fell from the traveller's table as he partook his first course, may, at his last, appear in the form of a hasty stew, thickened with red pepper." E. C. Johnson's On the Track of the Crescent probably gives us the most description of any of the books we know Stoker accessed, stating that paprikas csirke "is prepared by giving some ancient chanticleer the 'happy despatch,' cutting his remains to small pieces, and putting them into water, in company with flour, cream, butter, and a great deal of paprika or red pepper." Consistently, we can see that writers with whom Stoker was familiar are describing a chicken dish featuring some manner of thick paprika-based sauce, which is in keeping with most paprikash recipes I've encountered.

I, however, have always used variants on Leonard Wolf's recipe, which he included amidst his various other incredibly zany footnotes in the 1975 Essential Dracula (I tend to omit the tomato and add a touch more sour cream though).

PAPRIKA CHICKEN (Paprika Hendl) 1 young fowl (about 4 pounds); 2 tablespoons fat; 2 large onions, chopped; 2 tablespoons Hungarian sweet paprika; 1/2 cup tomato juice; 2 tablespoons flour; 1/2 cup sour cream. Cut chicken into service pieces, and salt. Lightly brown onions in fat. Blend in half the paprika. Add tomato juice and chicken. Simmer, covered, 1 hour or until tender. Remove chicken. Add remaining paprika to sauce, then add the flour beaten into sour cream. Simmer, stirring, 5 minutes or until well blended. Put sauce through sieve, food mill, or blender. Heat chicken and pureed sauce together over a low flame. Arrange chicken on warm platter. Pour half the sauce over; pass the rest separately in a sauceboat.

I will in no way vouch for its authenticity, but I feel that even were it not terribly Stoker-accurate it meshes pretty well with Dracula fandom in spirit, having been connected to the novel by the annotator who also tried to recreate the vampiresses blood sucking noises with his own mouth and had an undergraduate student pretend to be Seward and demo cutting through an iron bar with a medical saw.

#Bram Stoker #Dracula #Dracula Daily #Dracula Daily asks

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necros-writing-stuff · 7 months

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I'm sick and could use some fluff, sooo... Whichever on you're feeling, Eden or Darius. They come home early and catch their s/o working on a special surprise for them. Maybe an extra special meal, or a gift. They don't strike me as guys who get thoughtful gifts often.

I'm going with Eden because I'm in my forest husband mood today.

Warning - I go into describing Eden hunting and butchering a boar. But hey, it's Eden, it's the reality of what he does. And it's Eden POV, so some angst when it comes to his self image. But it's the angst before the fluff.

It had been a labour intensive day for the hunter. He'd had to spend more time than usual looking after his crop - some parasites had begun to nibble at the carrots - so he'd had to remove them before they could spread.

Then when he'd gone out to hunt he'd come across a rather territorial male boar in rut. Breeding season, his least favourite time of year. The damned beast had almost gored him, but he'd luckily gotten off a shot just in time.

His heart had dropped to his stomach as the hog had continued on its path before stumbling and falling, but then relief had flooded his veins instead. That was a lot of meat. It would be a while before he'd have to hunt again.

The downside, of course, was carrying the damn thing back home. And butchering the meat so that it wouldn't leak literal shit on the good stuff in transport left him open to wolves and bears. He'd managed to bag up the insides and haul the rest without an attack, though he'd been looking over his shoulder the entire time.

When he'd made it back to his familiar clearing, he'd been covered in sweat, his hands still stained with the blood of the boar despite him having rubbed them in the river for a few minutes. Not that it mattered, he'd only get more on him when he finished the preparation. A hot bath would be ready after. You always took care of that.

He vaguely remembers having smelt something sweet in the air, but had disregarded it as another baking experiment of yours. You'd been on a kick with it lately: cookies and cakes and pastries. He'd cherished every one of them.

The hide would have to be rid of hair - boars are too coarse to use for bedding or clothes. The dried hide could be sold to tanners to make leather though, and pay for his next supply run. Even if he dreaded going to that damned market in town.

Anxiety built the more he got in his head about the market. He didn't want to make you go, he'd seen enough people try to pay through illicit means and he didn't want to subject you to those perverts. At least they left him alone now, with his ugly damn face and ogre-like body.

God, it was a wonder you touched him. Someone as beautiful as yourself, so kind and generous, stuck with him. A man not much different than the beasts he shared the forest with. You even had the kindness - or perhaps, pity - to look at him as though you did like how he looked. Kissing his scars, playing with his hair that he doesn't take care of like he should.

Truly an impressive act you put on. Not that he blames you. The alternative is to tell the truth about his hideaousness and be stuck with him being more miserable than usual.

Eden doesn't notice when you approach, some lunch ready for him. When your gentle hand brushes his shoulder he almost jumps, hand grasping his butchering knife tighter until it registers that its just his darling spouse.

"Some roasted chestnuts, Love, we're running low on fruit again."

And there it is, that damned almost angelic smile and look of love in your eyes.

"I'll see what I can find next time I'm out," he grumbles.

He tries to hide the sour mood he's in, kissing your forehead before grabbing a rag and moving to the washing basin he keeps to clean up. With soap this time.

You don't comment on it, instead taking the meat he'd already cut up to cure in salt, jar, or smoke for storage. He didn't even need to ask you. He never does, you just know what needs done and when.

And the chestnuts are great. Everything about you and everything you do is just amazing. Even on your off days when you crawl into his lap and cry, you're just perfect. And he's... Competent, he guesses.

All of his muscles ache by the time he's done with the boar, you fetching the cuts in between filling up pails of water for the bath. He still has to chop some more firewood, though, and he forces himself to do enough to last three days so he can recover. Some of that salve you make will help with the aches and pains. Again, you being perfect.

The hunter is exhausted when he stumbles into the cabin, but not so much so that he doesn't notice that food is already being prepared. You've cut steaks from the back meat of the boar and they're in a pot, the fragrances delicious as they slowly cook. He can even scent the herbs you rub the cuts with.

You wait for him in the bath, shuffling forward so he can join and nestling close when he's situated. Those wonderful hands waste no time in rubbing his skin clean, massaging his scalp and thumbing over the callouses on his hands.

He's so tired, ready to just fall asleep as you pamper him, but it wouldn't be fair. You deserve more. So he returns the favour with heavy eyelids, and joins you as you leave the tub instead of staying in longer as he usually does.

"I'll drain it," he yawns after drying and putting on his evening wear. "You cooked dinner when I was meant to, I'll drain it."

He really should get around to putting in some pipes just to make draining the tub easier instead of having the push it to the porch and tip the damn thing. Eventually he'll get to it.

Dinner is plated when he comes back in, you waiting for him to sit so you can climb in his lap and the two of you can take turns taking bites. Sure, you could just get two plates. But then he'd miss out on this intimacy. And he needs this. He needs to hold you close. You had made some banana bread to eat after.

Your baking and cooking almost made the trips to town worth it for the extra ingredients.

"I've got the dishes."

You take them as he moves to his chair in front of the fire, the hunter sighing deeply as he sinks down into the chair and stares into the flames. He almost lets his eyes rest when something catches his attention, the fire's light reflecting off of it beneath a drawer in the corner of his eye.

Eden makes his way over to it, a piece of metal sticking out from under the drawer. He doesn't remember putting anything beneath there.

He pulls it out and only faces more confusion. It's a gun strap - one he doesn't remember making himself - the metal being clasps to secure it. Along the leather is an intricate embroiderd pattern only half done. Leaves and flowers, painstakingly threaded through the leather. A very tough job.

"Shit! You weren't meant to see that yet!" You call out from the kitchen area, obviously alarmed.

"... you've been making this for me?" Eden clears his throat, self-conscious about how high his voice was. Like a child.

"Yeah, it's been taking forever but I really wanted to do something special as a surprise since we've almost been together for a year now. You came home earlier than I thought you would have, so I must have messed up hiding it in a panic."

He doesn't like how sad you sound that your gift was found this early. His cheeks heat up, he can't look at you. Instead, he focuses on the foliage on the holster.

"They're, ah. They're all the herbs and flowers I put on your favourite meal. Sort of like a good luck charm that you'll get a good deer for it, I guess?"

New warmth blooms in his chest, his thumbs stroking each plant with reverence. When was the last time he had received a gift? He couldn't even remember. Especially not one this thoughtful.

"You don't like it, do you? I'm sorry, it was stupid, I'll-"

His stupid grumpy face making you sad again. As always.

Eden holds it away from you as you come to take it away, instead dipping his head down and kissing you deeply. You melt into his kiss, hands resting on his chest and body pressing against his as his free hand circles your waist.

"I love it," he mutters against your lips, "has it really almost been a year already?"

Your gorgeous laughter returns. "Time flies, huh?"

And yet it also feels like you've never not been here.

"You want me to finish it for you?"

"Please," he almost sounds like he's begging. He doesn't quite mind this time.

Your nose scrunches up in an adorable way. "Yeah your old ones starting to grow mold."

"It's not mold."

You silence him with another sweet kiss. It's really not mold though, just some really bad freying. He'd always taken care of his things until they fell apart.

"I don't know what to get you. I'm not the best at giving gifts," he sighs as he guides you both to the chair, once again settling into a comfortable embrace once you'd fetched your tools.

Your head cocks as you consider your answer, the light from the fire illuminating your face and somehow just highlighting every feature he loves.

"Oh I have everything I need already," you smile as you use wax to place a guide for the thread. "I have a comfy home away from all of the bullshit, a warm bed at night, great fresh food to eat, brilliant sex, and on top of it all the one who I do the brilliant sex with is the hottest piece of ass there is."

Well now he's back to blushing. Though happily, for an entirely different reason.

"And you better not argue about that mister."

"If you insist," he pushes back. He can't help it, really. It sounds so genuine but. How? How can you think that?

"I do insist," you shoot back, tone deadly serious as you look him in the eye.

And for the first time he can remember, he believes you.

#spill your guts #fae friend #eden the hunter #gn reader #cw hunting

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