#Properties of Surface Plate

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[queenshelby]

MINI SERIES: THE SLAVE

PART THREE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction! ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. MINORS DNI.

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL LOSS OF VIRGINITY, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

It had been two days since you were brought to Birmingham from your home country after promises of prosperity and wealth. 

But the cost for this was higher than you ever imagined when you were sold, by your very own father, as property to the highest bidder. 

Now you had arrived at Thomas Shelby's estate, which stood majestically against the backdrop of lush greenery and manicured gardens. The mansion, built centuries ago, seemed to command the landscape around it, much like how its owner commanded people within it.

A maid named Nadia greeted you at the entrance, leading you up the grand staircase that spiraled upwards into a series of breathtaking domed ceilings and magnificent chandeliers. Each room presented an extravagant spectacle of artistry and craftsmanship; it was as if every corner had been meticulously designed to overwhelm even the most jaded observer.

Despite the opulence surrounding you, something felt unsettling about the silence that enveloped the house. As far as you could tell, there was no one else here except the maids and yourself. This was not just a house, but a fortress - an impregnable bastion constructed on foundations of isolation and distance.

"This way," intoned the maid, gesturing down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting scenes of aristocratic splendor. The air smelled stale - it had been many years since anyone had breathed life into this grand edifice.

"I will show you to your room," whispered Nadia, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

As she walked ahead, you noticed her movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if she had done this countless times before.

Her gait betrayed an unnatural rhythm, a pattern formed by habituation rather than choice.

She knew the layout of the house inside out, each twist and turn etched into her memory like grooves on an old vinyl record.

You followed her silently, allowing the grandeur of the mansion to wash over you.

Every now and then, you caught glimpses of your reflection in the polished marble floors, a ghostly image of yourself trapped between reality and illusion. You found yourself feeling strangely calm and collected, despite the circumstances that led you here.

Nadia finally stopped outside a door adorned with intricate carvings and gestured you into a room without windows.

"This is where you will sleep and perform your duties," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. There was something eerie about the maid, an unspoken understanding between her and the master of the house.

Slowly stepping into the dimly lit chamber, you took note of the opulent surroundings: velvet curtains hung from gold-plated rails, plush rugs lay scattered across the polished hardwood floor, and delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers graced every surface.

However, the abundance of luxury did little to ease the unease that settled deep within your gut.

The maid turned abruptly, locking eyes with you. "At night, the room will be locked securely so don't attempt to leave. If you need anything, ring the bell by the bedside table," she told you before fluffing up some of the cushions on the bed. 

"I never..." You trailed off, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray your bravado. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the maid, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would be exploited mercilessly. "I have not done anything like this before. I was told that I had to because a lot of money was paid for my services, but understand please that I have no experience," you then stammered, knowing full well that you had been purchased to perform sexual acts for your benefactor. 

"The fact that you are so innocent, and young is precisely why Mr. Shelby has purchased you," Nadia responded coldly, turning away to adjust a lamp on the nightstand. 

"Now, let me explain to you what is expected of you around here," she continued, softening her tone slightly.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, and your palms slickened with sweat, though you managed to nod affirmatively, meeting her gaze steadily. "Firstly, you must address Mr. Shelby as 'Sir' at all times. Do not forget," she warned sternly.

You swallowed hard, nodding again.

"You will be allowed to leave your room with another maid, between eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, but not otherwise unless Mr. Shelby is with you," Nadia explained, adjusting a silk pillow propped by the headboard.

You tried to picture a day spent in confinement, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine.

"Mr. Shelby will inform you directly when he requires your services. Most often he will come here to use you for his pleasure, and he usually expects to be attended to at least twice per day, occasionally more often. You should prepare yourself mentally and physically for his needs because it can get quite overwhelming sometimes," Nadia explained and your breath hitched, but you managed to control the panic rising within you.

"And if I refuse?" you asked, causing Nadia to pause and look at you. "Refusal is not an option. Mr. Shelby doesn't tolerate disobedience. You must do whatever he asks."

Your hands shook involuntarily, but you clenched them into fists to prevent further trembling. You nodded weakly, fighting back tears.

"What he wants...is it...painful?" What you didn't know, what you couldn't comprehend, was whether the physical pain of intimacy would be more bearable than the emotional agony of submitting to someone else's whims.

"Sometimes, but he's gentle enough," Nadia replied matter-of-factly. "Now, you must get ready for tonight. He will be visiting you at 8 o'clock and expects you to wear nothing but a pair of undergarments of your choice," Nadia said before directing you to your wardrobe. "You will lie on the bed and wait for him, understood?" she asked and, again, you nodded. 

"I will be back after he is done with you to change the sheets and provide food and water," Nadia then finally explained before she left you alone in the darkness, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You heard the key turn in the lock, sealing you in the room. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything she told you.

On the bedside table you found a bottle of lubrication next to a bottle of painkillers, both small comforts in the face of the reality of your situation and, when you looked around the room, you also found other items such as restraints hanging neatly from hooks in the wall. You shivered, feeling your anxiety rise.

Then, just before 8 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. You flinched, jumping to your feet and nearly knocking over the lamp.

"It's time," Nadia called through the door. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. 

You stripped off your clothes, leaving you naked in the dim light of the room. You pulled on a pair of cotton panties, their thin fabric barely covering the shame you felt.

You then laid down beneath the thin sheets and waited for your new master's arrival. The tension mounted as the seconds ticked by, the sound of footsteps echoing loudly in the silent mansion.

There was a creak of the door opening, and an intimidating figure emerged from the shadows. His presence loomed large, filling the space with an aura of dominance and power. He wore only a robe, his toned body visible underneath. You bit your lip nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from those imposing features.

Thomas Shelby, you reminded yourself – a name that would forever haunt your dreams. His cold blue eyes swept over you, assessing your worth.

You stared back, holding his gaze, refusing to cower. 

"Welcome, Love," he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot, but you remained silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. He moved closer, looming over you like a storm cloud, his scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils.

"I trust Nadia has briefed you on your duties?" he queried, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your skin recoiled at his touch, but you refused to pull away. 

"Yes, she did," you mumbled hesitantly, your voice cracking under his scrutiny. He studied you carefully, tracing the lines of your jaw with his fingers.

"Good girl," he crooned softly, a strange sense of pride swelling within you. Your resolve wavered at the compliment, but you steeled yourself, reminding yourself of the reality of your situation as he touched some of your bare skin not covered by the white sheet.

"Relax Love," he then said softly as the heat of his hand seared through your skin, sending quivers up your spine.  "You will get used to this after a while," he went on to say and his voice was comforting, yet the words stung like venom.

Your breath quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and your hands instinctively curled into fists beneath the thin white sheet covering you. You wanted to scream, but instead, you simply nodded, unable to find any words to respond.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes appraising your form beneath the covers. "I am going to have a look at you now, eh" he said suddenly, reaching down to lift the edge of the sheet away from your body.

You squirmed and turned red, trying to cover yourself. But he pushed your hands aside gently, staring at you with a mixture of lust and admiration. "I cannot wait to feel your tight little cunt squeeze around my cock when I claim you," he whispered, running his fingertips along your inner thigh, causing you to shiver uncomfortably.

"But first, let me have a look at this little virgin hole of yours, eh?" the man said and his words sent a wave of unease coursing through your veins. You could feel the sweat trickling down your face, mingling with the tears pooling in your eyes. You bit your lip, struggling to contain the sobs threatening to erupt from inside you.

With a gentle tug, he pulled your panties down just enough to expose your slit and your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully.

"I have been told that your opening is particularly small" he murmured, trailing his fingers over your slit before parting your labia slightly, exposing your tiny clit.

"Ow!" you gasped, wincing at the sudden stretch caused by his fingers.

"You do have a tight opening indeed," he grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Thomas gazed at it with fascination, reaching between your thighs. You tried to close your legs, but he firmly held them open, pressing a dry finger against your entrance, probing it gently. 

"Look at that," he breathed, leaning forward to get a better view. "It's barely opened up yet," Tommy groaned as he probed deeper, widening your opening until he found your hymen—a thin membrane that separated you from being fully broken. His fingers brushed against it, sending stinging pain shooting through your core as he toyed with your opening.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still for me," he cooed, pressing the tips of one of his fingers against your entrance. "I need to stretch you out a bit, ready for later," he went on to say as his finger pressed harder, forcing its way into your most intimate space. It felt too big, too foreign. The pain was excruciating, but you did your best not to make a sound. 

"There we go," he muttered, thrusting deeper until his entire pointer finger filled you up. "That's a good girl. Now, let's see if I can get a second one in there," he told you before reaching for the bottle of lubrication he kept on the nightstand and squirting the viscous liquid onto two of his fingers.

"Hold still for me," he reminded you before swiping his fingers across your outer lips and then pushing not one but two fingers right into you.

You cried out and arched your back, biting into your own fist to stop any louder sounds from escaping.

"Shh," Thomas hushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

His fingers felt cold and slimy inside you, sliding easily past your resistance, tearing at your hymen with each thrust.

You closed your eyes tightly, gritting your teeth as the sensation of being stretched and torn overwhelmed you.

The sight of his fingers stretching you like this turned him on; he couldn't help but groan and squeeze harder, making sure you knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Such a good girl," he praised between grunts, watching your petals pulse around his digits, growing wetter and slicker with every stroke.

"See how hard you make me?" he moaned, opening his robe and grabbing hold of his erection, stroking it firmly. "I really want to fuck you now," he determined before he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"Now be a good girl and turn over and lay flat on your stomach, face down against pillow," he commanded gruffly, pushing your upper body onto the mattress. 

You hesitated, wanting to turn over and hide your nakedness, but fear of displeasing him kept you lying facedown.

"I am going to use some lubrication, but it is going to hurt a lot more if you don't relax Love," he warned sharply, pulling your waist upwards and spreading your legs apart.

As you lay on your stomach and your heart hammered against your chest. The thought of being penetrated by him sent chills down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable.

You whimpered softly, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, and Tommy smeared a generous amount of lube onto his cock, coating it in a thick layer of slippery fluid. You flinched in anticipation as he positioned himself between your legs.

"This might hurt a bit for the first few days, but you will get used to it after a while. The more we do it, the easier it will get," he said while aligning himself with your entry point.

"Now," he continued, his tone stern. "I want you to stay completely still when I penetrate you," he added, applying another dollop of lube to his shaft. 

You remained silent, swallowing loudly as you attempted to gather your courage. You could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears; the rhythmic, thunderous pounding was deafening.

"Do you understand?" he asked quietly and you nodded. Your muscles tensed, ready to endure whatever came next.

Thomas placed the head of his penis at your entrance, teasing you with a slow push. You exhaled loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists.

"Relax and let me in," Thomas urged you, nudging the tip of his member against your entrance. "That's it,"  he sighed, feeling your body yield under his command. His cock slid into you, stretching you wide open, and the friction of entering you caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

"Ah," he groaned, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by your warm, tight channel. "Such a good girl," he groaned as he savored the moment, basking in the sensations that coursed through him. Then, he began to thrust, filling you up inch by agonizing inch until every last millimeter of his erection was buried deep within you.

"So tight," he groaned, bucking into you with a force that seemed to shake the entire bed. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"You are going to be such a good little whore for me, eh?" Tommy murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"You will take my cock many times a day, love," he growled, his words a dark promise that sent a chill down your spine. "In the morning, afternoon, and evening."

You swallowed loudly, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, and you struggled to suppress the sob that threatened to escape.

"Every time I come through that door, you'll be ready for me, won't you?" he asked, his grip tightening around your hip.

"Because I'm going to fuck you whenever I want, Love." Tommy snarled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts. 

For almost an hour, he used you like this, treating you like a rag doll that belonged to him alone until, finally, he was ready to ejaculate inside your raw opening.

"I am going to cum inside you now, Love," he informed you, his cock twitching violently against your vaginal wall.

"Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asked you, his voice laced with lust, his fingers tightening around your hips.

"Yes, sir," you managed to reply, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He smiled down at you, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Good girl," he praised, pumping his cock a few more times before letting out a guttural yell and filling you up with his essence.

As he collapsed next to you, panting heavily, you could feel his warmth radiating into your channel. 

The remnants of his semen trickled down your leg, leaving a sticky trail behind.

"That was a lovely experience, wasn't it?" Tom said, his voice still coarse from exertion. "Now rest. I am going to fuck you again when I come back from my business deal tonight" he added, his gaze lingering on your tender, swollen lips. 

He moved his hands to cup your breasts, palming them gently before pinching your nipples.

"You are going to learn to enjoy it Love," he whispered, his voice harsh and commanding. "And when you do," he paused, his breath hot against your cheek, "you are going to beg me for more," he determined before putting his robe back on and calling one of the maids to help you clean up. 

[meadowtwins]

Tips for broke witches with a budget of 10$/€:

As someone who started with their craft when they were younger, living in a poor household with little to not money for me available, I know how how it is with a budget so low, that being a "true witch" seems impossible.

Well, I just need to remind you all that for practicing witchcraft, you do NOT NEED everything expensive. In fact you only need so little. Sure, the whole witch aesthetic with all the decorations, the cauldrons etc. looks lovely and most of us would really like to achieve that level of perfectionism, but Witchcraft is much more than that. It is a predominately Pagan practice. Nature is one of the biggest, if not the biggest aspect in it. Sometimes you just aren't really knowledgeable about all the options you're available to.

Tip 1: Nature walks:

As mentioned above, Nature is a big aspect. Almost every ingredient and spell componement is seen outside. Take a walk, go into the woods, get off path, you'll find herbs, fruits, flowers, all kinds of decorations. You can find sticks, bind them in any shape and hang them onto your wall. You can cut off (with Natures permission!) Ivy wreaths and hang them up. Pinecones, pineneedles, treebarks, hazelnuts, feathers, wheats all kinds of grass, everything is out there! Take a look on the ground and maybe you'd be lucky to find a few gemstones (yes, they're just out there!) or if animal bones are something for you even that!

Tip 2: Grimoire/Book of Shadows:

Your witchy journal does NOT have to be that expensive leather bound, old journal that the old antique shop sells for 60 dollars because it has a "magical aura". Yes, how can someone pass on that aesthetic, but your book isn't magick by itself. YOU first put the energy into it and make it something magical to you. Without your journaling and time you've spent, it is JUST a book! Therefore a simple notebook that costs like 1.50 max works completely fine! Mine is a notebook if found in my drawer that has a rainbow reflecting surface, trust me, the aesthetic is the thing you should be least concerned about.

Tip 3: Divination Board:

Self-made is always the cheapest option! Again, like your Grimoire, the board isn't the one with with the magical attributes. It's all you! My first divination board was made out of cardboard paper. You have all the options open, it can just be paper or you could even print one out. The material does not devalue the magical properties.

Tip 4: Pendulum:

A pendulum itself is cheaper than you think, look in the right places and you'll see. But if that is too much you can always make one yourself. You have to keep in mind that the item doesn't come with the magic! You're the one making if something magical. Find a pretty stone on the ground (with luck a gemstone!), tie it to a string and wear it as necklace. There you have it!

Tip 5: Cauldron:

A fire bowl, a normal bowl, a plastic bowl etc.! You can use anything. It depends however on what you do with it. Make sure not to use fire irresponsibly if you plan on burning something in it. Keep a window open and don't burn something in a not substitutional material. There's a reason a fire bowl is differencated from a normal bowl.

Tip 6: Gold, Bronze, Silver etc.

This goes for jewelry, tableware, bowls etc. For example in spells/rituals or offerings to a deity. A plate to put your offerings on or to set the spell on. Look into your cupboards! A glass bowl is a popular one to use since it's neutral in it's symbolic and easy to clean. If you'd prefer something golden or any other other material, ask a grandparent or maybe even parent. They usually have some sort of old tableware that is golden or bronze or anything else. If asked (and you're a closet witch!) tell them it's for decoration or putting a candle on it. The same goes for jewerly. Grandparents (or aunts!) usually have old necklaces and earrings they don't need anymore. Or even brooches with imagery you can connect to a deity maybe.

Tip 7: Tarot Cards:

It depends if you believe in the rule that says you cannot buy yourself a tarot deck. I do! Therefore what I did, was make my own one. It took lots of days but in the end I had a full deck! It's lots of work so if you don't want all that from the start, make yourself only the major arcana. Again it can be made out of cardboard, paper etc. The material really doesn't matter. If you're not familiar with the rule, it says your first tarot deck has to be gifted to you, found, or made by yourself. Infact in my case, all three happened to me!

In conclusion, Nature has ALL kinds of componements. You can find so many things all around you if you just look close enough!

But don't forget, cleansing is important! If you take items off the ground out and about, cleanse them off any negative energy before putting them into your household. If anything you need to know I haven't mentioned, just ask.

Happy witching!

[exhausted-archivist]

All Lore from the Dragon Age: Official Cookbook: Taste of Thedas

This is going to be a long post with all the lore from the cookbook collected in one post. This is only going to be counting the lore in the "blurbs" so to speak as the actual recipes themselves, which are not meant to be set in-world.

Additionally, it should be noted that I am unable to say one way or the other if the props used in the photos or the etching art shown on some recipes are to be taken as reflecting the canon the cookbook narrator is in. For the sake of completeness, I have included the less conclusive elements.

Shoving everything below the cut for length as well as to help people avoid spoilers. Think I got everything... There is a lot in this book honestly.

Cookbook Lore

World State

Cassandra is Divine.

The Hero of Ferelden is a Cousland Warden.

The Warden gave Leliana Schmooples.

Hawke is a non-mage, as Varric knows Bethany.

Hawke is diplomatic in personality.

Bull's Chargers, Krem, and Bull are all alive.

Cullen stayed off lyrium.

Celene is empress; Briala and Gaspard are still alive.

Alistair is king.

Varric is viscount.

Uncertain aspects of the world state:

The suggested lore based on the art, props used in photos, and vague wording in blurbs. These are not for certain this is the canon.

Briala is described as a spymaster and lover, implying she was possibly reunited with Celene.

Celene, Briala, and Gaspard are possibly working together in the truce. But the wording is vague it could simply be Celene ruling alone while Briala and Gaspard live.

Cole was encouraged to be more human and is traveling with Maryden Halewell.

Cullen got his mabari.

Josephine was romanced by the Inquisitor.

Morrigan has Keiran.

The Hero of Ferelden romanced King Alistair.

Food Lore

Lentils and onions are common ingredients to find in pantries across Thedas.

Ferelden has reliable access to tomatoes that allows them to use them regularly in their food.

Fereldans are known for their love of soups, stews, pickled eggs, and turnips that it is regularly joked about and seen as a stereotype. Devon regularly comments on the known expectations.

Turnip and Mutton Pie is a classic Fereldan dish served in taverns across the nation.

Nevarra food culture holds that food is suppose to be a feast for the eyes and mouth. Leading to their plating to be dazzling and seen as works of art.

The Jade Ham, is a smoked Anderfels ham with a particular glaze made from wildflowers and turns the ham as hard as jade.

The Anderfels are hostile and often considered inhospitible in certain areas. But despite the harsh environment, pigs farm well there and as a result are much larger than elsewhere in Thedas.

There are custard connoisseurs across Thedas.

Lichen ale is toxic, though most dwarves are able to handle it. However, non-dwarves can only tolerate a few sips of the drink.

Isabela has a drinking game based on how many enemies you have, it has killed at least one person.

The Rivaini tea blend is said to have healing properties such as helping alleviate headaches.

Dwarves underground raise giant spiders like people on the surface raise cattle and goats.

Orzammar has a contest where one is crowned as Orzammar's Best Sauce, the competition is so fierce people get underhanded in their attempts to acquire recipes. This has led to eateries, and in general people of Orzammar, to guard their recipes from others.

Orzammar also farms various mushrooms for eating.

Rice is commonly found in Antiva and Rivain, however it is not a large export for Antiva so it is a rare grain for folks in Ferelden. Due to it not being exported, rice is a cheap food item in Antiva and is very common in the more mundane foods of commoners.

Wyvern, like phoenix, can become deadly poisonous if eaten when they aren't prepared properly.

A jam maker lives in Orzammar, importing individual ingredients so they can make the jam themselves and hopefully sell it cheaper than imported jam.

Fauna

Mentioned through out the cookbook, not necessarily as ingredients themselves but sources for other food items.

Ayesleigh gulabi goat - Rivain

Cattle

Cave Beetles - Underground

Chicken

Crab

Cuttlefish

Dracolisk

Giant

Giant Spider

Goat

Gurgut

Halla

Lamprey

Lurker

Mackerel

Mussel

Nug

Pig

Prawn

Quillback

Sheep

Shrimp

Snail

Turkey

Wyvern

Additional Lore

The golden nug statues do exist in Thedas, Devon mentions seeing one in Haven and hearing rumors of there being more.

Fereldans who worked for the Inquisition would leave Commander Cullen pickled eggs on his desk while he was going through the worst of his lyrium withdrawal symptoms.

Spring time is gurgut mating season, and travelers are advised to keep their distance.

Starkhaven is oval in shape, shaped by rings of tall, grey stone walls, is filled with lavish estates, fountains, and sits on the Minanter River.

Makes reference to the ambient events of where Cole dumped a bushel of turnips onto a fire.

Food: Dishes, Ingredients, and More

Foods/Dishes

These are mentioned, referenced, and/or introduced in the cookbook description of the food, these aren't including the ingredients or foods mentioned in the recipes.

If the item is marked with **, it means there are multiple cultures with the same dish but the cookbook is offering specifically that as the reference point.

Apple Grenade - Antiva

Bark Bread - suggested alternative to black lichen

Biscuit

Biscuit, sweets

Black Lichen Bread - Orzammar

Blancmange - a white pudding dish from Orlais

Blood Orange Salad - Nevarra

Boiled Turnip

Bun

Bun, sweet - a pastry served as dessert

Cabbage Soup - Ferelden

Cacio e Pepe

Cherry Sauce

Cherry Cupcakes - Tevinter

Chocolate Cake

Chocolate Cream

Cinnamon Rolls

Couscous Salad - Rivain

Crab Cakes - Kirkwall

Croissant - Orlais

Crow Feed - Antiva

Custard

Dark Bread

Eggs à la Val Foret - Orlais

Fish Chowder - Antiva

Fish Wraps/Fish Pockets - Seheron

Flat Bread - Nevarra

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding - Ferelden

Forest Fruit Cobbler - Dalish

Found Cake - Ferelden

Fried Crab Legs - a substitute version of fried young giant spiders

Fried Young Giant Spiders - Orzammar

Gnocchi - Antiva

Goat Custard - Rivain **

Grilled Poussin - Chasind

Gurgut Roast with Lowlander Spices and Mushroom Sauce - Avvar

Hearth Cakes - Dalish

Hearty Scones - Ferelden

Honey Carrots - Orlais **

Jade Ham - More suited for a weapon, stated to not be suited for eating.

Lamprey Cake - not made of real lamprey, just a cake modeled after it.

Lentil Soup - City Elf **

Llomerryn Red - Rivain

Mashed Turnip

Merrill's Blood Soup - Dalish

Mushroom Sauce

Nettle Soup - origins unclear

Nug Bacon and Egg Pie - Ferelden

Paella - Antiva

Pastry Pockets - recipe originates with the Grey Wardens, cookbook provides the Orlesian Grey Warden variation **

Peasant Bread - Orlais

Pickled Eggs - Ferelden

Pickled Lamprey - Free Marches

Poached Egg

Poison Stings - Chocolate-coated orange peels from Tevinter

Potato and Leek Soup - Ferelden

Pumpkin Bread - Tevinter

Red Grape Compote

Rice Pudding - Tevinter

Roasted Fig

Roasted Cave Beetles - Orzammar

Roasted Prawns - a substitute prawns for cave beetles

Roasted Turnip

Roll, pastry

Snail and Watercress Salad - Avvar

Sour Cherries in Cream - Orlais

Spiced Jerky - Dalish

Steamed Turnip

Stir-fried Turnip

Strawberry and Rhubarb Cobbler - Ferelden

Stuffed Cabbage - Ferelden

Stuffed Deep Mushrooms - Orzammar

Stuffed Vine Leaves - Tevinter

Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup - Ferelden

Toasted Almonds

Traviso Energy Balls - Antiva

Tzatziki - Tevinter

Turnip and Mutton Pie - Ferelden

Unidentified Meat - a common tavern food in Tevinter

Yogurt Dip - Nevarra

Drinks

Chasind Sack Mead

Chasind Wildwine

The Emerald Valley

The Golden Nug

The Hissing Drake

Hot Chocolate

Lichen Ale

Pomegranate Juice

Rivaini Tea Blend

West Hill Brandy

White Seleney wine

Ingredients

These are only listed in the lore entries and not the actual recipes themselves as whether or not they are canon is questionable as the recipes recommend store bought items as well as ingredients that have unique Thedosian counterpart names.

Almond

Antivan Pasta

Apple

Apricot

Bacon

Bacon, Nug

Bark

Barley

Beef

Beetroot

Bell Pepper, red

Bitter Greens - this is a class of salad greens known for their bitter flavor.

Black Lichen - Underground

Blood Orange - Nevarra

Butter

Butter, Halla

Cabbage

Cave Beetles

Celery

Cinammon

Cheese

Cherry

Cherry, black

Cherry, sweet

Chicken

Chickpea - Rivain

Chocolate

Cocoa Powder

Corn, yellow

Corn, checkered

Couscous - Rivain

Crab

Cranberry

Currant

Deep Mushroom, various varieties

Dracolisk - The narrator suggests it being a potential meat in a recipe in Tevinter.

Dried Fruit

Eggs

Fig

Flour, semolina - Rivain

Giant - Suggested that Tevinter might serve giant

Giant Spiders - Underground

Goat

Grape, red

Grape Leaves/Vine Leaves

Grease

Guimauves - Orlesian

Gurgut - Avvar

Heavy Cream

Honey

Jasmine

Mackerel

Mango

Mint

Mussel

Mutton

Lamb

Lamprey

Leek

Lemon

Lemon Juice

Lemon Verbena

Lentil

Lichen

Licorice Root

Lurker - Avvar

Oat

Oil

Onion

Oregano

Pastry Dough

Peanut

Peanut Butter

Peppers, Hot

Peppermint

Plum

Pork

Potato

Prawn - said to have the same texture and flavor as cave beetles.

Puff Pastry - Orlais

Pumpkin

Quillback

Raisin

Raspberry

Rhubarb

Rice - Antiva and Rivain

Salt

Semolina Flour - Rivain

Shrimp

Snail - Avvar

Spinach

Strawberry

Sugar

Tomato

Turkey

Turnip

Watercress - Avvar

Wheat

Whipped Cream

White Chocolate

Wildflowers

Wyvern - Avvar, Orlais

Charts and Stats

Because I love a good visual rep of data, I collected some stats of the types of food, how many recipes are from where, and the amount of time a character was mentioned.

Types of Food

I did percentages for the course of food as well as the portion of options that are vegetarian, vegan, dairy-free, meat based, and alcoholic.

Food Types Stats

These charts show the ingredient percentage in the actual recipes and not the lore blurbs themselves. This is out of 72 recipes with the amount they were used in (-) after their percentage.

Left Hand Chart

Alcohol: 14.6% (27)

Dairy-free: 15.7% (29)

Egg-free: 25.4% (47)

Meat based: 16.2% (30)

Nuts: 3.1% (6)

Shellfish: 2.6% (5)

Vegan: 4.2% (8)

Vegetarian: 20.4% (39)

Top Right Chart

Alcohol: 37.5% (27)

Alcohol-free: 62.5% (45)

Bottom Right Chart

Beef: 11.4% (4)

Chicken: 17.1% (6)

Fish: 17.1% (6)

Lamb: 5.7% (2)

Pork: 28.6% (10)

Shellfish: 14.3% (5)

Turkey: 5.7% (2)

Percentage of Recipe Origins

Anderfels: 1.4%

Antiva: 11%

Avvar: 6.8%

Chasind: 2.7%

City Elves: 2.7%

Dalish: 6.8%

Ferelden: 15.1%

Free Marches: 5.5% Kirkwall: 2.7% Starkhaven: 2.7%

Grey Wardens: 1.4%

Nevarra: 2.7%

Orlais: 13.7%

Orzammar: 9.6%

Rivain: 4.1%

Seheron: 1.4%

Tevinter: 9.6%

Character Mentions

I organized the chart by game and the characters in alphabetical order.

DAO Alistair: 2 Dog: 2 Hero of Ferelden (Cousland): 6 Leliana: 1 Loghain: 1 Morrigan: 1 Sten: 1 Zevran Arainai: 2

DA2 Anders: 2 Bethany: 1 Fenris: 3 Hawke: 1 Isabela: 1 Merrill: 2 Sebastian Vael: 1 Varric: 3

DAI Briala: 1 Bull's Chargers: 2 Cassandra: 2 Celene Valmont: 1 Cole: 2 Cullen: 3 Dorian: 2 Friends of Red Jenny: 1 Gaspard: 1 Josephine: 3 Krem: 2 Sera: 1 Solas: 4 The Iron Bull: 4 Vivienne: 2

Food Courses

I thought it would be interesting to see how the recipe groups totaled out in how much of the book they made.

Drinks: 12.5%

Baked Goods: 13.9%

Sweets: 11.1%

Sides: 5.6%

Starters and Refreshments: 12.5%

Travel Food: 13.9%

Soup and Stew: 11.1%

Main Course: 19.4%

Wanna support this blog? You can check out my ko-fi.

[kangen-wanshi]

Marks and Claims ft. Noctis: Indomitus

Once again, you fell victim to one of Noctis' odd yet rather.. Affectinate quirks. Not that you're complaining, although, the embarassement that comes with it..

Tags: fluff, there's some kissing but nothing explicit, no gendered pronouns used, reader is mentioned to be shorter than Noctis

The thing about being a human Commandant is that you can't survive walking on the Earth's surface without proper equipment.

Other than the regular food sustenance people would commonly consume, you need to use serum and sometimes other medication to keep you physical body at maximum capability while you're down on earth.

Sometimes you can also just simply use a support device over yourself. Mask, armor, and on rare occasion skeletons over your suit.

So it's only natural that you're in mild distress when you couldn't find one of your mechanical masks that you used when you're out on missions. The face plate is nowhere in sight when you venture into the depths of your room—you asked Liv and Lucia who's willing to look for it for you, and Lee who also does similarly with a side of scolding from him.

You’ve looked through Gray Raven’s Common Room, Strike Hawks’, the training ground, you even went as far as checking Hassen’s office! Alas, the metallic plate that is your mask is nowhere to be seen.

You’ve grown slightly desperate that you were thinking of just waltzing over to where Asimov is and asking for a new one.. But you know the young scientist prodigy would grumble and mumble at you even more so than Lee ever has. So you decided to re-check to the final place you can think of–your private office.

Re-entering your office again, you expected not much. You’ve been through the place from top to bottom after all, what's the chance nothing’s changed?

Everything’s the same, except, there seems to be an additional presence there when you return.

“Noctis?” You raised an eyebrow as you looked at his back. He’s leaning on your desk, ears perked up at your call, but he didn’t budge to turn and look at you with his golden irises. That’s new. You thought. Despite his large frame, Noctis always, always turns to look at you whenever you call out to him. Like a large puppy recognising its master’s voice.

Then you heard a light clicking noise. Like something scratching against a metallic surface, the light screech is muffled by his body. What is he doing? You closed the door behind you as you circled around your workdesk to his side, trying to solve the mystery behind the mysterious sound.

“Hey, what’re you–” your eyes widened as you saw the item in his hand, the very specific metallic faceplate that you had been looking at. And on his other hand–an EDV knife with its tip being carefully ran through a corner of the mask.

“Hey! Noctis–!” Finally noticing your agitation, he immediately pulled up the mask and the knife away from your reach, all while still carving over the metal surface. “What do you think you’re doing–I’ve been looking for that everywhere! Hey!–”

“Shhh, gimme a minute,” he mumbled with a grin, eyes focused on his task while he so expertly kept you away from the items in his grasp, “Just–gimme a moment partner.”

“A moment for what?! What are you even doing to my mask? I need it–come on!”

“I said just a moment!”

It didn't take you long to give up on retrieving your property. Only frowning and folding your arms in front of your chest as you glared up to the pink head. All while he’s snickering to himself in victory.

“What are you even doing, seriously?” you scoffed at him, still trying to see what exactly it is that he’s doing, “You do know I need that to breathe, right?”

“Yes. You know what else I know?” He finally turned to look at you, his grin prominent, and the glimmer of mischief was finally clear to you as he handed you back the metal plate, “I know that you wore this everywhere you go when you’re on a mission.”

You snatched the mask from his hand–turning it within your own palm as your thumb finally grazed over the roughed up corner, eyes widening at the mark he had left.

“.. You’re kidding me?”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“To get a claim over you.”

“To.. What–?”

“To. Claim. Over. You.” He emphasizes his words as he repeats it, leaning down to your height to bask in your confusion, and more importantly–flustered cheeks to his admittance. “I gotta remind some of your other uh, friends that you already belonged to me, yeah? Now I was thinkin’ of getting you an accessory or something but I feel like it’s gonna break your immersion and impression as this badass Gray Raven Commandant, so I pick an amazing alternative, which—”

“You carved your initials on my breather,” you stated at him with the strictest voice you can muster.

“--Yep.” He seems proud of himself, flashing you his infamous charming grin that crickled the corner of his eyes just enough to show how much he seems to be satisfied with his action.

“Is the heart really necessary?” You looked up to him with a raised eyebrow, pulling up the mask to his vision as you showed him again his ‘claim’ over ‘you’, “Pretty sure this ‘N’ is more than enough.”

“Yes, the heart is necessary,” he nodded firmly, arms folded in front of his chest as he shifted comedically to a more serious personality, “Just to state a point, you know.”

“Well, I..” you glance back down on the mask. It would be impossible to ask Asimov or the supply department for a new one now–this was custom made for you, after all. Swallowing your pride and embarrassment, you held the mask in your hand as you began to turn away from Noctis, ready to leave your office to return to the hangar for your descent to earth for the mission.

“Ay–now hold on a second,” he breaks your walk by tugging you back towards him. Being taller and a construct gave him the advantage of strength as he pulled you back within his vicinity, turning you to face him.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes away at him. Your irritation doesn’t necessarily come from his antique this time–after all without his little quirk  you’d be even more concerned about the state of his M.I.N.D–but mostly from the fact that you’re tired that you had been looking everywhere for your mask, and now are feigned with exhaustion right before you’re supposed to head off on a mission.

“What is it, Noctis–”

Before you could finish, he pulled the mask from your hand, tilting your head up to face him right by your chin, before he clicked it securely over the lower half of your face, his fingers diligently and effectively clicking the safety on as he glanced down on you with his own softer smile.

“There,” he let out a small fit of chuckle, tracing his thumb over the roughened up mark he had carved on the corner of your mask, before leaning down enough to kiss the mask right over where your lips are supposed to be. His warm artificial lips pressed against the cold surface of the metallic mask as he kept it pressed there for a moment longer–as if trying to reach your lips, yet not quiet.

Pulling away, he still had your face cradled in his hands as he grinned down at you, seemingly yet even more proud at himself as he saw how your eyes widened slightly from his little stunt.

“Now you’re ready for your little misadventure,” he snickered, moving forward again to leave another kiss over your skin directly this time right over your eyelids as you close them by instinct when he inched closer to press his warm lips over your flustered skin.

“Good luck! I’ll be waiting at the usual place, partner,” he patted your shoulder and ruffle your hair before promptly leaving the scene, forcing you to wander in a daze for a few seconds before you snapped yourself back–shaking off the growing flush on your skin as you picked up the rest of your equipment and make haste to the hangar where the rest of Gray Raven had waited for you.

“Commandant!” Liv was the first to notice you as you entered the vast area, walking over to the aircraft as the silver-haired girl met you halfway, pulling up what seems to be a breather mask to your attention with a smile on her face.

“I managed to borrow this from Wanshi, since you said you couldn’t find your–ah?” She paused briefly, noticing the return of your mask that had already clicked over your face with a small, almost nervous smile as her hand lowered the one in her hand.

You gave a questioning look, suspicious of her silence, although you assumed it was to be expected with the obvious, new scratches that have branded your mask.

“What happened to your breather, Commandant?!” Lee seems more vocal about his distress over the display. Brows furrowed and his ever-so-present scowl only deepened when he read the obvious ‘N’.

“Tch, that Cerberus rascal.. Did he withhold your breather?” Lee asked with the usual aggression spitting his vocal cord.

“It’s fine, Lee. The breather itself isn’t damaged. If it ever cause any disruption I’ll just request a new one–it’s about time I have another spare after all,” you try to disarm his agitation by thanking Liv for the breather she had gotten you as you tucked it on the belt around your waist. “Is Lucia present already? If so then let’s go–ah?”

Just as you asked for the ravenette, she appeared next to you, expression as stiff as ever while she kindly offered you a handkerchief which you confusingly took.

“Thank you, Lucia..?” You paused, looking back up to her from the handkerchief in your hand, “But what’s this for?”

“There’s a stain, Commandant,” she informed you blankly, pointing at her own lips, motioning for you to mimic her movement to check over your own lips.

Mirroring her movement, you wiped the mask with the handkerchief, looking down on the small piece of cloth as you see it’s pristine white color had been stained with light smudge.

Was it..

A kiss mark..?

You’re going to have to pay a visit to Cerberus’ common room when you return..

[redd956]

Worldbuilding Food: More than meets the eye

So, you want to world build food but maybe you don't know where to start, have hit a roadblock, or are just looking for some interesting places to addon to. I've got your back.

Vegetables, Fruits, Grain, Nuts, & Fungi

One of the first things I think of when it comes to food is fruits and vegetables, and the line between them is surprisingly small.

Like tomatoes are vegetables? Pumpkins are fruits but other gourds are not? When does a herb become a vegetable? Although important to classify, don't let it be your main focus.

Start with

How the produce grows

What it looks like throughout different stages of its life

What parts are edible

How most people consume the produce

How the product is harvested

Is it seasonal

What about the produce that makes its growable environment habitable

How it spreads/reproduces

There's many different unique ways fruits and vegetables grow in just our real world, but that doesn't mean you can stop there.

Cranberries grow on vines that actually float on the surface of soggy ground and water in wetlands. Cashews actually grow on the bottom of cashew apple, which is it's own edible product. There's lots of different ways plants can grow, and what they even need to do so.

Some produce even have their own defense mechanisms (which often which becomes a form of flavor to us). Don't think these defense mechanisms stop at protection from predators. Strawberries are an aggressive plant, fighting, killing, and taking over any nearby plant neighbors. Some plants have thistles and thorns, and others are the hard shell or peel we end up effortlessly cutting through.

Try to think of some environmental things in the world your working with that the produce would have adapted to.

I think my favor example of this IRL is sunflowers. They change directions to face the sun, and when they can't find the sun they face each other. Eventually their seeds weigh them down, and which they'll always face east.

Don't forget fungi is edible too, and has it's very own unique properties.

(Don't forget yeast -> bread, you can make up whatever food you want)

Meats & Agricultural Animals

I myself am not a meat-eater, but I understand the importance of animal products to a society. If you world doesn't have it, don't fret. This sector won't just be about meat products, but it will contain a lot of it.

Food and what animals are considered for consumption changes from culture to culture. The same can be said for treatment leading up to their role in society as the food on people's plates. Often times a culture cannot imagining eating an animal they see as part of the family, such as dogs or cats IRL, but other times it's seen part of a religious practice such as cows.

There's a lot of cultural stuff that goes into our agricultural animals, both for work, dairy, textiles, and food.

Here's some ideas to start with

What parts of them are edible and used for food

Do they produce any dairy or egg products

How old do they have to be before becoming a produce animal

Are the animals used for other resources too i.e. bones, fur, skins, skulls, blood, etc.

How much food does one animal make

Typically how are they are killed, if they are

What conditions are these animals kept in and are they viewed humane

What environments allow these animals to thrive alongside the people of your world

What does the animal eat

Now... Let's into some culture and religion

Religion and culture has a major impact on what we eat. Take for instance Kosher, Halal, and more. Historical shortages in food even to this day affect what foods we eat. Culture also affects our tastes. The corn line of the United States is drowning in corn, and yet corn is seen as a sweet treat over seas in many nations.

Harvesting

How the harvesting goes changes a lot about a society, big and small. Think about how terrible a year would go in medieval times if harvest came up incredibly poor, or how wealthy our modern day world would look to those people due to mass production.

Here's some things to think about

What time of year are the biggest and most important harvest(s)

How common are agricultural workers

What would the average person see if they watched people work

What technology/tools are used

What happens if the harvest goes wrong

Do farmers/harvesters get special rights for their role in society

In older societies harvesting and how that went completely shaped how the next year would look. In some cultures the harvesters have been revered, while in other if crossed to far would be expected to tear the country to pieces. Think about the role harvesting plays in your society. What would happen if they striked? Or if a disaster swept the land?

The environment itself will change a lot about what harvesting look likes. Why does this environment work? What are the environmental risk to both the crop and workers?

Are we farming in the water, in the middle of the arctic, underground, high up in the trees?

Exotic Food & Immigration

While establish what the everyday food in the area is, don't forget to pay mine to the opposites. Immigration and trade play a major role in what foods end up on our plate. As cultures combine and mingle so do their food.

Take one look at the United States, infamous for it's large potions, fatty foods, and immigrant culture cuisine. A lot of foods in the United States are the results of cultures meeting to improve and add onto one another's foods, that includes American styles of pizza, tacos, and more.

Even major cities around the world have styles of foods unique to them.

Let's think

What locally seen foods count as exotic

What foods are nearly impossible to get

Is there access to foreign brands/produce

How expensive is most exotic foods

What styles of cooking are being brought in by foreigners

How do people get exotic foods

What foods would the locals not be able to eat due to not being used to it

Try to think about what makes this food exotic in the local area. Maybe it cannot grow in the local environment. Maybe the quality of the food is simply better overseas. Maybe the animal or plant is far too aggressively invasive for locals.

Trade & Transport

Food is both a very important export and import, especially in time of devastation.

Don't forget about exports too, what is your society giving out to the world, and getting back. Not all trade has to be capital based. Perhaps your world simply trades on good or service for another.

Here's some things to think about

What's being exported and imported

Are whole animals imported/exported

How is the trade being done i.e. trains, boats, aircraft, teleportation, etc.

Are there any obstacles to trade

What places are all involved in trading

How is the trade brought to where it needs to be inland

In what ways do these trades improve the lives of locals

Transportation is also super important to where food ends up, and more so in what volumes. How do people get all these produce or animals relocated? What kinds of storage are we seeing to keep things fresh (if health standards are even up to code in your worldbuilding)?

What poses a threat to things in storage? i.e. mold, foxes, animal thieves, disease, etc.

Restrictions

With supply and demand, comes outages, taxes, and restrictions. Unfortunately not everything in the food world goes right. There's natural disasters to come and destroy crops, hostile settlements to block trade, and especially that person who is really bad at cooking but they love doing it so you don't have the heart to say no....

Anyway let's talk restrictions and where they can come from

Wartime

Wartime can cause a lot of original farmers and workers to become soldiers. It also can lead to the large scale destruction of precious farm land, crops, animals, and overall places to cook.

Laws

Perhaps there's a particularly poisonous food, and way too many suspiciously poisoned people. That's when law comes in. There's many reasons for food and drink to become outlawed. Religious reasons, danger, regulations, inebriation, etc.

Siege/Embargo/Thievery

Knock knock! It's the United States here to embargo your random country. Outside factions can always become an obstacle, leading to loss of traveling cargo or straight up missing farmers too. Nothing comes in, and sometimes nothing comes out.

Endangered

Perhaps a common plant or favored animal is running low on populous. Now locals are more so focused on reanimating a dwindling population, more so on eating it.

Sickness

Whether it be hoards of invasive bugs, prion disease caused by cannibalistic animal feed, or sudden inexplicable field of dead corn sickness happens. Maybe something has swept over the land, and no one ever bothered to try to plant said crop again.

Natural Disasters

Natural disasters can not only cause the elimination of entire villages, but accidentally bring in lots of invasive creatures too. Catfish is off the menu for as long as carp is intown.

Straight Up Difficulty

Sometimes a fruit appears once a year, or a tasty creature is a dangerous one to take on in order to eat. It can be difficult getting the right ingredient sometimes. Other times it's new to the market. So much can happen when food is involved.

Preparation & Flavor

Finally all the food in the world is available, but what are we going to do with it.

Make it even better!

I personally find preparation to be the best part of worldbuilding. Now I get to imagine my fictional little people stewing their pots, and kindling their fires. Reflect off of real world recipes, and maybe even write down exact fantasy recipes of your own.

Don't forget about herbs and spices (I see you British people).

You have five basic taste receptors in your mouth: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and savory. They make great descriptors and fun places to explore when looking into what your foods taste like. Smell can play an important role too.

Does it smell awful and taste great, smell sweet and taste bitter, perhaps it doesn't have anything at all going on.

Happy worldbuilding!

[deebris]

Guilty

Satoru Gojo x wife reader

Synopsis: Your husband never put a drop of alcohol in his mouth, and that was one of the things that made you give him a chance in the past due to family traumas that you carried because of it. But after years of relationship, one day he just surprises you by coming home late at night and out of his mind.

Warnings: anxiety; guilt issues; trauma with alcohol; harassment; some swearing; violence; anguish; Gojo's behavior is disgusting; Nanami is a friend.

Word count: 4.2k

I have to say that I really like angsty scenarios with couples. Don't judge me.

The clock on the living room shelf showed that it was already midnight. You stared at the slowly moving hands of the clock for a few seconds, and this only fueled your anguish. You asked yourself where the hell your husband was, so you pulled the thin blanket you brought to wrap yourself even tighter while you waited for him on the couch.

The plate with dinner food that you kept for him on the table was already cold and the feeling of loneliness made you uncomfortable. It had been a little over an hour since you had sent some messages to Satoru's cell phone, but they were not even received. Intrusive thoughts began to surface, contemplating the scenarios that could have happened to him, and they were all the result of the intense worry you felt.

He never stayed out this late without warning, and as you got up to look out the front window in hopes of seeing him arriving, your cell phone screen lit up and the typical sound of notifications vibrated on the table next to the armchair.

"Good night. Sorry for the inconvenience. We sent Gojo home in a taxi, he was in no condition to return on his own. Please let me know when he arrives so we know everything is okay."

- Kento

The message was a little confusing for you. Nanami spoke in the plural in a part of the message and did not clarify what exactly had happened. It was as if he assumed you knew something beforehand, but obviously you were lost trying to understand between the lines.

Besides, you would never expect to receive a text from him at this time of night, even after years of being friends. You wanted to extend that chat and clear up all your doubts, but you remembered that Satoru was coming home and could do that, so you just thanked him politely.

As you made a mental reminder to text Nanami when Satoru was home, coincidentally, a car's headlights illuminated the windows of your house. Most of the lights in the rooms were off, as you didn’t want to attract the attention of the neighborhood so late with the lights on.

"He's home. Thanks again, dear."

You informed him as requested and left the device back in its previous place to wait for the man near the front door. You heard the car tires go away and someone take heavy steps on the wooden planks of the porch.

Totally against the Gojo clan, you and your husband have moved to a mid-sized property in one of the regions of Tokyo. Honestly, you don't know if you could bear spending your days next to the old men and the numerous servants controlling your routine.

The door opens and you notice him struggling to find the light switch in the room, so you walk over and turn on the light. When he finally managed to see what was around him, Satoru opened his eyes that were half closed a little and looked at you.

"Hey, my beautiful wife." His voice was heavy, as if he needed a lot of effort to speak properly. He looked tired, and didn't have his usual playful demeanor. You were irritated and noticed that he hadn't closed the door yet, so you had to move a little closer to where he was to reach the door and lock it, but Gojo took advantage to put his face in your neck.

It was at that moment that you smelled the alcohol coming from his mouth. And it wasn't just any smell, it was very intense. Disgusted by the drink you immediately pulled away.

Gojo didn't drink, and after finding out years ago why you hated it so much, he promised he would never touch a single drop of alcohol. He could never do that to you. So why did he smell so bad now? You didn't want to believe that your sweet, handsome husband had come home drunk. Immediately the dark memories of your childhood and adolescence emerged and you froze in place.

"Satoru, what is this?" You asked alteredly, no longer knowing if you felt anger, fear or worry. Or maybe you should feel a mix of everything.

"What do you mean?" He was beside himself, he didn't even seem to know where each room was. Did he even know he was home?

"You drank?!" It wasn't necessary to ask, but you still did. You decided to do something else to not stress yourself out even more and walked away from him. You were warming up the plate on the table, as you normally would on days when he gets home a little late because of work. Then a light bulb went off in your head. Did you spend hours worrying while he was partying, drinking and having fun  until late at night? He didn't even warn you or give any kind of satisfaction, and you just didn't feel worse because you knew Nanami was with him.

"Where were you?!" you turned around, this time making your angry tone clear so he could notice your mood.

"In a bar." His response was direct and smooth. You would never dream that he would come home like this, and even more so that he would admit what he did so easily. Had he forgotten his promise or did he simply not care anymore?

"Why?" Your question seemed to have made Satoru reflect for a while, or maybe he just couldn't think straight when he was so drunk. He wasn't completely conscious, but he could understand some parts of things.

Why had he been drinking? He had already heard from many people that alcohol helped them forget their problems, that distorted senses would make people happier. Gojo just wanted to get rid of the Jujutsu world for a bit, he just wanted to pretend for a moment that he was an ordinary citizen, one of those people who never dreamed of what a curse was. But he wasn't able to formulate that answer for you right now.

"Ah, come on, my love. There's no need to worry so much." he tried to distract you, or perhaps distract himself from the regret. He didn't know exactly how he felt, because the anguish he had in his chest before stepping into that bar was still there, but accompanied by drunkenness. "It was just a few shots." he said as he left the living room and walked over to you in the integrated dining room. He analyzed your silhouette with blurred vision and his heartbeat quickened a little more, he just didn't understand why exactly. He still had the desire to forget something; he wanted to forget everything and the drink didn't help him at all. The only thing it managed to do was confuse him.

Gojo wanted to numb his mind, and he was trying to do that through his body. Forcing himself to feel different things through lust.

You were his safe haven, but why didn't he look for you this time like he normally did? He didn't want to throw the burden of his sorcerer life onto his wife, he tried to follow an alternative path, but it didn't work. He needed you, needed to deceive himself in your embrace. He wanted to imagine that his world revolved only around you and that there was no one else on the Earth. He needed your touch as a last resort to expel the mental torture in his mind caused by his work.

He tried to get close to your neck again and you rejected him like before. He was confused, why were you acting like that? You never refused his touch, why this reaction now?

"You should take a shower. Seriously, Toru." You called him by his nickname, trying to convince him to jump into the freezing water. Was he dirty? He wondered. Was that why? Satoru knew well your requirement to keep the house clean and street clothes away from the furniture, as well as the shoes that should remain at the entrance. But that was the least of his worries now. He just wanted you, he needed to have you.

"I just need a hug from you." He insisted again and wrapped his arms around your form. He wanted to beg you, if necessary he would kneel, but luckily for him, this time you didn't move away. Still drunk and with his head spinning, he put his nose in your hair and sucked in air. That wonderful smell of the new shampoo you bought brought comfort, making him travel through sweet memories when he realized it smelled like honey.

But after a while, he seemed to want something different. His touch no longer seemed innocent and Satoru began trailing kisses from your temple to your shoulders. He moved his arms from your back and began sliding them around your waist, feeling the curves of your ribs and hips.

"Stop, Satoru." You groaned at the disgusting smell coming from him. He was going to make you smelly and rub his saliva all over your body. You hated that smell, and he knew it. He knew that.

"Why are you being so mean?" He whimpered, and you weren't offended by his accusation, understanding he was stunned. And when you felt like that was enough, trying to free yourself from his grip, he's hands around you became firmer, trying to keep you closer to him.

"I told you to go take a shower, Satoru. Stop." He completely ignored you and started trying to lower the straps of your nightgown while he continuing to kiss the area of ​​your neck and shoulders. The nightgown was light and would slide out easily, so you had to fight against his hands to stop him, but his grip was too strong. While you resisted his movements on the top of your clothing, one of his hands tried to lift the bottom up and expose your panties. Your body shivered with fear at the feel of his member, as your husband forced his hips into yours.

He couldn't think straight, wanting only to satisfy the intense desire to have you "Stop it!" it was too much for you. Bad memories were already flooding your mind since you found out he had been drinking, and now your husband was behaving like a maniac. "I told you to stop it, Gojo!" You screamed as you reached your limit, and unable to bear the touch any longer, you abruptly pulled away from him, ripping one of the straps of your clothes in the process as he wouldn't let go at all. You picked up the plate of cold food from the table and threw it at his head in a desperate attempt to stop him.

The object hit Satoru's head intact and only broke as soon as it fell to the ground, shattering into shards and scattering pieces of rice and vegetables everywhere. You hadn't even noticed the tears running down your face before, your legs were wobbly from nervousness and you didn't pay much attention to Gojo curled up on the floor trying to contain the pain of the blow. You desperately ran to get your cell phone and stared at Nanami's profile in the list of recent conversations, deciding to call him in fear that Satoru would try something again.

Climbing the stairs in terror, you locked the door to your shared room, waiting hopefully for him to answer. It was only after 5 beeps that you heard Kento's voice.

"Hello?" He called your name and tensed as he heard some of your sobs over the line. You didn't say anything for a while, embarrassed and thinking about what you would say. "Everything is fine?"

You shook your head no, but then remembered that he couldn't see you. "N-no." Your voice cracked and you tried to wipe away the tears to compose yourself. You didn't want to admit that you were scared of your husband, but you also didn't want to face him alone right now.

Patiently your friend waited while you remained silent. He was worried, but he couldn't help unless you spoke. Meanwhile, your intrusive thoughts had returned. The anxiety inside your chest began to work intensely, and you couldn't stop asking: wasn't your attitude exaggerated? Weren't you making a storm in a teacup? Was it really necessary to have called Nanami?

"Do you want me to go there?" After a long time he spoke again waking you up. He felt that something was very wrong.

"Please." You cried out, he felt it in your tone. So without wasting any more time, he ended the call to come to you.

After minutes of driving, he arrived at the residence and knocked on the front door. After a long time, he realized that no one would come to answer, so he tested the handle and the door was open. He noticed the tense atmosphere and as he entered the house a little further and then he saw his white-haired friend sitting on the floor.

Gojo looked distressed, his hands angrily gripping clumps of hair as his back rested against the counter doors. Observing a little more, he noticed the dirty floor with shards of broken glass scattered around. The pieces reached distant places, indicating that the fall had a great impact.

"Were you the one who did this?" He asked bluntly, wishing in his heart that the two of you were okay, that everything was just an accident. It wasn't necessary to be very smart to notice that you had been arguing.

Gojo directed a pointed look at the blonde next to him, looking much more sober than the last time they had seen each other. "No." Gojo stated and then thought some more about what had happened. He replayed in his head you throwing the plate to defend yourself, from him. "Yes..."

"Where is she?" Gojo didn't like his friend's tone. It made him feel a thousand times worse, like a monster. Had you called him here? Were you really that scared of him? "I believe upstairs." He responded bitterly, the words clumping in his throat. Gojo didn't even have the courage to look for you to apologize, still not believing in his own behavior. The slam of the plate seemed to have broken some kind of spell, and he was more rational now.

Nanami ignored her friend and went upstairs and called out to you in the hallway. He didn't get a response, but decided to head to the most obvious option, your room. He knew a good part of your house, having been insistently invited by Gojo many times in the past. Hearing a muffled cries, he knocked on the wood.

"It's me. Kento." he heard your hurried footsteps and a key turning in the door, then you appeared. He noticed your disheveled state. You were a mess, with red eyes and trembling lips. He didn't want to pay any more attention to you than necessary, briefly noticing your nightdress being a little too intimate. He ignored that part and focused on your face, genuinely concerned.

"Thank you for coming." You hugged him and he didn't quite know how to return the gesture, but you didn't mind, because you knew it was just his way. You left the door open and invited him in for a bit.

As you went to sit on the bed again, Nanami saw a wool coat resting on a chair and gently picked up the piece. He walked over to your bed and positioned himself in front of you. He bent down to the same height as you and respectfully slid the slightly too big coat off your shoulders. He allowed you to grab the piece to cover the larger neckline created by the dropped strap, adjusting it in the best possible way. Then you noticed that the fabric wasn't big enough to cover your thighs and with one hand you stretched the hem of the nightgown to hide as much of that area as possible, feeling stupid when you finally became aware of how indecent you were.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice." You whispered embarrassed.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He ignored your apology, bringing the focus of the conversation to what really matters. You thought for a while, still not knowing how to handle the question.

"Did you see him down there?" You were suddenly curious to know how your husband had reacted after you left. Nanami nodded after your question. "And how was he?"

"Shaken up." His response made you think. You had done this to him, maybe it was just your imagination. Satoru was a caring husband, he was just trying to be affectionate with you, wasn't he? Some thicker tears began to leak from your eyes again and you immediately wiped them away with your hands.

"I-I don't really know-" you started to speak to answer the question he had asked, but stopped yourself, pondering whether you should really tell him "I don't really know what happened. I could have imagined things, I haven't certainty."

To say Nanami was confused was an understatement. Imagined things?

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I understand that this is your private life." His words were captivating. You really felt like telling him, but the inner fear that you were accusing your husband of something he might not have done, that you might have just misinterpreted, gnawed at your mind.

"He arrived drunk. I don't know why he arrived like that, he never drinks. You know that." You stared at the open door next to you, remembering that Satoru was still around at home. Understanding what was bothering you, the man asked if he could close the door and you consented.

"What else?" He encouraged you to continue.

"I hate alcohol, Kento. He knows that." You threw a strand of hair that insisted on falling behind your ear on your face and tried to steady your voice to continue "So he got a little clingy... then he came at me a-and Satoru started to touch me, then I asked him to stop, but he didn't seemed to be himself-"

Nanami tensed at your words. Had the broken man below really dared to do this? He would never be able to imagine his longtime friend acting like that, so it took him a while to digest what you said. But when he remembered the state of your nightgown, some things started to turn in his head. Suddenly the Nanami's aura became dark and you opened your eyes wide, fearing that you had said something really stupid.

"I know Satoru isn't that kind of man, Kento..." you desperately tried to explain yourself "Like I said, I may have imagined things."

"I believe in you." he tried to stop your rapid thoughts and stared at you in silence, still trying to process what Gojo had done. You were obviously distraught and creating scenarios in your head to mitigate the facts. He finally understood why you were so scared, why you had locked yourself in the room, and that reaction from Gojo... it would be hard not to believe what you said after realizing all that.

"Did he hurt you?" The question made you blink your eyes frantically, truthfully denying such a question.

"No! He would never do that!" You said with a hint of hesitation, wondering what would have happened if you hadn't been able to hit Satoru moments ago "He would never do that..." you repeated the last sentence in a whisper, trying to convince yourself more than the man in your front.

Kento remembered the plate thrown on the floor and Gojo's response when he had asked if the white-haired man had thrown it on the floor.��No and yes. He assumed you threw the plate to defend yourself and finally he understood the meaning of the Gojo's ambiguous answer.

"But he is in perfect physical condition." Nanami eased your worries, figuring you would be worried about this.

The two of you spent long seconds in silence, and while Nanami thought of a way to help you, your thoughts were solely focused on the anxiety growing in the chest, trying to drown out the bad feeling and negative thinking.

"Do you want me to take him with me?" Nanami suggested and you understood what he meant. He was going to keep Gojo away from you tonight, take him with him somewhere, maybe his own home. You considered whether this would be the best option, but you doubt that you would be able to stay close to your husband for now.

"Do you think this is the best idea?" You questioned him shyly.

"I can spend the night here too. I can sleep downstairs with Gojo." Kento honestly didn't know what the correct way to react to this was. The situation took him completely by surprise and his mind was restless.

You thought for a moment and tried to imagine yourself with Satoru sleeping downstairs. You found the idea uncomfortable and the realization made you want to burst into tears even more. Your lips trembled once more and then you began to feel a sudden anger.

It's always the damn drink. It's always its fault! If it didn't exist, this would never have happened. You hated alcohol and everything related to it with all your being. You wanted to break every bottle of that unfortunate liquid.

You loved your husband too much to hate him even now. You would be angry at him at times, but you would never be able to blame him openly, denying it to yourself. So you deflect the blame onto a phantom enemy. The alcohol.

Your train of thought was interrupted when you heard Kento calling yout name once again. "I'm sorry, I thought too much."

"I think I'd better take him away tonight." He suggested seeing your inability to make a decision now. "Will you be okay alone? Do you want me to ask someone to stay with you?"

You didn't want to include anyone else in your problems and so you looked at the bedside clock noticing that it was already close to 1 am. "Yes. I'll be fine." Your voice was low and distant.

"Are you sure? You don't want me to call Megumi or someone else?" Kento knew your relationship with the boy well, having heard him call you mother in secret many times, but the idea seemed scary to you. Megumi never managed to find out what happened tonight, he would hate Gojo.

"Please, leave this story just between us" you asked swallowing hard

"If you need anything, just call me again." Your friend decided not to go against your decision and got up from his crouched position to go get Gojo. Before disappearing down the hall, he looked at you one last time. Your gaze was fixed on a random spot in the room and he let out a disappointed sigh. Against his will, Nanami walked again and went down the stairs.

"Let's go." he announced rudely as he met the eyes of the sorcerer already in the room. Gojo hasn't taken his eyes off the blonde's figure since his feet appeared in his field of vision at the top of the stairs. He was still sitting by the counter, replaying over and over the memories of you fighting him and torturing yourself for being an asshole.

"Was she the one who told me to leave?" Satoru's voice had a defeated tone.

"Not exactly." once again, Gojo hated the way Nanami spoke to him. Depraved, that's how the man sitting on the floor felt.

Still under the influence of alcohol, he needed help to get up. His head hurt like never before and everything started spinning. It took a lot of strength to lift him, as his body insisted on remaining on the ground, but Nanami tried his best to get him into the passenger seat of the car.

The entire way Gojo remained silent, looking out the window and both refusing to look at each other. Gojo seemed to have traveled in time when he noticed that he was suddenly under a shower. He didn't remember how he got out of the car, and somehow, he now finds himself in a bathroom with his clothes soaked. Nanami had no mercy and threw him under the freezing water as soon as they arrived, already fed up with the weakened state of the person next to him.

And then, Kento heard sobbing. Unlike those of the woman he spoke to a short time ago, these were more discreet and seemed to refuse to make too much noise. This was the cry of a man who didn't want to cry.

He just watched from a little distance as Gojo's shoulders swayed up and down. In an outburst of anger, he knocked over all the hygiene products hanging inside the shower and kicked the glass door hard. By a miracle, it didn't break, but made a powerful sound echo around the place. Nanami knew that there was a lot going on in his head right now, what should have been a work problem had consequences for your marriage, and very serious consequences.

"She's going to hate me, Nanami." Here it was. The most powerful sorcerer in the world crying like a child. He expelled the words in a distressing manner and the blonde finally felt a little sorry for him since they had left the house.

"No, she won't." Kento knew you, and witnessed the beginning of your relationship. Maybe it would be good to get away for a bit while your husband had so many problems with the life of a sorcerer. Maybe you two need to spend time alone, like some couples do, until things in the jujutsu world calm down and Gojo's temper returns to normal.

After a long pause, he was supposed to say something else. His friend was already quite upset, but Nanami was still outraged by Satoru's actions. Looking at his own reflection in the tile, he uttered the words, "But if you're not sorry for this, Gojo, or if you dare touch her like that again, I won't forgive you."

[aesethewitch]

Rosemary Drop Biscuits

Every year, I put together a spread for each of the equinoxes and solstices. This is the first recipe in a new series for this year's Spring Equinox. My focuses for the meal are growth, prosperity, peace, happiness, and celebration. You’ll see that reflected in all of these recipes.

I’m publishing this recipe first, because I’ll be making it first. Anytime I make a big meal, I like to do my baking ahead of time to save space and ensure it’s done at the same time as the meal. But also, I find it’s a great opportunity to prime the kitchen for cooking in quantity. The goal is to cleanse and prepare the area without scouring the energy, something I use rosemary for frequently in a variety of ways.

This recipe is ultra-simple and comes together within half an hour. I suggest making it right before you cook the rest of your meal, but you can make it earlier in the day or even the day before.

Ingredients:

2 c All-Purpose Flour

1 T Baking Powder

1 t Salt

1 T Dried Rosemary

1/2 c Butter, cold

3/4 to 1 c Milk

2 T Butter, melted (optional)

Instructions:

Preheat the over to 450 degrees F.

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and rosemary.

Cut in the cold butter.

Add the milk slowly until just combined and the batter is thick and lumpy.

Drop about a quarter cup of batter at a time onto a prepared baking sheet.

Bake for 18 to 22 minutes or until golden.

Optionally, brush the warm biscuits with melted butter.

Recipe Notes:

There are a few methods to cut in the butter. You can grate it into the bowl, use a fork, or use a pastry cutter to do so. Be sure that the butter is very cold for this step. This is what gives the biscuits their flaky, buttery texture once baked.

These biscuits will keep for a few days in an air-tight container. They make excellent companions to leftover gravy!

Magic Notes:

Rosemary is one of those swiss army knife ingredients to me. It has a place in so many recipes and spells, and with good reason. Here, I’m leveraging the cleansing aspect for my Spring Equinox spread. I plan on making these biscuits first to prepare the kitchen for cooking the rest of the meal. This cleanses the air and oven of any lingering energy from other workings, leaving behind a relatively clean slate for me to work with.

I also like to make rosemary-based breads or rolls whenever my space needs a refresh. It’s a gentle cleanser that won’t scour away the cast-iron-like seasoning of the space. Rather, it sweeps away the excess and leaves the kitchen (and adjoining rooms) feeling light and fresh. Some cleansing rituals can be irritating to resident spirits; in my experience, this particular recipe is generally spirit-friendly…

…Especially if you plan on offering one to the spirits! These biscuits make excellent altar offerings. As mentioned above, I’ll be making these first for my spread. Part of that ritual is offering the first biscuit on my spirit work altar for my allies to enjoy. Invite them into the space to partake, and offer space in the kitchen while you cook the rest of the meal.

Consider the properties of the humble biscuit. Thick, flaky, absorbent. In a meal, they soak up rogue gravy and are slathered with butter and other rich deliciousness on the plate. I try to have a biscuit or roll in any large spread, because there’s always energy lost at the table. These biscuits serve the purpose of soaking up anything that escapes from other dishes so that the person enjoying the meal doesn’t miss out on any of the energy on offer.

After you make your biscuits, take time to clean your kitchen surfaces. Wipe away any rogue flour, sweep the floors, and give everything at least a quick once-over. Then, you’ll be ready to work on the rest of your meal — or go about your day, depending on when you make these.

If you enjoyed this recipe or like what I do, consider throwing a couple dollars in my tip jar, buying a recipe card, or commissioning me for a tarot reading or custom spell! All supporters will get exclusive access to all of my equinox recipes as they go up this week — plus access to my backlog of exclusive articles. Support helps me keep my bills paid, since this is currently my full-time gig.

All of these recipes will be sold as a recipe card bundle starting this Saturday (3/16), so stay tuned!

You can also check out this same post over on Ko-Fi:

[portraitoftheoddity]

House ownership so far

I moved in at the beginning of May and it's been.... a project. This house is earning the title of my problem child, lol.

So far, I have:

Seemingly gotten rid of the mice (fingers crossed)

Discouraged the scouting carpenter ants (FUCK OFF YA LITTLE BASTARDS)

Removed soooo many spider webs. (I don't hate spiders, just don't want 'em *inside* my house thanks.)

Cleaned up a truly apocalyptic quantity of mouse poop and sterilized so many surfaces. I needed a shop vac for the basement. I still haven't cleaned out one part of the basement that I'm dreading, and need to vacuum the attic.

Replaced all the locks, which involved a chisel to get the strike plates in a place where the deadbolts would actually connect

Caulked up so many holes

Got a plumber to replace the leaky water heater valve

Got a quote for new fencing (mom got bored and came over and tore down the rotted out segments of fence and pulled up the shitty wire fence out back, which I helped her roll up.)

Replaced the stove, since the mice had colonized the old one and rendered it unusable

As of today, I have adequate water filtration so the water comes out clear and is safe to drink! And I don't have to fill up from my parents' well or the town spring.

Tore down the wallpaper in one of the upstairs rooms (now my office) and repainted the wall

Repainted the living room/dining room/front hall where the walls were scuffed to hell

Installed doorbells

Deep cleaned the most disgusting side door I've ever seen

Got an EMERGENCY plumber because the bath faucet broke and wouldn't turn off at 10 at night. X_X

Assembled a medicine cabinet, but haven't hung it up yet

Assembled a new bookcase. Because priorities.

Called the electric company about getting the rotting trees removed that are in danger of falling on THEIR power lines that run through my property (need to follow up)

Have a basement guy working on stabilizing the foundation from the inside by sealing up the crack and adding carbon fiber supports

Put down a deposit with a landscape contractor to install drainage to lessen further foundation issues from water pressure flowing down the hill I'm on

Repainted the guest bedroom, and assembled a bedframe for it

Installed hook latches for the upstairs doors whose knobs don't latch because they're 75 years old

And honestly I feel like I've barely had the chance to touch anything since I am also working full time and freelancing part time on top of that and my job is nuts right now. I have a whole color coded spreadsheet of everything I need to do. I want to repaint both bathrooms and the kitchen, I need to hang the damn medicine cabinet, I want to build a pantry cabinet in the kitchen so I can turn the front hall closet I'm using as a pantry into a hall closet, I want to set up the basement as a chill out den, and there is sooooo much work to do outside I'm trying not to freak out about it because apart from keeping the lawn mowed, I'm trying to relegate most of it to "next year's projects."

I'm so tired.

[deanscherrypie420]

Demons Blood - Part Five

A/N: So sorry it took so long for part five! I hope you guys like it <3 I'd read the previous parts on my page for more context :) they are a bit further down... ENJOY! (There is a bit of a gap between this chapter and the last chapter, BUT IT WILL BE FILLED!!)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Y/N, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Warnings: Angst, arguing, crying, physical altercations, mentions of past sexual actions but no actual smut, demons, devils trap, alcohol, drinking, heavily intoxicated reader, injuries, (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: You were born a demon. You don't know why, but you have demon blood in your veins. You've lived with Bobby since you were little after your father abandoned you. The Winchesters have been accompanying the home for awhile now, and the tension between you and the older Winchester is undeniable.

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The sound of the front door opening startled Y/N awake, pushing herself off the couch and knocking over a book in the process. She rubbed her eyes as the men stared at her, the taller one striding over to clean up the coffee table.

"Hey, you alright?" Sam asked as he picked up the book, closing it along with the rest and setting them down. She nodded and stretched her arms out, not bothering in small talk.

She stood up and trudged to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot. "Why'd you sleep on the couch, Sweetheart?" Dean questioned as Bobby went to the bathroom.

"Because I stayed up trying to figure out the case, Winchester." She snapped back quickly, not in the mood for either of the brothers. They nodded and Sam skimmed over the books, raising a brow as he read quietly to himself.

Bobby came back out and clapped her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake along with it. "You work yourself too hard, kid. Take a break." He instructed and she glared at him, clutching her coffee tighter.

"Get away from me." She spat, flicking her eyes to black. He stared at her in shock for a moment, the brothers in sync. He stepped back and raised his hands, walking slowly and nodding for the boys to follow him.

She bit her lip and cursed herself once they left, her knuckles whitening from her tight grip on the mug. She felt her rage boiling over, the feeling she has tried so desperately to conceal rising to the surface.

She screamed and turned, chucking her cup into the sink. It shattered into dozens of pieces along with a plate that was collateral damage. That was only the beginning. She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled, trying to calm herself down.

Her attempt failed.

She stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. She grabbed an iron rod from the burn-hole outside and made her way to the many junk cars surrounding the property.

Screaming and swearing was paired with each car she destroyed, broken shards and metal flinging from the scrapped waste. After a while of letting out her anger, she dropped her weapon and took a deep breath.

"I feel better now." She told herself, prancing back inside. When she stepped in, she was met by horrified faces. She bit her tongue and plastered a smile on her face - more for her than them.

Sam scratched the back of his head and coughed, an awkward sound bellowing from his throat. "Are you, uh... are you okay?" He asked and her jaw ticked, her grin straining.

"I'm perfect. That was actually pretty fun, you guys should try it." Sarcasm was evident in not only her tone, but her expression. Dean stepped closer to her, breaking the perfect line the boys were in before.

"Sweetheart, you can talk to us if something's-" He started, but she laughed. A hearty sound that confused the three of them. "I can talk to you guys? You guys keep secrets from me! Why would I trust any of you?"

That was all she said before walking over and patting his chest, "Keep dreamin', De." Then she was gone, retreating to the safety of her bedroom.

Bobby glanced at the brothers, an empathetic glint in his eyes. "She's changed..." He whispered, shoving his hands into his pockets. Dean nodded and Sam shook his head.

"I think I should talk to her." The older Winchester announced, earning skeptical glances from the other two. "Dean, I think you're the last person she wants to talk to." Sam explained.

Bobby evacuated, not wanting to be a part of the brothers scuffle. Dean straightened his posture, staring his brother straight in the eyes. "Sammy, I'm the one who pissed her off. I'm the one who lied to her. I'm the one who's been controlling her. I think I should be the one to fix it!"

Sam just shook his head and scoffed. "I doubt she wants to argue with someone who's been micro-managing her!" The protest seemed to bounce right off his brother's thick skull.

"I haven't been 'micro-managing' shit! I've been keeping her ass out of trouble!" Dean fought back, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation.

Sam shook his head again, looking up to take a breather. "That's what you say, but you know damn well it's more than that."

"What are you talkin' about, Sammy?" His brother questioned, moving closer, his pupils now blown.

Sam swung his arm out, motioning towards her bedroom door. "You're too damn stubborn to admit you're in love with the girl!" He shouted, and Dean nodded.

"Alright, Sammy. I'm going to talk to her." Dean finished, turning and striding away from his brother. Sam just stood there, a slightly amused laugh leaving him. "You know I'm right." He muttered.

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It had been an hour since Dean was supposed to talk to her. Y/N was listening in earlier, feeling bad that she had caused another disagreement.

She had been acting out recently. Upset with not only her family, but herself. She was so angry and she couldn't explain why. Part of it was because of Dean, she knew that. Another part was because of the secrets she still felt left out on.

But she didn't know why she was so mad at herself.

She dragged herself out of her thoughts and left her room, making her way down the hall to Dean's. She knocked on the door, the music inside fading as footsteps approached.

Dean opened the door, brows furrowed when he noticed it was her. "Hey, what's up?" He prodded and she paused. She realized she didn't have a plan; she wasn't prepared and didn't know what to say.

She thought for a moment, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Her chin tilted up towards him, eyes locking with his. "Remember when you kissed me?"

She was shocked by her own words, fiddling with her hands as she waited for a response. He stepped closer, looking down on her. "Yeah, I do." His voice was gentle yet sharp.

"Did that mean anything?" Her voice was barely a whisper, a nervous edge in her tone. His eyes glistened with something new. She couldn't figure out exactly what it was, but it was soft.

His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. He hugged her and tucked her head below his chin. His hand cradled the back of her head as he traced her back with his fingers.

"Yeah, it did." He replied, and she nodded into his chest, a new confidence growing within her. Y/N pulled away and cupped his face, leaning up to kiss him. He moved into the kiss, pushing her forward slightly so he could reach out and close the door.

The tension between them had snapped, finally giving into their hidden desires. As they wrestled onto the bed, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, a weight only Dean could carry.

Kisses trailed up her neck, gentle bites following behind them. He needed this just as much as she did. He craved her, needed every inch of her. Needed to protect her and care for her.

He'd never admit to anyone, maybe not even himself, but he did truly love the woman beneath him.

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The morning glow seeped in through the curtains, waking Y/N from her slumber. She yawned and stretched out, arms and legs pulling away from her.

She gasped when an arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer to the man behind her. She inhaled the familiar scent of leather and Old Spice, a smile spreading across her features.

He mumbled something into her neck before planting a kiss on her cheek. "Morning, Sunshine." His voice was a bit hoarse, the morning edge full in his words.

"Morning, Dean." She responded simply, yawning again rolling over to snuggle into him. He placed another kiss to her forehead before getting up and dressing for the day. "Last night was fun." He joked, earning a cheerful eye-roll from Y/N.

"You were alright." She teased and he laughed loudly, comically running over to the bed and jumping on top of her. She squealed and tried to fight him off, but he smothered her in affection and kisses.

Sam knocked at the door, interrupting them and their banter. Dean groaned dramatically, forcing himself out of the bed once again to answer the door.

She couldn't quite hear the conversation but she got the gist of it when Dean's shoulders slumped, a sour attitude immediately clouding his mind.

"Hunt." He told her as he stuffed clothes into his duffel bag. She nodded and grabbed her clothes from the floor, dressing herself quickly so she could leave and get ready properly in her bedroom.

Before she left she walked over to Dean and swatted his ass, a cheesy grin on her face. She frowned when she noticed his bitter expression. "What's wrong, De?" She asked and he just glared at her.

She raised her brows, a sinking feeling in her gut. "Wow, okay. Talk to me you don't have a stick up your ass." She stated bluntly, turning on her heel and leaving the room.

He groaned and sat on the bed, resting his head in his hands. "Dammit." He cursed himself, laying back and staring at the ceiling. He thought for a long moment, trying to figure out where he would go from here.

He didn't want her to become his weakness or a leverage. He knew hunters didn't get domestic love. He knew normal wasn't exactly an option for him if he chose to keep this going with her.

He knew all the odds were against him, but he also knew he loved her, and he wanted to be with her. The only thing he didn't know, was whether loving her was worth the risk of hurting her.

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They returned to their motel after their hunt. Y/N had hurt her shoulder pretty bad, but refused to let Castiel heal it. Sam had patched her up pretty well, along with any other injuries the boys may have had.

They decided to go out to a bar to celebrate, an unusual call on Sam's part. As they got ready to go out, Sam said he would wait in the car for them.

"Dean, can we talk?" Y/N asked as she slipped her shoes on. Dean glanced over at her and fluffed his jacket out. "About what?" He responded, making her jaw clench.

She walked over to his bed and sat down on the side of it, patting the center for him to sit down. He complied and fell back onto the mattress, using his elbow as a headrest.

"I meant it when I asked if we meant something, Dean. When we had sex, did that mean something to you, or was it just a one-time thing?" She deadpanned, a serious expression across her face.

He bit his lip and forced out a laugh. "I mean, yeah. It was good, and you're really fuckin' hot." He tried joking his way out, and she knew what he was doing.

"I'm not playing around Dean, I'm serious. Are we something or not?" She reiterated the question, hoping that he would take her seriously for once.

He moved to lay on his back, his knuckles cracking as he flexed them. "Sure, Sweetheart. We're screwing around, why does everything have to be so cut-and-dry?" He prodded, and she shook her head.

Rising from the bed, she moved to her bag and grabbed a knife. She then squatted at the edge of the bed and carved something into the floor.

"The hell are you doing?" He asked as he sat up, staring down at her from the bed. She had a tight smile pulling up the corners of her mouth, twirling the blade in-between her fingers.

"Finishing the devils trap beneath your bed." She twirled around and set the blade down on the dresser. He laughed dryly and his brows raised. "Seriously?"

"I told you Dean, I'm not messing around. I don't like your little games and I'm not going to play them." She paused and gave him a shit-eating grin. "Have fun alone tonight. Hope you sleep well." She cooed as she grabbed her coat off the small dining chair and walked towards the door.

"Y/N-? Y/N, really?" He shouted after her, but she was gone before he could say anything more.

She spun his car keys around her index finger and then tossed them to Sam. "Wheres Dean?" He asked and she gave him a doe-eyed look, paired with a smirk.

"He's staying in tonight, not feeling too good." She explained as she hopped into the passenger seat. Sam seemed to accept that answer and drove them to the bar.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they returned to their room, she was seeing-stars-drunk. Sam helped her into the motel room and led her to her bed. Y/N's whines and protests filled the room, waking Dean up.

He rolled over and stared at her, then his brother. "What the fuck?" He questioned, sitting up and gesturing towards her. Sam shook his head, lips straight in a line and eyes wide.

"Hey, sweetheart. You feelin' okay?" He asked her, and she slugged over her mound of blankets to face him. Her face contorted and her bottom lip protruded to a pout.

"Dean... I'm sorry I trapped you here. I was just mad because, ya know, because you don't- don't like me." He was about to respond but she kept going. "Not the way I like you... I really like you. You just only like me for sleeping together." All of her words were slurred, her eyelids heavy and droopy.

Sam was standing there, tense and awkward. He motioned towards the door and his brother nodded, allowing Sam to excuse himself. Dean went to stand up to coddle her, but was forced back by the circle she put him in.

She quickly rushed to her feet, apologies spewing out of her mouth as she grabbed the knife to break the devils trap. Dean quickly moved to the edge of the bed in a panic. "No, hey, hey, lets not use a knife right now. Put it down." He pleaded, not wanting her to hurt herself.

She shook her head and sliced a straight line through the edge of the circle, continuing this multiple times to fully destroy it. Dean leaped off of the mattress and pulled the knife from her hand, tossing it to the side as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Dean, I'm sorry." She whispered to him and he kissed the top of her head. "Don't be sorry. Do not say sorry, Sweetheart. You did nothing wrong." He picked her up and carried her to his bed, holding her close the whole time.

"I'm sorry I didn't respect you. Why don't we talk about this more when you're sober, yeah?" He added as he stroked her head, feeling her relax next to him.

"I am sober... I want to talk now." She begged and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He lifted her up and moved her on top of him, now laying on his back. She immediately coiled around him, legs and arms squeezing him tight.

"No, you're not. Goodnight, Sweetheart."

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A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you liked this part! I know it seems kind of like an ending, but its nottt.... I think there will be one maybe two more parts! <3 If you liked this fic, check out the rest on my page!

Follow, comment and reblog <3

[nyctophiliq]

Hi Moss! I know you have a lot on your plate rn, but I wonder if you'll write kinks + toys headcanons for the Arcane ladies too? 🥺

TO TOY WITH YOU. mdni +18

description. headcanon type of writing of the arcane ladies' kinks and favorite toys to use (toys are a reference to what they use most of the time)

pairings. cassandra kiramman, ambessa medarda, renata glasc, sevika, grayson, caitlyn kiramman + f! reader

minors dni. lowercase writing intended, nsfw content, mention of kinks, sex toys,

moss' notes. moss has already planned to write them anonie !!! thank you for requesting, it really boosts moss' confidence in writing more !!!

— 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍

( kinks )

cassandra loves being called mommy, it isn't just because she is a mother but because she feels she fits into the role of a caretaker perfectly. in her eyes, a mommy takes care of their baby, gives them everything they want, and when they have to punish them it is with the most care and not to be mean.

pet play is also one of the delicacies cassandra loves. you are her dumb little kitten who lays on her chest, kneads her breasts like bread dough, and gives her those little kitten licks up and through her pussy lips.

she wasn't going to be marking you up because you were her property but because she liked seeing her teeth marks on your delicate skin. cassandra also enjoyed watching you trying to hide the hickeys she left every time.

( toys )

cassandra has nice cat ears put away for you, the one little kids wear with their costumes but any color you want? yes, she has one of those and loves for you to put it on.

addition to the cat ears she has a collar for you with a little bell on it too. she loves tugging you by it, back and forth, left or right to get her point across. you don't have to worry about the marks left by the collar, the hickeys are more pronounced.

to add to her mommy kink, she has a belt, you know the belt that you keep your pants up with? one of that is just for tying your thighs shut and if not thrusting a vibrator inside you then have the vibrator stay only on your clit. you are so cute on all fours, struggling to keep your back straight while she is increasing the numbers without letting you get used to the one before.

— 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍

( kinks )

it's not easy for caitlyn to admit how much she likes roleplaying, but she really likes it. there was some sense in her that said not to bring home the work, or about, but it was sickeningly tempting for her to just play mean cop with either you being a criminal which usually turns into rough sex. the other end of the spectrum is that you play the role of a helpless suspect, usually, a married woman who is being interrogated which is when caitlyn takes mercy on you. make sure to call her 'officer' and not by her name, just to get on her good side and she'll give you what you ask for.

it might be her young age and that intimacy still has that effect on her to become a horny teenager and get aroused by only your moans or whispers. it's no matter if you are just whispering to her while someone else is talking and it's totally not related to sex, or hit your toe in the freaking corner of anything again, and moaning/groaning out in pain just does things to caitlyn. she does not necessarily act on them, but she is very tempted to every time.

no question, mirror sex. such a spacious room caitlyn has and how wonderful it is when she just places a few mirrors in it. she likes the reflective glass surfaces in the shower too so she often lets her horny teenager self take over and finger fuck you.

( toys )

handcuffs are a stable in caitlyn's repertoire and they are not from work, so they haven't touched any other just you and you only. she tries to not put them on too tight but it is just so good seeing you struggle. favorite position to cuff your hands is behind your back.

when caitlyn is really into her role of being the corrupted cop she might just pull out some of her dildos, not strap-ons, dildos to have you go a little crazy because they are big.

— 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀

( kinks )

ambessa might keep her hands to herself in public but when the two of you are alone she is really handy, so much so that it turns into spanking. first it's just light caresses, get you in the mood then harsh groping, squeezing your breast, pinching your nipples. then everything goes from zero to one hundred, you are laying on your stomach on ambessa's lap, counting how many slaps you have received. if she is feeling extra mean she will tug on your breasts while spanking you like you were a cow, trying to milk you.

she is a sadist and she hardly tries to hide it. does moss have to explain further? they will a little- if the spanking didn't convince you that she loves inflicting physical pain and psychological too. she loves scaring you by leaving the door open while she is stroking your clit under your skirt, or that time when she convinced you that nobody is coming to that secret spot so, of course, you let her slip two or three fingers in your sopping core but just then a small group of people appears. she doesn't even give you the opportunity to get away, just continues to shove her fingers inside you while potentially exposing you to public humiliation.

having sex in a bath or shower is sort of a hobby for ambessa. she invites you in, with the promise of relaxing and a nice massage if you'd like then all you are is a moaning mess while the warm water hugs you and your tight walls hug her fingers.

( toys )

ambessa has nice riding rods and paddles to further indulge herself in spanking you. do not worry, when she uses her favorite toys on you she is sure to apply that nice, cooling cream onto your red bruises. she takes her time tho, admiring her handy work before relieving you of the stinging pain.

a sadist like ambessa has without a doubt a couple if not dozens of nipple clamps hidden in her home. it is so convenient to hide some under the fruits in the bowl and instruct the maids to not take them away because she is going to eat them when in reality she uses it as a disguise before ambushing you.

— 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐂

( kinks )

the baroness is excellent at bondage, so much so that she tried her hand at shibari and she had never looked back ever since. renata ties you up into a nice package, puts you anywhere near herself, and fingers you to her heart's content, which usually results in you passing out. don't worry, she doesn't tie those knots too tight, only if you ask to.

renata might not be a mother but she certainly enjoys being called mommy. light age play just furthers her sense of power, she loves having that control over you, deciding when you get to come and how.

talking about when to come, edging is also one of renata's go-to for any situation but she does give you a choice to beg for her, at least hold out for her for a few times before getting yourself that sweet sweet release you were promised.

( toys )

the finest silk ropes are in the possession of ms. glasc and no twisted, cheap rope will ever touch her baby's skin. of course, she has special ropes made for shibari only but still prefers using silk even if that is not that convenient.

it only makes sense that renata would use aphrodisiacs, and indulge in your drunken self, and as wrong, as it sounds it's as wonderful. you are aware when she slips it to you because when it's about to kick in she tells you she spiked your drink.

— 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀

( kinks )

sevika loves it when you pretend to give her a handjob when she has her strap-on buckled around her hips. let's not mention how excited she gets when you give her a blowjob, it really blows her mind.

breast worshipping fits with sevika so much. anytime, every time, whenever she can she is groping at your tits. kisses, bites, hickeys, and licks all over your thin skin to really twist your mind. your nipples are her favorite thing too- twist them and they perk up, suck, and nip at them and they became nice and puffy. her hands are so big but thank god she can still squeeze your tits just right, to have the fat ooze out between her fingers.

sevika loves having you as an audience, she is big on voyeurism. she has that one strap-on that is specially made so she too can enjoy herself while getting it tugged. so she often jacks off with that and makes you watch.

spitting into your mouth or on your wet cunny might be a mean thing or dirty, but sevika doesn't care at that point, she wants to see you swallow her saliva without question or whining.

( toys )

sevika has a number of strap-ons, each having their respective place in their cabinet. she collects them like trophies and takes care of them like trophies. there is a method to her madness also, she doesn't just pick the one closest, they all have their own place and time.

she doesn't have ropes but she does have that scarf that she ties you up with when she makes you watch her masturbate. it happened before, you just standing up and ruining her fun, never again.

— 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍

( kinks )

grayson loves being called sheriff, especially when you call her sheriff. she is proud of her title and demands to be called by it in the workplace no matter what, and you are no exception of. of course, grayson knows the line between when it's work and when it's home, making sure she doesn't get anything into her head or assume things but getting home and calling her sheriff then is bliss.

enforcer grayson has a lot of work even after returning home, but she is definitely not going to rid herself of the fun. she'll finish those reports for tomorrow's meeting while you are cock warming her. your needy whines won't affect her, sit nice and quiet, maybe she won't make you straighten your posture while rearranging your guts.

again, grayson is very busy but she sometimes feels mean or to be mean and the only way for you to get off is dry humping her perfect thighs. don't get her wrong, she likes fingering you and eating you out, but it's so much fun to watch you struggle.

all these overall sums up that grayson loves corrupting you, no other explanation will be needed.

( toys )

if grayson is feeling rather lazy or favors her hand after having too much paperwork to take care of- she pulls out bigger or smaller vibrators, depending on her mood really too.

grayson has a nice big strap-on that stretches you so well but not too much to hurt you. it's just so cute as you adjust your position every few seconds as you sit on her lap with the silicone dick inside of you.

sometimes grayson feels mean or her uniform just compressed her nerves so much the day she has to handcuff you to not to have you touching her. she isn't doing this because she hates it when your hands roam, but there are just days that she is really irritated by it.

[melancholymetropolis]

Unholy

pairing(s): Demon!Bakugo x HumanSacrifce!Reader

synopsis: Y/N is settling a nasty divorce dispute with her soon-to-be ex. Out of the blue, he calls her to "reconcile" and "put aside their difference". Less than an hour later, she was naked, tied to a bed, and offered to a twelve-foot-tall Demon Emperor, Bakugo Katsuki.

warnings: Rivals to Lovers. mention of roofies/drink tampering. reincarnation. a dash of a slice of life. the ml + fl argue a lot. bakugo is a simp. grumpy + sunshine. lowkey a royalty au. highkey monster fucking. cat + mouse game. minor grammar errors (will clean up a little later)

w.c: 9.2k

a/n: never say I don't love y'all.

“Drink up,” my soon-to-be ex-husband said, practically pushing the glass of wine into my face. 

I took the glass hesitantly and looked into it. There had been some sort of powdery residue floating on the top of it. I swirled it around a few times before setting it down on the table. I looked across the surface, past the flickering candles, and into his blue eyes. There was something off about the whole ordeal. My husband had never been the “romantic type”. He never made me dinner, even when we just started dating. He would usually order from a really expensive restaurant and call it a day. He never bothered to go the extra mile of putting on a plate, either. He made it clear that he was going to be as mediocre as possible, and I was supposed to be happy with it.

I never understood why I married him or what I saw in him originally. Maybe it was the consistency I craved or how easy it was being with him. He never challenged me in any way or stimulated me for that matter. We only slept together a handful of times in our three years together, but that didn’t bother me all too much. I was simply too busy with housework or my job to accumulate any sort of sexual desire. Yet, I could tell my spouse didn’t feel the same way. In recent months, I have noticed a change in his appearance. He started to shave more frequently, changed his hairstyle, and even bought some new clothes. He smiled whenever he got text messages and would sneak off when his phone rang. I even found a lipstick stain on his collar when doing his laundry, which all but confirmed that he was cheating.

I could deal with the lack of effort on his part. 

I could deal with practically being his maid.

I could even deal with him always “borrowing” money from my savings account.

But, what I couldn’t deal with was being the “other woman” in my marriage.

I filed for divorce shortly after that and moved out of the apartment.

It had been three months since everything happened, and he still hadn’t signed the goddamned papers.

“No, thank you,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not in a drinking mood.”

“O-Oh okay,” he stammered, sinking back into his chair.

“I came here because you said there had been some sort of emergency with our shared property,” I explained while pushing the plate of burnt pasta from in front of me. “It wasn’t my intention to have dinner with you.”

“I understand,” he replied, sipping his wine. “You probably still hate me.”

“I don’t care enough to hate you, John,” I said, rising from my seat. “If there is nothing else, I’ll be going now.”

“Y/N! Wait!” He called after me. “Don’t go!”

“If you have anything else to say to me, please notify my lawyer,” I deflected whilst grabbing my purse from the couch. “Have a good night.”

The alarm bells in my head were ringing, and I needed to make my way out of there quickly.

As I was turning around to take my leave, I felt a slight prick on the side of my neck. I raised my hand to the area and pressed it against it. I brought my finger to my face. There had been a clear liquid oozing from the area. I couldn’t immediately detect what it could’ve been, but I felt my body begin to sway on its own. I looked up at John, a medical syringe in his hands and a sadistic look on his face.

“Why do you always have to be so fucking difficult, Y/N?” He said, dropping the syringe on the ground.

“W-What are y-you talking about?” I slurred, trying to grab onto the couch.

“All you had to you was drink the wine,” John admitted. 

“W-Wha. . .” 

“Now, I have to drag you there myself.”

My hand slipped when trying to hold onto the couch, and my entire body crashed onto the floor. The room was spinning. The sounds were coming in and out of range. I could hear John say something, but I couldn’t piece the words together. My body started to feel tingly and numb all over. I could feel John pulling against my arms, but I couldn’t tell where he was taking me. He was still ranting about something, but, again, I had no idea what he was saying. I could feel my shirt ride up a little as John dragged me against the floor. It was only when I felt a familiar fuzzy sensation that I knew where we were. In our bedroom. Even with my mind half-conscious, I knew the feeling of my thousand-dollar designer rug. Part of me was still surprised that he kept it after all this time. Yet, another part of me knew never to expect so much of John. He would never make the effort to rearrange anything in our home.

But he could make the effort to cheat on me.

My eyelids grew heavier by the second. I was struggling to keep them open. 

All I could do was pray to God that whatever he had planned for me wouldn’t be too bad. I hoped that I would make it out of this apartment alive. If not, I would haunt the bastard for the rest of his miserable life.

My eyes fluttered closed, and darkness filled my vision.

“What do we have here?” A deep, throaty voice spilled into my ears. I could feel its hot breath fan my relaxed face and his eyes piercing my skin. “What a pretty little thing you are.”

I did not recognize the voice, nor would I ever. It didn’t sound human. Its pitch was far too deep, too robust for any human to make. It sounded like it belonged to something from another world or dimension. The alarm bells in my head had switched over to sirens. Every hair on my body was standing up, and I could feel sweat begin to dot my forehead. I knew, without a doubt, that there was some kind of eldrich terror on the other side of my eyelids, and I was not ready to face it. I could feel my tears well up and gather in my lashes. Murmurs spilled from my lips as I started to at the restraints binding my limbs.

“There’s no need to be afraid, little rabbit,” the monster purred. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I. . . I don’t believe you,” I whimpered, my eyes still shut.

“So she speaks,” it chuckled. “Wonderful.”

The soft surface— a bed— dipped a little on each side of me. Right near my mid-section. I could feel the heat radiating from its body. It came in slow, hot waves. It was almost like feeling the sun on your skin during the summer. It painted every inch of my skin— wait. I could feel it all over my body. From my legs and arms to my breasts and womanhood. My eyes snapped open, and I immediately looked down. I could the soft candlelight reflected onto my smooth legs. It danced up my oiled thighs and chubby stomach to my ample bosoms. I could see the brown nipples sitting pretty atop the mounds. Just inches above me was a pair of thighs, closely resembling tree trunks, straddling my waist. They were covered in tight leather pants, outlining every muscle. Just above the thighs was a pale torso with rippling abs. Far too many for me to count. Followed by a wide chest and broad shoulders. The muscles in his arms were almost the size of my thighs, and one of its hands could easily cover my entire face. 

His jawline was sharp as nails, and his lips were full. He had two pairs of crimson eyes and horns. They added an extra foot to his massive stature despite being slightly curved at the base. The creature had blonde hair that pointed in every direction and mostly fell in its eyes. Under any other circumstances, I could’ve easily been swooned by his ruggedly handsome face. 

“Like what you see, little rabbit?” he smirked.

“Who are you?” I asked, pulling the restraints. “What do you want with me?”

“Ah, so your husband didn’t tell you,” the creature said, resting on his heels. “How unfortunate.”

“Tell me what?” I questioned. 

“He sold your soul,” it replied nonchalantly. “To me.”

“What?” I exclaimed. 

“Yeah, I was pretty shocked, too,” the creature confessed. “I mean, look at you. You’re any man’s wet dream. Thick in all the right places. A seductive, deep voice—”

"What exactly are you gonna do to me?" I interjected, gripping the restraints tighter. 

"Well, your husband was pretty adamant about getting rid of you," the creature replied. "He signed a death contract to get you out of this dimension."

It could’ve been his dismissive demeanor or his obvious attraction to me, but whatever fear I had previously felt was slowly melting away to make room for confusion. John had been the kind of person to hire personal chefs and cleaning staff to avoid the responsibilities of managing a house. He would have his assistant buy me anniversary presents rather than buy one himself. He was a man who went out of his way to put minimal effort into our marriage, yet he dared to sell me to a twelve-foot demon from hell. I could feel the anger pool within my being. 

The creature above me inhaled deeply. "Your rage is oozing from your pores and dancing within my nostrils," he chuckled. "It has been so long since I smelled something so sweet.".

"Um, Mr. Demon?"

"Bakugo, sweetness," he corrected. "You may call me by my surname, Bakugo."

"Okay. . . Bakugo," I hesitated. "Would you mind untying me and giving me some clothes? I'm feeling pretty. . . exposed at the moment."

A deep, rumbling chuckle erupts from his throat as rose from the bed. "Your body is too precious to be covered with garments. But, since I am in a generous mood, I'll grant your request."

With the snap of his finger, I was no longer tied to the bed. My body has been positioned in the far corner of the room, furthermore from the door. I was standing up, facing the creature that was less than a foot away from me. He seemed even bigger from that angle. His horns were practically scraping the ceiling. Bakugo looked at me with such indescribable hunger that it made shivers trail down my spine. I looked down at my feet, desperately trying to break the tension between us, yet I was a little shocked by what I had on. 

I wasn't wearing any of my clothes, but something a little more unique, to say the least.

The dress was black and tight. It hugged every inch of my body while highlighting the parts that were "flattering" to men. It had a deep neckline that brought attention to my cleavage. The leather fabric gave the short dress an uncomfortable stiffness. The skirt barely covered my ass and strained at the thigh section. The six-inch patent leather stilettos made my legs even longer. My wrists were covered in gold bangles, and my hands were covered in rings made of lavish stones. 

"Bakugo, what is this?" I asked, inspecting the jewelry. "Why am I dressed like this?"

"As I said earlier, your husband signed a death contract," he informed me. "He used your life as collateral for the deal he made with me a little while ago."

"Why would he make a deal with you in the first place?" 

"He used to clean money for the mafia a few years before he met you."

"Holy shit."

"And like the selfish idiot he was, he stole a small fortune from them."

"How much?"

"Close to fifty million."

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "Did he have a fucking death wish?"

"The mafia seemed to think so, and they actively started to hunt him," the demon continued. "As a final attempt to save his pathetic life, he summoned me. Bakugo Katsuki, Emperor of the Underworld." 

At that moment, I could feel my heart drop to my stomach. Bakugo was a Samurai turned Emperor in the fourteenth century. He was appointed to the throne by Emperor Go-Daigo, who was awed by his fighting skills and his grit. The Emperor birthed no sons during his reign, so he adopted Bakugo and turned him into a crown prince. He was known to be exceedingly cruel and had a nasty temper. All kinds of stories supported these kinds of accusations. Like the one about him feeding his esquire to a tiger after he looked at the Empress a little too long. Or another about him hanging a war general by his ankles for challenging his judgment. He had the entire war counsel watch as the blood rushed to his head and ended up killing him.

Not only that,  he managed to be a notorious bachelor. Rumored to have had three wives and ten concubines during his prime.

As the legend goes, the devil himself was awed by Emperor Bakugo's lavish lifestyle and offered him a position in hell once he died. The Emperor managed to work his way up the ranks, ultimately taking the Devil’s position once he retired. By the end of everything, Bakugo Katsuki was the ruler of all sin and could manipulate anyone to do his bidding. He was even more dangerous dead than he was alive.

A cocky smirk fell onto his lips as he brought his face closer to mine. "Pretty impressive, huh?" He said as if reading my mind.

"Y-yeah," I stammered, swallowing the lump in my throat. 

"No need to be afraid of me, little rabbit," he said while tucking a braid behind my ear. "I already told you that I do not plan on harming you in any way."

"Then what do you plan on doing with me?" Fear still licking my being and making my hands shake gently.

"Allow me to finish the story, sweetness," he replied. "You'll find out by the end."

"Okay."

"I granted John temporary immunity from the mob in exchange for another life. There's a balance between these things. A life for a life, if you will," he continued. "The person has to be pure, almost incapable of sin. He encountered many girls that fit the description, but being the rotten individual he is, John managed to corrupt them. Making them greedy and money hungry just like him. That was until he met you. A wealthy physician from a rich family and lots of money in the bank. You are as sweet as pie and quite as easy on the eyes. You became his safety net. He didn't have to work too hard if he didn't want to. He never has to put any effort into the relationship since you are already too busy. It was a perfect union. Until he discovered the life insurance policy."

My eyes widened. "How did he find out about that?"

"Snooping through your mail," Bakugo shrugged. "It was then that you became more valuable dead than alive."

"So, a couple of million, and he's willing to put me on the chopping block?"

"Not at first," the demon responded. "But you decided to divorce him, completely stripping any chance he would’ve had to obtain that money. Since you two signed a prenuptial agreement with an infidelity clause, John was entitled to none of your money at the very end."

 Anger started to rise in my being once more. The sheer amount of entitlement he had was simply outstanding. He was the one who cheated. He was the one who emotionally checked out the marriage first. Yet, instead of acknowledging his mistake and moving forward, he went under the table to try and get me killed. 

"That fucking bastard!" I said aloud, balling my fists so tight my knuckles turned white.

"Yeah," Bakugo replied. "Your husband's a real peach."

"So the death contract," I stated, beginning to piece it together. "He signed it to repay the debt he owed to you and to get the money in my insurance policy?"

"Bingo!" 

"This greedy motherfucker!" I growled. "I cannot believe him!"

"Truly a greedy bastard," Bakugo agreed, nodding his head.

I paused.  "Wait. But what does that mean for me? Are you saying you're going to kill me?"

A wide smile appeared on Bakugo's face. "Not quite. Maybe even the opposite, if you think about it."

"I'm confused."

"I'm going to make you my Empress, little rabbit."

Bakugo’s dimension was surprisingly tame for being an extension of hell. It had a bright pink sky and crimson mountains lining the outside perimeter of the area. On the far edge of a secluded village was his castle. From my minimal knowledge of Japanese history, it was loosely inspired by the Bitchu Matsuyama Castle— the one that Bakugo most likely lived in when he was alive. The ceilings were taller than the original, probably to accommodate the Emperor’s height. There were pillars made of gold and jade lining the room. The floor was made of hardwood, so clean you could see your reflection. The walls are made of watercolor paintings and gold patterns. Silk drapes hung from the ceiling in a decorative pattern, adding more color to the space. Beautiful women of all shades and sizes lingered in the halls, giggling with one another. They stopped once we made eye contact. They quickly bowed their head and moved out of my way.

The guards, Iida Tenya and Sato Rikido, had given me a tour of the grounds before bringing me to the Empress’ estate on the far end of the property. It was made up of a massive house with about four floors. It was filled with lavish gifts and treasures. From tiger skin rugs to a solid gold statue of Bakugo in the middle of the front room. There had been diamonds and rubies spilling from fountains. Jewelry was littered all over my room. My closet was overflowing with the softest silks and chiffons ever made.

“This is simply too much,” I said, lifting a diamond-crusted bracelet from the bed. “I can not accept all of this.”

“Would you like me to summon Emperor Bakugo, Empress?” Iida asked.

“Well. . . No, that won’t be necessary,” I sighed, taking a seat on the bed. “I will be meeting him for dinner in a few hours, yes?”

“You will, Empress,” Sato replied. “It is customary for the Emperor and the Empress to share meals.”

“Alright, I’ll just talk to him then,” I reassured them before flopping down. “For now, I would like to rest. If there is nothing else, you two may go.”

The guards bowed their heads and excited the room.

I lifted a stray piece of jewelry from the bed and brought it to my eyes. It was a heavy gold chain with a massive emerald pendant in the center. It had to at least be worth a few hundred thousand, yet it was half-heartedly thrown on my bed and tangled with other pieces of similar value. I wasn’t a stranger to wealth. My family came from a long line of professionals, from doctors to politicians. I have had family members with exclusive Cartier pieces and Tiffany jewelry fit for royalty. Yet, when looking at the items on my bed, they didn’t have the same aura as those. It didn’t feel like I was meant to brag about these necklaces and rings. It wasn’t my responsibility to make everyone around me jealous. I was simply supposed to exist whilst wearing the pieces. They were meant to be extensions of myself. An extension of my aura— of my power. 

I rose from my slumped position on the bed and walked to the vanity. I brought the necklace to my neck and gazed at my reflection. The gold and the green complimented my bronze skin very well. I undid the clasp in the back and positioned the necklace against my collarbone. I attempted to fasten it, but my braids kept getting in the way. 

“Allow me,” said a familiar voice.

I looked over to see the Emperor, resting in the door frame. He changed his attire; it had been a little more Regal than before. He wore silk pants, perfectly tailored to his body. They highlighted his slender waist and plump rear. He remained shirtless but had a decorative robe draped over his shoulders. It swayed as he walked over to me. His hands were adorned with rings, almost like mine, except they didn’t have large jewels. They were simple gold bands. 

Emperor Bakugo scooped all my hair to my left shoulder before closing the clasp on the necklace. “It looks good on you,” he said, still gripping my shoulders.

I brushed my hands against the pendant and hummed softly. “I guess it does.”

We sat in silence for just a few moments before I felt his hands drop from my shoulder and snake around my waist. He pulled me closer to his massive body. I could feel the heat radiating from his body and the sweet aroma he carried. He smelled of citrus and cherry blossoms with a hint of spice. It was a scent that brought calm to my being. I found myself leaning into the embrace, intertwining my fingers with his. It was nice to be held like that. Without any ulterior motives or sexual advances, Just to be held by someone who cares for you. 

“Have you started to remember, my love?” His voice was low enough to be a whisper. 

I locked eyes with him through the mirror. “Remember? What do you mean?”

A painful look flashed on Bakugo’s face before he quickly shook it away. “Forget it.”

“No,” I murmured, turning to face him. “Just tell me. Is there something you wanted me to remember? Is it about John?”

The emperor took a deep breath before pulling me closer to his body. “The walls in this place often have ears attached to them. Let’s go somewhere to be truly alone.”

“Okay.”

Red smoke started to appear at our feet before circling up our legs and abdomens. It engulfed our bodies, breathing pulling us into darkness as it did. I could feel cold winds swirling around me as he moved from one place to another. The sweet smell of my bedroom was soon replaced with the stench of stale air and rotting wood. My bare feet were no longer pressed against warm hardwood; instead, I could feel the cool tile sending shivers through my body. When the smoke cleared, we were not only in a different place, but it felt like a different dimension. It was neither Earth nor Hell, maybe space between the two. It didn’t have the heaviness of the surface, the summer breeze, or twinkling stars. Nor did it have the robustness of hell; it didn’t have the pink sky or the black mountains lining the perimeter. Instead, everything was black and white. Almost like films in the early 1930s. The property that Bakugo transported us to was in pristine condition, despite a few cracks along the ceiling. The furniture was covered in sheets, and the windows had pale drapes blocking out the light from outside. Faded watercolor paintings decorated the doors. Jade stone pillars were supporting the high ceiling. In many ways, it looked almost identical to Bakugo’s mansion back in hell, just less lavish.

“What is this place?” I asked, gently touching the stone pillar.

“This was the palace of the first Empress, Kimiko,” he said with a sigh. “My first and only love.”

“Oh.”

Bakugo smiled softly before abruptly snapping his fingers. Warm light illuminated the front room, adding a little bit of color around us. The emperor walked over to the very back of the room, directly in front of a massive piece of furniture. He reached down and pulled the sheet from atop it, revealing a glistening throne. It was carved out of obsidian, a shiny black crystal— which just so happened to ward off evil and negative emotions. It had gold trimming along the edges and large rubies embedded within the armrests. The base was large enough to seat more than one person, which made me wonder if Bakugo spent some time ruling by her side. 

The emperor gently caressed one of the armrests while smiling sadly to himself.

“She was the only one to ever beat me in a fight,” he chuckled. “She laid me flat on my ass before I could even form a proper sentence. I think I started to fall in love with her then.”

“She sounds delightful,” I offered, standing beside him.

“She was,” he reminisced. “She had a temper similar to mine but only unleashed it when it was necessary. She could tame any dragon or beast with a few words. Kimiko handled herself with such poise and grace that even her enemies had to respect her. She was never the type to ask for dominance because people simply gave it to her.”

“What. . . happened to her?” I hesitated. 

“She had what you humans now call “cancer”,” he answered, sadly. “It was the only foe she couldn’t best.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered, placing my hand on his arm.

The twelve-foot demon turned his body away from the throne and took both my hands in his. He looked into my eyes as if he were looking at me for the very first time. Bakugo scanned my entire face, searching for something that I could put my finger on. “I believe you are Kimiko reincarnated, Y/N.”

My eyes widen and I took a step back from him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Just before she died, Kimiko and I made a blood oath,” he said, unfastening his silk pants. Bakugo lowered the waistband, just a little bit, to reveal a jagged scar; in the shape of a ‘k’. “We vowed to find each other in the next life, with the help of these marks. I have searched many women throughout the five hundred years I have been alive and only one has the letter ‘k’ etched on her waist. And that person is you, Y/N.”

“Bakugo, I don’t think—”

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” he interjected. “I mean you two look nothing alike. But the longer I have been in your company, the more I could feel this undeniable connection between us. And I know you feel it, too.”

“Bakugo—”

“There is a reason why aren’t scared of me and why came you to the Underworld so willingly.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice!” I countered. “John signed the death contract!”

“Y/N, I know this is hard to believe and I would be a complete idiot to think you’d accept this right away—”

“I didn’t think demons existed several hours ago!” I screamed, frustrated. “All I wanted to do was to divorce my shit husband and go back to my normal life as a surgeon. Not get remarried to a literal ruler of Hell and become an Empress! I didn’t even have the time to deal with the mess John put me in, before being thrown into yet another role I did not ask for. I mean for fuck’s sake, could you have at least given me the remainder of the night to process what happened before springing this on me?! What else do you have under your sleeve? Are going to tell me you have powers or something?”

“Y/N?”

“What?”

“You’re hair is on fire.”

As much as I wanted to deny my connection to Bakugo’s late wife, more and more evidence started to unravel. From what the maids had told me, the emerald chain that the emperor fastened on my neck was Kimiko’s family heirloom. It was passed down for generations to the first-born daughter of the family. However, since Kimiko died childless, Bakugo decided to keep it to himself. I had tried to take it off, discard it from my sight, but the clasp refused to budge. None of my maids could undo it and I wasn’t in the mood to face Bakugo after that night. I was stuck with the necklace on for the remainder of the week, forced to face my reality. Another quirk that came with this reincarnation scandal was the fire. It appears everywhere when I was angry. It started out with my hair, causing it to spike up and lift from my neck. The angrier I get the more the flames engulf my body. It doesn’t hurt, nor does it partially bother me. Almost everything in the Underworld was flame resistant, meaning there was nothing to really worry about. 

The maids informed me that Kimiko had fierce red hair, resembling a raging fire. It was part of the reason why many feared her in the first place. Given the dimension and the reincarnation drama, I assumed the lore surrounding her life started to literally manifest the longer I stayed in the underworld. Like when the emperor tried to enter my room without my permission and I managed to toss him across the room in the blink of an eye. We were both shocked by the end of it. 

But, he made sure to leave me alone after that.

There were whispers outside my door. A conversation between a very squeaky, feminine voice and a booming masculine one.

I rolled my eyes.

He does it every afternoon— knocking on my door after his morning meetings, in hopes I would invite him in to talk. 

The maids knew never to let him and Bakugo knew never to force himself where he didn’t belong. Unless he wanted to be humbled in front of his subjects.

The door opened and one of the servants hurried inside the room. She bowed her head as she stood in front of my bed. 

“Do I have permission to speak, Your Grace?” She squeaked.

“Of course,” I replied, repositioning the pillow underneath my head.

“The Emperor has requested you meet him for dinner,” she presented, still looking at the floor.

“Tell him to fuck off,” I said, turning my back to her. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“He brought you a gift,” she started to say before I cut her off.

“I don’t need any more jewelry,” I countered. “I can’t even store the pieces I have.”

“No jewelry, but a person. By the name of John.”

I snapped my eyes open and sat straight up in the bed. “Wait does that mean. . . John’s dead?”

“He said if you have any questions, to ask him at dinner tonight,” the servant replied.

“Fine, tell him I will be in attendance,” I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest. “But, inform him that I will not be staying for long.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The servant bowed again before leaving the room.

Several new maids entered the space shortly after, their heads lowered and eyes looking towards the ground. 

“May I help you?” I asked, kicking my legs over the side of the bed. 

“We’ve been instructed by the emperor to assist in dressing for dinner,” the woman on the right said, crossing her hands over her midsection. 

“He instructed that we place you in traditional empress attire,” the one on the left added. 

Emperor Bakugo Katsuki was pushing me into a corner. He wanted me to conform to the role of Empress, even though I would rather walk through the fiery bits of hell naked. I spent the majority of the last week in my room. I only opened the door to get my food trays and greet my servants in the morning. I refused to meet anyone from the royal council or any associate of Bakugo’s. The emperor wanted me to step into my role as Empress so badly that he was willing to try anything— even drag John to the underworld to make it happen.

“That’s not gonna happen,” I countered, walking across the room to the bathroom. “I am capable of dressing myself.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“If the Emperor has a problem with my decision, tell him he could eat alone for all I care.”

The servants did end up helping me, just not with my outfit. They helped dry my waist-length braids with smaller towels. They divided each braid and applied moose to them. The maid twisted them around flexi-rods and wrapped my head with a silk scarf. Next, we surveyed the makeup that Bakugo had gifted me before I arrived. The blushes and eyeshadows were made up of cool tones, which weren’t complementary to my bronze skin tone. Out of all the blues and purples that were provided, I was able to find muted earth tones in the pile. A collection of browns and metallic shimmers. I decided to make a smoky eye with these shades, with a cut crease. I used gold to fill in the gap to really make my eyelid pop. 

“You should wear red lipstick!” The servant on the left— Yua— said, sliding the red lip across the vanity. “It would be a nice pop of color!”

“I don’t know. . .” The other one— Aika— replied. “The red may be a little too bright. She should go with something a little more neutral. Like a brown!”

Yua snatched the tube of lipstick from her hand. “You don’t know anything about beauty products! Red would be better for Your Majesty’s lips.”

“I disagree,” Aika snatched the red tube from her partner’s hand. “The red would be too distracting. Brown would fit the theme a little better.”

“No, you’re wrong—”

“I was planning on using both of them actually,” I said, turning to look at the younger women.

“Really?” They asked in unison. “How?”

I held out my hand and they gave me the tubes. I popped the cap off of the deep brown lipstick and brought my thin, damp brush to it. I rubbed it against the smooth surface, before bringing the brush to my lips. I outlined the shape of my mouth with a dark color, before placing the cap on the tube. I used a thicker brush to swatch on the red lipstick, but only used a little bit of it on my lips. I topped the section with a clear lip gloss and started to rub my lips together, blending the two lipsticks perfectly. 

“Wow!” Yua said, amazed. “I would’ve never thought of that!”

“Me neither!” Aika agreed. “It looks so good. Your Majesty is the queen of cosmetics!”

I laughed loudly and rose from my seat. “You give me too much praise. I can assure you there are many women better than me at makeup. I only know how to do simple things.”

“Well, you make simple look good,” Aika chimed in.

“You do!”

I laughed and walked over to the closet. I looked through the hundreds of pieces that were filling the space. Although the pieces were absolutely stunning and very much my style, none of the clothes were big enough to fit me. Except for the floor-length robes in the back of the closet. Granted, they were made with the finest silks of all the land, but they did nothing to compliment my figure. They would completely cover me with unnecessary fabric, making me look even bigger than I actually was. I immediately thought back to the night in the bedroom, where Bakugo made clothes appear on my body out of thin air. Even though I had only been in the Underworld for a week, I was already showing signs of magical abilities. I wondered if the physical manifestation of items was a trait that only the emperor could have, or if was I capable of doing it as well. 

I pulled out a random item of clothing from the closet. An all-leather catsuit with a zipper in the center front. There had been a pair of cat ears and a fluffy tail butt plug attached to the hanger.

“These two must’ve been into some seriously kinky stuff,” I said, lifting the tail of the hanger and dangling it in the air.

“Emperor Bakugo talks about Kimiko whipping him all the time— ow!” Yua screeched and hugged her side.

Aika swiftly shook her head a placed a finger on her lips.

I tossed the sex toy to the side and took the item of clothing into my hands. I closed my eyes and simply pictured it on my body. I focused on how I wanted it to fit— how I wanted it to hug my curves, but allow just enough room for me to move comfortably. I could feel my body gradually heat up. The silk robe I had been wearing had slowly begun to slip off, fading out of existence. It was swiftly replaced with a thicker, tiger fabric. It hugged my hips and thighs tightly, while loosely fitting around my tummy. The silk scarf started to slip from my head and my braids untangled from the curlers. I could feel them fall to my back. 

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my room. I was wearing the catsuit and it fit just as perfectly as I imagined. But, traditional Japanese rode and graced my shoulders. I didn’t know how the two got paired together, but given the state of the outfit, I was not upset at the combination. I was standing in front of massive paper doors, and by the sound of Bakugo’s booming voice, I had to be outside of the throne room. 

“Come in, my Empress,” he yelled from the other side of the door. “I have been expecting you.”

Hesitantly, I gripped the handle and slid it open. There had been a slew of upper-rank nobility within the space. Every one of them had a different appearance. Some had horns, while others were covered in scales. Some had pointed ears and a long tail, while others appeared to me more human with black eyes. But, no matter what they looked like, they all openly gawked at me. 

“I hope you don’t mind, darling,” Bakugo said with a smirk. “I simply couldn’t wait until dinner time, so I summoned you a little bit earlier than we planned.”

I neutralized any raging emotions that threatened to rise and took a deep breath. I looked at the nobles and gave them a curt nod. “My apologies for having met you in such imprudent circumstances, I was a little under the weather this week.”

“It is no problem at all, Your Majesty,” a loud voice replied from the far end of the room. “We are just happy to be in your presence.”

“Oh you are too, kind the gentleman whose face I cannot see!” I said bowing my head slightly. “I hope to meet you very soon and become good acquaintances.”

I walked down the designated aisle and up the few steps to where Bakugo was seated. I raised my eyebrow, silently asking ‘where am I supposed to sit?”

“Because of such an impromptu schedule change, you just might have to sit on my lap for the meeting,” Bakugo chuckled while patting the area. “I’m sure it will be more comfortable than any chair you have ever sat on.”

He was pushing my buttons and it was working. I wanted nothing more than to not see the smug look right off his face. But, I knew that would only result in more problems. An idea popped into my mind, making a slight smile fall onto my lips. 

I turn my back to the twelve-foot demon and press my ass right on his lap. I push my hips backward; I could feel my lower cheeks brush right against his crotch. Bakugo’s hands immediately sunk into my thighs and helped me spin around so that I was sitting sideways. I wiggled my thighs, under the ruse of getting my comfort, and rubbed against his member once again. That time the mighty emperor sucked in a breath.

“You are playing with fire, Empress,” Bakugo whispered, digging his fingers deeper into my thighs. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emperor,” I murmured, innocently. 

Every noble in the room had started the meeting by introducing themselves and their stations. Like Izuku Midorya, chief of defense and weapons. Or Todoroki Shoto chief of merchants and foreign goods. Those two were particularly nice and even kissed my hand upon greeting me. Izuku even winked at me when he pulled away, which made a blush erupt on my face. Bakugo growled silently beneath me, but he didn’t say anything. I decided to drive the knife even deeper into the growing wound.

“I look forward to getting to know you, Midorya,” I said sweetly. “Maybe we could have tea sometime soon?”

“It would be my honor, my Empress,” he replied, placing a hand over his heart. “I will be waiting for your invitation.”

“You are too kind,” I cooed, tucking a braid behind my ear. “I have a feeling you’ll make a lovely acquaintance.”

“Acquaintance? You’re breaking my heart, dear Empress,” he professed. “I was hoping to be your dear friend, at least.”

I placed my hand on my mouth and turned away. “Holy cow! He has me blushing like a teenager,” I whispered to myself, hoping that Bakugo would. “I’m gonna have some fun with him.”

“Enough!” The Emperor yelled, startling the entire court. “This meeting is over! The Empress and I have another engagement to tend to. The introductions will resume at a later date.”

“Farewell to all!” I said, rising from Bakugo’s lap. “It was nice seeing all of your beautiful and unique faces! I hope to become great friends with all of you!” 

“Farewell, Empress,” someone called from the far side of the room. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Goodbye, for now, Your Majesty,” another said. “I will miss gazing upon your immense beauty!”

“Oh, you are just humoring me,” I replied, smiling widely. “I will be back soon. I promise.”

“We miss you already!” Someone else yelled.

“Come to our next meeting!”

“We want to see you every day!”

Red smoke appeared beneath my feet and started twirling up my body. I closed my eyes and attempted to feel the magic encasing my body. I wanted to remember what it felt like, just in case I was given the opportunity to replicate it. Although the palace was nice and I liked the Empress's treatment, I still wanted to go home. Back to where everything was normal. Back to where I could be myself and not a reincarnated soul. The wind started to pick up around us, adding a particular chill down my spine. We were not covered in darkness, but an immense light. It was warm, almost like candlelight. Even the floors were particularly warm and inviting. I opened my eyes to see that we were back in the Empress’ palace. But, unlike before, it was restored. No longer cold and damp, but comfortable and homie. The sheets no longer covered the furniture and the doors looked freshly painted. Even the throne seemed to be dusted and polished; shining even brighter than before. Fresh rose petals were scattered throughout the room, as the soft sound of violins played in the background. 

Romantic was hardly a good word to describe the atmosphere. It was more than that. It oozed passion and poise. It was elegant, as it was refreshing. I could feel some of my stress drip away and my heart warm. I looked back at the towering Emperor, his face still turned up in a scowl and his lips pursed.

“You did this for me?” I asked, taking his hand into mine.

“So what if I did?” He snapped back. “You’re just gonna find a reason to be mad at me anyway.”

A gentle smile fell on my lips, as I felt my body suddenly lift from the ground. Once we were on the same level, I took his face into my hands and looked him in the eye. His crimson eyes began to fade into a bright red the longer he looked at me. His grimace faded into a cocky smirk as he brought his hand to my chin. 

“Are gonna kiss me or what?” He teased.

“I’m starting to think you don’t deserve one,” I admitted, bringing my face closer to his. “After that little stunt, you pulled earlier. Forcing me to meet the nobles. You ain’t slick, demon.”

“You enjoyed it,” Bakugo cackled. “Having dozens of men fawning over you. You were gushing and blushing the whole time. You love being the center of attention.”

I draped my arms over his shoulders and hummed softly. “I don’t recall this ‘gushing’ you speak of. But, I did blush a few times. That Izuku fellow is quite the charmer.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a crush on the brat,” he said, placing his hands on my waist. He pulled me closer to him; our chests pressed together and our limbs began to intertwine. “Who knows? You’ll probably run away with him the minute I turn my back.”

“Are you jealous, Emperor?” I chirped, my smile getting wider. “Jealous of a mere chief?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he chuckled. “You are just a royal pain in my ass and so is he. In fact, you two would be perfect together.”

“Maybe I should run away with him,” I joked, gently slipping out of his arms. “He’ll probably treat me better anyway.”

“Come back here, Empress,” he called, taking my wrist and drawing me back to his chest. “Who said I’d let you get away?���

My heart was beating in my chest, so loud it was clouding my thoughts. The heat was radiating from his body and pooling around mine. The look he had in his eye was nothing short of lust and longing. He wanted me. Emperor Bakugo Katsuki of the Underworld wanted me. And I was beginning to want him too. The chemistry between us was undeniable. The longer we stood next to one another, the harder it was to resist each other. The way his hands gripped my hips was sending all kinds of signals to my womanhood. I wanted his hands to touch every inch of my body, along with his mouth. His lips seemed all that more inviting the closer we were. Just a few hours ago, I wanted nothing but to knock him on his ass. Again. But, now, I wanted to do unholy things with the demon before me. 

Before I could think, I pressed my lips against his. I could feel him tense up for a second, before melting into the embrace. His strong arms wrapped around my smaller body and pressed me against a nearby wall. His moans filled the room as his hands kneaded the soft flesh of my rear. The emperor moved the kisses along the side of my face. Kissing along my jaw and against my neck. He sucked and nipped the soft tissue, making my toes curl in response. I pressed my nails into his bare back. Bakugo took his freakishly long tongue and dragged it along the side of my neck and jaw; bringing his mouth right back to mine. He kissed me passionately once more before pulling away.

“I want you,” He purred. His eyes were drilling into my mine. “I’ve wanted you since the night that asshole stripped you naked and tied you to the bed. But, I wanted to wait. I needed you to want me just as much as I wanted you.”

Although it was the bare minimum, the small action proved one great thing: Bakugo may be a demon, but he wasn’t a monster. He respected my agency and didn’t push my boundaries all that much. He could’ve forced himself on me and no one would’ve batted an eye since he was the Emperor. Instead, he let me mourn for my old life in a luxurious room and send me my favorite foods to liven up my mood. Underneath his intimidating size and appearance, he was a really good guy. Or, demon.

“Tell me, Empress,” he said, between kisses. “Tell me you want me, too.”

“I do.”

The emperor lifted me from the wall and walked deeper into the palace. His lips and hands never left my body. He was all over. Kissing my neck, palming my rear, and unzipping my hands. Bakugo was smothering me in affection and I was simply getting drunk off of it. It felt like there had been more than two hands on my body. And, when he placed me on the bed, I realized that there were. Bakugo had grown an extra pair of arms, directly below his previous ones. They were the same length and size, basically identical. But, that wasn’t the only thing added to his appearance. He had tattoos covering his arms and chest. A massive serpent tattoo traveled up his first set of arms, while the heads were displayed on his chest. The other pair of arms paled a little in comparison. There had been a few Japanese words written in kanji on his forearms, while the tips of his fingers looked to be tattooed a deep black. Resembling them being dipped into ink. He had piercings on his nipples and tongue, in addition to the many on his ears. Bakugo, somehow, managed to make himself look even hotter than before; a talent I didn’t know he had.

“I was planning on keeping the glamor up until after we had— you know,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But, it was getting a little tiring maintaining it. We can stop if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No!” I said a little too quickly. “This is good. Really good.”

The cocky smirk returned to his lips. “Ah, so you prefer my Demon form over the other one? How interesting.” He leaned closer, allowing his body to hover over mine. One of his hands started to pull at the zipper of the catsuit, while another gently pulled out a breast from behind the cloth. “You are almost making it harder to resist fucking you right here and right now.” 

His massive tongue rolled out of his mouth. He lowered his head but kept his eyes on me. Bakugo wrapped the tip of the tongue around my exposed nipple. The foreign sensation made my body shiver. I felt myself arching into his mouth. I wanted more. As if reading my mind, Bakugo lowered his hot mouth onto the bud. He sucked him tenderly, moving his head up and down as he went. I brought my finger to my head and dug them into his hair. My moans filled the room as my body shook with anticipation. His thick fingers inched down my navel and into my waist band. He slid them under my panties and over my sex, before dipping them into my folds.

“I barely even touched you and you are already so wet for me,” he purred, circling my clit slowly. “My Empress, you are so easy to please.”

“Please stop toying with me,” I groaned, moving my hips against his hand. “It’s been so long since I. . . and John wasn’t all that good at it anyway.”

He grimaced at the name. “Let’s not even mention his name.” Bakugo’s fingers slid further down my womanhood and gently pushed into my entrance. “We’ll deal with him at a later time. Let’s just focus on this. Me toying with this tight, sticky pussy of yours.”

He pushed his fingers even deeper and pressed the pads on the roof of my cunt. I gasped loudly and took hold of his robe. Curses spilled from my lips as his digits pumped in and out of me at a beautiful speed. His fingertips were gently massaging my growing g-spot and my walls continued to ooze as a result. Another one of his hands dipped into the waistband. His index and middle finger rested on either side of my clit, while his thumb gently stroked it. Pleasurable sensations were erupting all over my body. My hips were moving on their own, constantly rubbing against his hands, wanting to feel everything. I could feel the pleasure build in the pit of my stomach. My walls started to clench his walls for longer periods the more he fingered my cunt. Suddenly, without warning, Bakugo added a third finger to the mix. Pushing into my slick hole and making me squeal in surprise. There was an interesting burn erupting within my walls.

I pulled on his robe once again, forcing his lips onto mine. Our tongues twirled and danced in each other’s mouths. Eventually, they even fought for dominance. It was then that I felt his fingers move even faster, practically hammering my g-spot. The sheer force of his thrusts moved my lower half on the bed. My hands fell from his robe and my face turned away from his. Deep, throaty pants escaped my throat as the orgasm made a swift appearance. My legs began to tremble as my thighs clenched Bakugo’s hands. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as my mouth formed a massive 'o' shape. Liquid shot from my tender center and sprayed all over the silk sheets. 

"Oh…. Fuuuuuck….." I slurred, grinding my hips on his digits.

The emperor maintained his treacherous movements, making the peak last even longer. He didn't stop until my body stopped shaking against his arms. But, by then, my slick coated his palms and was creating quite the wet spot underneath my ass. He slipped his fingers out. They wrinkled from the activity— my juices were stringy around the digits and made them rather sticky.

The emperor smiled. "I can already tell that pussy is gonna be the death of me," he said, slipping the fingers into his mouth. He moaned at the taste. "You even taste sweet."

I allowed my back to crash against the bed and kept my eyes trained on the ceiling as I caught my breath. "Holy shit," I said in disbelief. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard before."

His hot mouth pressed hot kisses against my breasts, up my neck, and finally to my lips. He fondled my nipple as his tongue explored my mouth for the millionth time tonight. When he pulled away, Emperor Bakugo had a shit-eating grin on his face. 

"Don't get too comfortable," he chirped.

With a snap of his finger, the remaining clothes on our bodies vanished into thin air. Leaving us both stark naked. And, just like his arms, Bakugo had two members. Both are thick, girthy, and rippled with veins. They were approximately the size of my forearm. Pre-cum made their tips bright and shiny.  The longer I looked at them, the more I wanted to touch them. Taste them. Fill my cunt with them. Surely, I wasn’t prepared to take them both at the same time. Anal was something I truly never tried and didn't feel the need to. However, I was pretty sure there were positions to accommodate both members.

"We are just getting started."

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a/n: The full scene is posted on my Ko-fi page. This piece was literally seventeen pages, single-spaced. Meaning it was 13k words in total. Only y'all can get this outta me because I would have NEVER done this for myself lol

Lemme know if y'all like longer fics versus the standard (which is about three 2k-3k).

Vote for the next piece by commenting on this post, Ko-Fi, or you could send me a pm /ask!

We have:

Dhampir(Half Vampire/Half Human) Shoto x Reader----> y/n finds his coffin in her new house (roommate au)

BullHydrid!AllSmite x Reader---> She inherits a farm from her family and All Smite is the mean/rude farm hand (enemies to lovers)

Ghost!Aizawa x reader---> a long-haired ghost lives in y/n's closet and occasionally steals the pillows off her bed.

pls pls pls comment! I love to hear your thoughts and feedback. And lemme know if y'all want a part two!

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[scotianostra]

6th August 1881 saw the birth of Sir Alexander Fleming, the Nobel prize-winning bacteriologist.

Born at at Lochfield farm near Darvel, Ayrshire, the third of four children, Alexander was educated at Loudoun Moor School and Darvel School, and earned a two-year scholarship to Kilmarnock Academy before moving to London, where he attended the the Royal Polytechnic Institution. He worked in a shipping office for four years, but on receiving an inheritance when he was 20, his brother, already a doctor, encourage him to go to medical school, which he did and excelled, qualifying with distinction in 1906.

His military service actually led to his transition into research; as a member of the military and the rifle team at St. Mary’s Hospital Medical School, the captain of the team wanted to keep Fleming on the team, so he suggest that he join the research department after finishing school.

His military service actually led to his most important work. After witnessing so many soldiers die from infection following their battle wounds, he set about to find a cure for bacterial infections.

Fleming was one of the first researchers to recognize that antiseptics only treated surface wounds, and that antiseptics also tended to kill off the beneficial agents that helped fight infection.

Even though he had a solid reputation as a great researcher, Fleming’s lab and workspace were often very messy. This actually led to the discovery of penicillin. He had been studying the different properties of a strain of staphylococcus bacteria, but allowed mold to grow in the petri dish where a sample was stores due to these lab conditions.

When he went to work in his lab on September 28, 1928, he discovered that the staph couldn’t grow near the penicillium mould. He uncovered the properties of the mould that prevented the staph from spreading to that region of the plate. Fleming almost didn’t continue researching penicillin, since it was hard to make the mould grow and it was difficult to isolate the antibacterial property of it. An article he published on his findings received very little attention at first.

Two other researchers, Ernst Boris Chain and Edward Abraham, actually discovered how to isolate the penicillin and increase its potential, and they shared the Nobel Prize with Fleming. Fleming was modest about his part in the development of penicillin, describing his fame as the “Fleming Myth” and he praised Florey and Chain for transforming the laboratory curiosity into a practical drug

Fleming’s accidental discovery and isolation of penicillin in September 1928 marks the start of modern antibiotics.

[inkformyblood]

painting at the edge of the world (CWFKB #16)

Fill for Tearful Kiss, Cowboy/Western AU (minor gun use, not fired) @codywanfirstkissbingo

There is a known rhythm to life at the edge of the world; the slow bleed of sunlight across the plains that brightens to a golden wash that begs to be captured in oils and pastels, memorialised in a flimsy grey photograph. Obi-Wan smears his thumb over the rough surface of his notebook, and the rough lines of the horizon blur beneath his touch. He glances up, checking and rechecking the slow dimming of the land around him. He is still alone out here in his small homestead, his bed empty and cold inside his home. 

The blanket wrapped around his shoulders isn’t his. It’s close enough to pass for his preferred palette of myriad browns and pale colours, but the underside is a deep orange woven through the warp to break up the pattern. There are a couple of uneven spaces, the threads pulled too close together and the orange is completely obscured by the brown on top of it, but Obi-Wan loves it fiercely regardless. Love is a strange emotion, untethered to anything concrete that Obi-Wan could place his hand on and yet… 

He has built a life with Cody. 

Warmth blooms through Obi-Wan’s chest as he thumbs back through his notebook, lingering over a few of the earlier pages. There is a chest beneath their bed, a heavyset thing treated against damp and fire and locked against the possibility of prying eyes, and Obi-Wan keeps most of his artwork of Cody there. He can keep those memories safe even when he can’t keep the other man protected. He only has a few in his current notebook, remnants of a fleeting winter that charged headlong into a spring that stole Cody away weeks before he normally would leave. Cody’s smile is beautiful, wide and unrestrained and held close for a moment in a few dark pencil lines. Obi-Wan blinks back tears, a pressure building behind his eyes and the base of his nose, and he can’t help but glance towards a horizon he has already committed to memory. 

Still empty. 

He draws the blanket closer around his shoulders, pressing his knuckles into the hollow of his throat, swallowing around the weight of expected grief, and settles back against the creaking back of the chair. There is a second chair next to him, recently pulled out of the small shed off to the side of the property because the empty space is easier to work around than the deliberate emptiness of the extra chair, the extra bowls, the extra expanse that Obi-Wan has carved out of his existence to let Cody in. He loves him with every thread of his being.

The horizon is still empty.

Obi-Wan’s breath fogs in the heavy air and he stands, a lingering ache in the small of his back from his posture, turning back towards the house. One more day alone isn’t something he needs to worry about; if Cody is delayed, he can turn back to town and wait out the night or there are decent boarding houses in the farther flung settlements, even spending the night out on the plains wouldn’t prove a hardship yet. The nights are cool but not overly unpleasant making for a rough night’s sleep but Cody would be safe and warm enough to make his way back to Obi-Wan. Inside his home, Obi-Wan places his plate and mug into the basin, resolving to wash up in the morning. Tomorrow would come quicker if he slept and the absence of Cody is weighing on him more than he would have expected after so long apart. If he didn’t love Cody, then it wouldn’t hurt as much. The town thinks they are just good friends who have gone into business together, not uncommon enough to draw any suspicion, and there is always a careful distance between them, even here. Obi-Wan wants to kiss Cody, to hold him, to love him in the way he deserves to be loved. 

Soon. Obi-Wan scratches over his jaw, his nails rasping against the regrowth of his beard, and makes his way to his bedroom. The bed is big enough for two, often shared and yet it isn’t enough. Rage burns at the edges of his eyes and Obi-Wan grinds the base of his palm against it, settling himself down for an uneasy night’s sleep. 

He wakes a handful of hours later, long enough that Obi-Wan feels the heavy duvet of exhaustion slide away from him, crumpling onto the floor. He’s awake, uneasily so, sitting upright in his too-big too-empty bed, blinking out into the dappled darkness. Tears have dried on his face, flaking away as he yawns, beginning to sink back beneath the covers. The front door creaks, the latch sliding back, and Obi-Wan is awake and moving. The rifle on the wall is old but still serviceable, well-maintained in Cody’s absence, and Obi-Wan loads it, his head cocked to one side as he strains to listen. 

“Obi-Wan,” Cody calls, laughter colouring his words a deep shade of orange. “I’m home.”

Obi-Wan can’t remember putting the gun back onto the stand, unloaded once more, or the scant handful of steps back to Cody’s side, but he’s there, smelling like sunshine and horse. Obi-Wan throws his arms around Cody’s neck, hugging him tightly. He’s crying, he notes distantly, tears pressed between his skin and Cody’s, salt damp against his lips, and he doesn’t want to wait a moment longer. Obi-Wan cups Cody’s jaw, his thumb burning against the rough line of stubble Cody always has when he returns and the familiarity of it would break him open once more if Cody wasn’t holding him close. He kisses him, tears streaming down his cheeks and Cody grins against his mouth. 

“What a welcome,” Cody murmurs, drawing back enough to wipe his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek. His eyes are bright, wavering film drawn over them too, and a tear falls free as he blinks. “I missed you.”

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Ten

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Chapter contains drug use, violence, canon-typical racism, and absolutely no Eris.

Aisling had been hoping to continue playing the recluse after her night with Eris, but typically, her luck didn’t hold. She had wanted to stew and sulk and sort through her feelings in private, contemplating what it meant to have a mate. On the surface she knew, but she wanted to turn the knowledge over and over in her mind until she understood.

Mates were property, both in Night and in Autumn. Anything but acceptance was unthinkable – and mates were sacred, so rare it was a blessing. But to be mated to the heir of the Autumn Court…. Aisling had a sinking feeling that she hadn’t thought through the full weight of it when she sulked her way out of his chambers.

Eris plagued her thoughts ever since, though. She had felt the ghost of his hands on her, the phantom drag of his lips on her neck; it had felt like he’d branded her with how thoroughly he’d laid claim to every inch of skin. The bite mark he’d left on her neck ached, and she pressed on it absently as she thought of the way his hair shone like molten metal in the firelight.

She wanted him again. That was the worst part - that despite his arrogance, despite him refusing to understand the danger he’d dropped her in, despite his refusal to explain himself at all, she wanted to touch him again so badly her teeth ached.

Aisling groused that she had to show her face at court as Maeve helped her dress. The timing was poor. It was an execution, and watching was enforced on all occupants of the City. She hadn’t known the female – some lower gentry wife – and had been too withdrawn lately to hear the gossip, but the female’s offense was vow-breaking. A grievous insult: vows weren’t magically binding, but the social contract was strict and demanded satisfaction. Aisling didn’t feel much sympathy, too preoccupied with thoughts of Eris.

Eris, and his arrogant, laughing voice. The width of his shoulders as he spread her legs. The glow of his skin, luminous in the firelight.

It was only after the unfortunate female’s head had been branded with the Court crest and mounted on the gates that Niamh sidled up to her, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I missed you,” she whispered, linking her little finger with Aisling’s. “Why have you been hiding? Padraig is away, on the border. Come play house with me.”

She was not so outcast, then. The dizzying swoop of relief, the relief of female friendship and of everything Niamh’s offer meant – Aisling squeezed her little finger, followed obediently. It would be good; to pretend nothing had changed, that her plans for her life hadn’t been wiped clean.

“I heard Eris Vanserra strangled you and killed you,” Niamh said later, once they were sat on her couch. Aisling choked on her tea, tucking her bare feet under her like a little girl. Niamh laughed at her.

“From whom?” Aisling spluttered.

“A guard in the palace tups my maid. She told me,” Niamh said, eyes sparkling. “What could he have heard that made him suspect murder, I wonder?”

Aisling avoided her eye, making Niamh laugh harder.

“Very wicked,” Niamh said teasingly. “But your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that you enjoyed yourself and shall say that you suffered bravely for the sake of our Court.”

“Only so long as I tell you every detail?” Aisling guessed, pouring another cup of tea for both of them.

“Exactly,” Niamh said with a triumphant smile and lifted a small jar from the table beside her. “And only so long as you’re wicked for a little while longer.”

Aisling took it, lifting the lid. Immediately, the smell of mushrooms stuffed itself up her nose – earth, a bit of rot, a lot of magic.

“Niamh…” Aisling winced, replacing the lid.

“Oh, please,” Niamh wheedled. “Padraig is away. It will be fun, just as when we were girls. Did you have any plans, other than sulking and sending Eris filthy dreams?”

Aisling didn’t mention that she hadn’t been planning on even doing that. She knew the nightcap mushrooms very well – it was impossible not to, they grew commonly in the lower, damper levels – but it had been a while since she’d consumed any. The resulting night could be freeing, or haunting; she’d experienced both. The mushrooms were unpredictable, though some explained it as picking up the magic of the Fae nearby, saying you had to be careful where you plucked.

They were ritually taken at the Summer Solstice, and habitually by anyone with a yearning to open a door in their mind and leave the City for a few hours. It wasn’t exactly difficult to get them - Niamh certainly didn’t have to go as far as the floating markets - but the practice wasn’t encouraged among gentry females.

Little was encouraged among gentry females, actually.

Niamh didn’t really have to press her. The idea of escape, even temporarily, was dangerously seductive. Maybe she’d see something other than Eris’ elegant hands sliding up her legs when she closed her eyes. Just once, she thought. A little reprieve.

Niamh smiled in delight as Aisling shook one out, carefully splitting it in half with one of Padraig’s daggers. It took an hour or two to take effect. They spent this giggling and descending slowly into absurdity, somehow ending up sprawled on the floor. A maid stepped over them as she cleared the tea tray, fetching wood when Aisling asked.

“I have a riddle for you,” Aisling said, the room suddenly feeling as pleasant and warm as a bath. Niamh was beside her, blonde hair spilled across the blue carpet. It shone silver-gold, sparkling with Niamh’s magic when she moved. Niamh rolled onto her back to look at Aisling, eyes curious and bright, all pupil. “A male and a female -”

“That’s a jigsaw puzzle, not a riddle,” Niamh giggled stupidly, setting Aisling off.

“Let me finish. A male and a female, but he is as changeable as -”

“A fire?” Niamh said, laughing as Aisling blushed. She could feel the blush, and pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide it but it wriggled under her hands, escaping from her.

“He professes endearment, but leaves the female behind when he goes. He says he’ll return for her,” Aisling said, as Niamh traced some pattern on the rug, eyes half-closing. She was speaking very slowly, or perhaps Aisling was merely listening to every single word very closely.

“No riddle,” Niamh said. She was glowing with life, Aisling noticed suddenly. They were so alive, the two of them. “A tale as old as the mountain, that one.”

“Will he come back?” Aisling asked the moon, which she felt that she could see, staring at her through miles of stone. It loved her, even if they had never seen each other, and she loved it. If she ever saw it, she would tell it that. The moonlight would feel like silk, and Aisling could imagine it now, silken against her cheek.

“Padraig?” Niamh said, stroking the rug over and over, like a cat. “I hope so. I’m with child.”

Aisling couldn’t hear her while she built a fire in the hearth. Niamh was speaking too slowly, anyways. The room was warm but Aisling wanted to be warmer, wanted to be boiling hot. She wanted the smell of woodsmoke, wanted to see nothing but amber and crimson.

You’re my mate, he’d said. You belong to me.

“You belong to me,” Niamh told her womb, eyes fully closed now, one hand stroking her belly. Had she said that aloud?

The act of building the fire felt very important. She imagined Eris doing it, imagined his hands alongside hers, showing her. The texture of the wood felt glorious so she held it for a while, thinking of the life the tree had led and where, the life she would lead and where, how she had ended up holding the wood of the tree that grew elsewhere.

Perhaps it grew in Autumn. Perhaps in Winter. Maybe the pine forests of the Steppes. Aisling held it and felt she was also in these places, because she touched the wood that had touched these places.

Aisling lost time when she was staring into the fire, seeing the patterns in the flames so clearly that it enraptured her. She felt warm and happy, and the memory of Eris over her and in her wasn’t a phantom or a ghost but a warm blanket, surrounding her. She fell asleep on the floor beside Niamh, thinking of that, wondering if Eris felt warm and happy, too.

———————

Azriel awoke from his nightmare abruptly. He was disoriented, the taste of blood in his mouth; it took him sitting up to remember it was the taste of the wine he drank last night. That’s right – he had been drinking at the River House with Cassian, Rhys, and Mor until the early hours of the morning. He had wanted to leave earlier, but Mor had wheedled him into staying.

It will be just like old times she’d said, brown eyes wide as she smiled slyly. How could he refuse?

The nightmare was already slipping away in the blue light of early dawn. He’d dreamt of skin under his hands, giving way like tearing into fabric. It had been dark, as it always was in his dreams. A finger, he remembered. He’d taken a finger off in his dream like parting out a butchered chicken. Azriel frowned, rubbing at his head to clear it. Was that a memory, floating up unbidden? Something made up?

The wine conflated the two, he decided. More likely than not he’d done similar, ripping a finger off the bone, but he couldn’t remember a specific instance. His mind often enjoyed filling in the blanks for him of the things he’d forgotten.

Nearly five hundred years of violence meant that he’d forgotten a lot.

He had a meeting with Cass and Rhys this morning. They had meant to get stuck into it last night, but Mor had arrived, talking about Vallahan and the progress on the treaty there, then about her new adventures, then about their old adventures… it had spiralled out from there.

Azriel opted to fly slowly, stretching his wings, admiring Velaris as dawn broke and chased away the cobwebs of his dream. A beautiful city – more beautiful than anything he’d thought he’d ever see – he’d never get used to it.

What Rhys had built was good. He thought of it as he swooped down to the River House, about the refuge they offered here. They’d had more refugees lately as word spread, fleeing from the instability in Spring and the border violence in Autumn, the aftermath of the war. A great many of them were walking wounded. He thought of the Urisks he’d seen a few weeks ago, missing hands and feet. He’d seen the pain and the hardness in Feyre’s eyes at that, too.

“Come in, come in,” Feyre greeted him as he walked through the front door. Nyx was already in her arms, straining to be free. He’d started walking enthusiastically lately, often toddling into a run only to stumble and end up in a heap of wings and fat little limbs. Nyx was reaching for him, little smile wide.

“Cass and Rhys are just in his office. No, Uncle Az has very important business to attend to, you can’t play with him just yet,” Feyre mock-scolded Nyx, raising him to blow a raspberry on his tummy and sending him into a fit of squealing giggles.

Azriel couldn’t help the smile as he stepped through the door.

Rhys looked tired, but happy.

“Nyx,” he explained, waving away Azriel’s concerned glance. “He didn’t feel like sleeping, again. Up all night.”

“So was Cass,” Az said, deadpan, as Cassian yawned.

“Don’t tell me anything more. I don’t want to know,” Rhys said, rolling his eyes.

“You’d deserve it after all you put us through with Feyre darling,” Cass teased in return, refusing to be embarrassed. Azriel liked seeing his brothers like this, relaxed and happy and mated, even if jealousy also twisted like acid through his gut.

“Eris,” Rhys started, steepling his fingers and smirking as he changed the subject with the subtlety of a brick. He ducked the paper Cassian wadded up and threw at him smoothly. “I don’t like him cosying up too closely with the Court of Nightmares. No good can come of it. Everything they want there comes at a cost to us.”

“He’s plenty cosy,” Cassian snorted, propping a booted foot up on the desk. Rhys looked at it pointedly, which Cassian chose to ignore.

“Meaning?” Rhys said, looking to Azriel.

“They’ve given him a consort there,” Azriel said. “After they killed my spy, I sent a shadow to check myself. He met with a female. Escorted by a soldier.”

“Charming,” Rhys grimaced, but Azriel could tell he was glad that Feyre and Mor weren’t here for the conversation.

Eris knew Azriel’s shadows too well at this point – ever since he’d been caught in Autumn, the heir had taken pains to ward against them. It was notable when he didn’t, though Azriel got the feeling it was Eris directing his attention rather than slipping up. There had been a few instances, most recently a meeting between Beron and his sons about expanding into Spring. It had been difficult to shake the feeling of being manipulated but he had dutifully reported back to Rhys about it, only to have their offer of stationing Illyrian soldiers in Spring for stability rebuffed by Tamlin. They’d then arranged a meeting with Eris, who had looked sly as he offered to send his own loyal soldiers rather than Beron’s.

To ensure we keep control of the situation, he’d said, smirking, knowing he’d positioned himself as their arm in Spring. It was trademark Eris Vanserra – keeping them chasing his tail, letting them watch him when he wanted to be watched. Manipulating the situation to his own ends.

“He’s given them something, then,” Rhys mused. “They’ve been courting him for some advantage, to keep their role as allies. But what can he give them right now that they would want? What’s changed?”

“The female will be the weakest point,” Cassian said. “Keir and Thanatos won’t say anything. Az said the Darkbringers are difficult to break, so the soldier is out. The female makes sense to start with.”

Azriel kept his face blank, but he was balking; his shadows crawled over his shoulders, sensing his reluctance, seeking to hide him.

“Just -” Rhys said, trailed off. “Just a conversation. Keir will never let you speak to a female unsupervised there, so I doubt it will come to anything, anyways. But maybe they told her something, or perhaps Eris did. He likes to plant little surprises for us. She might give something away.”

This was met with an eye roll from Cassian, who had experienced running around after Eris’ little surprises himself. Azriel knew, glumly, that it had to be him – Keir would outright refuse if it was Cassian, and this wasn’t worth Rhys’ or Feyre’s time. Mor also wasn’t a possibility.

“Just a conversation,” Azriel said, quietly.

“Of course,” Rhys agreed, but Azriel couldn’t shake the sense that he didn’t. He was getting impatient with the Hewn City, wanting to focus on the treaty on the Continent instead, on kicking Tamlin back into his former strength to ensure Prythian was a united front. The Court of Nightmares growing mutinous and tricky was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Azriel also knew the second half of Eris’ bargain weighed on Rhys’ mind – Eris had fulfilled his end, leaving Rhys in his debt; something that had caused more than a few long strategy meetings between them.

Azriel went to the Hewn City, late in the day. The morning had felt rare and golden, and he wanted to prolong it, to savour it like wine. He left winnowing as late as possible.

The meeting room Azriel had been shown to after directing Keir to bring him the female was smaller than the council room, with a round stone table that he sat on one side of as he waited. He knew the female’s name, Aisling De Danann, and that she was a shockingly wealthy member of the gentry. There wasn’t much else. Azriel doubted there was much else to know; females in the Hewn City skewed subservient and quiet.

The female had a nearly-faded bruise on the arch of her cheekbone and an angry bite mark not quite hidden by the neckline of her dress, perhaps two or three days old. It was vivid against her pale skin. A fresher bruise was smudged against back of her neck, a shadow told him as it slid through the fall of her dark hair unnoticed. Eris’ handiwork, left stamped for Azriel to see.

She smelled like stone, as most people of the Court of Nightmares did. She also smelled like mushrooms, faintly. And rose and mist and… something else that he couldn’t identify but scratched at him irritably.

“Your presence isn’t needed,” Azriel said to Keir.

It was as Rhys said it would be. “And leave you alone with one of our females? I think not, brute,” Keir sneered in answer. He watched like a hawk, leaning against the wall by the closed door, a cruel indifference twisting his mouth. He was watching the female, though, not Azriel.

“What did Eris Vanserra want with you?” Azriel asked, studying the female closely. He didn’t bother with introducing himself – they knew who he was here.

Aisling had evidently been well trained. Her face was a blank, pleasant mask as she studied him in return. Her dark eyes flicked over his face, the siphons on his shoulders, skimming over the shadows coiling around his wings. Azriel kept his hands carefully beneath the table, away from her scrutiny. The corner of her mouth quirked up at his question, but she didn’t answer for a long moment as she evaluated him, and the silence stretched.

Too long for Keir. He crossed the room in three strides and slammed her head forward into the table. She let out a grunt as she hit the stone with a hard thud, hands bracing against the edge, but she couldn’t lever herself up against the force with which Keir pressed down.

Azriel kept himself blank.

“Don’t waste my time,” he hissed at her, grinding her face against the obsidian slab for a moment longer before releasing her abruptly and returning to his post by the door. The female’s head rose back up, an angry red welt across her brow where it had taken the brunt of the impact.

Keir didn’t even pretend to care about Azriel’s reaction. Azriel was a torturer here. Why would they expect him to give a shit about a little more violence, he thought bitterly, heart cold and hard. He also thought Keir was less concerned about his time and more concerned about what the female might say, judging by the way he kept his glare fixed on the back of her head.

It was a warning, then, and not done for Azriel’s benefit at all.

Azriel fucking hated this place. He hated Keir, too. It was too easy to imagine how many times it had been Mor’s head smashed off the nearest hard object.

“What’s usually sought at Night,” the female said finally, as if they were having a pleasant conversation at a cafe. She dabbed lightly at the blood starting to trickle from her nose with the corner of her long sleeve. The hint of a smile hadn’t fully gone, despite the way Keir just violently concussed her in front of him.

“Elaborate,” Azriel directed her softly. Keir sighed heavily and handed her a black handkerchief from his pocket, which she used to staunch the blood.

“Surely you know?” She answered slyly, smile growing a little unfriendly. Blood was smeared across her face, over the fading bruises. “I did not think Illyrians so different.”

She was playing with her words. Azriel didn’t scowl – he had better control of himself than that – but he thanked the stars Cass wasn’t here because he’d never hear the end of it. He’d forgotten how they spoke here, always saying one thing and meaning another. It was how Rhys’ father had spoken. Every word was a trap, waiting to catch him if he erred.

“Did he ask anything of you?” Azriel said.

“Plenty,” she said coyly, smiling wider now.

“Questions about the Court,” Azriel clarified flatly. “Magical favours. Bargains.”

“Why would he ask me for such?” She demurred, but the glance up from under her eyelashes had weight. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling the truth, either; performing some verbal sleight of hand. Some instinct about her kept pressing on the back of his mind.

“Aisling,” Keir warned darkly. “Enough. Answer his questions.”

Aisling made a graceful gesture with her hand.

“As you say, Lord Steward. Does he have any others for me?”

“No,” Azriel finally decided. He’d obtain nothing of use from her in front of Keir; he was almost certain he could get her to talk without him. No torture needed, he thought, with no small amount of relief. “I do have questions for you, though, Keir.”

“You can ask as we go through the mine,” Keir ordered arrogantly, snapping his fingers at Aisling and gesturing her to the door. “We have business there. You didn’t deign to inform us you’d be gracing us here, so you’ll simply have to work to our schedule.”

Azriel didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the power struggle; far easier to let Keir think he had control of the situation. More was always revealed when someone felt confident. He simply followed Keir, taking the opportunity to let his shadows have a furtive look around; it had been too long since they’d been here last, distracted with tensions boiling on the Continent. The murdered spy hadn’t helped. Azriel mused over how to get another source as he followed them down through the palace and into the mine.

———————

A headache had been grinding into her all day, ever since the servant had woken Aisling up and she’d pried herself out of the bed she’d somehow made it to. Niamh had slept on, merely pulling the blanket over her head. It hadn’t been helped by having her head bounced off the table by Lord Keir, an entirely unnecessary gesture.

She wouldn’t have told the Illyrian anything, anyways. Everyone knew the Lord Steward was stealing from them. In Aisling’s view, it was deserved. Her tax burden was monumental, yet the High Lady only ever dressed in bits of ribbon. It would be less galling if she at least dressed like she was helping herself to a third of Aisling’s income. It did always make her wonder where the money went, though; not all of it could go to Lord Keir’s pocket, and it wasn’t as if the City received any notable investment. Aisling herself gave generously, though to no cause in particular. There was more than enough misery to go around, and always an orphanage or healer or school in need of help.

Besides, she hadn’t lied to the Illyrian. Eris hadn’t told her anything at all and had only asked of her what most males asked. The Illyrian could use his imagination. He was surely more creative than her.

Aisling rubbed at her temple absently, but the ache had shifted behind her eyes as the day had turned to evening. She couldn’t remember much of the prior night – it was all a garbled blur of sensation and emotion save for Niamh’s confession, which she had been sworn to wide-eyed secrecy about. But her eyes had stung from how long she’d stared at the fire like an idiot.

She’d followed Lord Keir and the Illyrian to the mine but stepped away to speak to the overseer about the problems arising in the new shaft they’d opened. As she understood it, the problem was water: the deeper they dug, the more water they found. This water had to go somewhere, and the river that flowed through the heart of the Mountain could not take it all, and would frequently burst its channels if they tried. They had begun flooding the very lowest sections of the levels where the coblynau who worked the mines had once lived. Aisling thought it obvious that this was not a sustainable solution, but knew better than to raise this issue with any other than the troll she stood with in a side chamber where the coblynau refined the raw stones into something beautiful. She preferred these rooms to the main shaft, where she had left Lord Keir and the Illyrian. It opened like a great gullet into the ground, spiralling down into darkness, with stairs and ramps that curled around its sides precariously.

She didn’t know how far down it went – the coblynau had no need of light so there wasn’t much to gauge the depth, only the distorted echoes of them working. The first time she visited as a child, she had nightmares of falling into the shaft endlessly for weeks afterwards.

The air felt like a blanket this far down. It was smothering and dragged in and out of her lungs with effort. The troll, Moglurch, towered over her, half again her height. He was the width of a column and as sturdy as a boulder. His skin was a pale green, like old lichen on stone; his lower fangs jutted out prominently and caught the light as he spoke.

“New shaft is good,” he pronounced to her, voice clattering like rocks that turned in the river. Aisling’s head throbbed painfully, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. “Productive.”

“What happens when you reach the bottom?” She asked, curious in a dull way.

The troll huffed impatiently, like she was being difficult. “We’ll never reach the bottom. Lasts forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” she said, frowning. Shadows crept against the walls where the light was falling, fading into the grey gloom of night.

“At the bottom is the end of the world,” the troll said, as if she were a stupid child. Aisling nodded sanguinely, as if this troll superstition made any sense to her.

Dust fell from the ceiling. She flicked it off her hair, annoyed.

“Could we pump the water seasonally? Perhaps in su-”

A rumble from beneath her feet, somewhere in the bowels of the earth, cut her short. She felt it more than heard it, travelling up through the stone and vibrating through her feet. She shut her mouth and looked at the overseer, who frowned.

“Mine noises,” he rumbled after a moment. “Stay, Sidhe.”

Aisling had no intention of listening to a troll. When he left, she waited a few moments before stepping after him, coming out to the stairs at the edge of the dark abyss. Air was dragging down into the great hole, tugging at her hair and dress. She peered first upwards, towards the mouth; the exit called to her, but she glanced down quickly. On the steps below her Lord Keir was caught in the light, a scowl on his arrogant face as he spoke to the Illyrian.

Azriel’s head snapped around to face her abruptly, but Aisling turned away. She was ready to leave without being dismissed, head banging like a drum. The air was stifling. She felt as if she could hardly breathe, even as the breeze suddenly picked up –

One moment she was there, facing upwards, and the next the world slid sideways with an almighty roar. It spun crazily for a moment, and then all she could see was stone. Her headache pounded worse, and she reached to touch it, disoriented.

Blood was on her fingers when she pulled them away, but it was impossible to say whether it was from her head or the way half her hand had been smashed open. The air was choking, hazy; it was like smoke. Eris, she thought, but it wasn’t smoke at all.

It hurt. She couldn’t breathe. She had to move.

Aisling tried to push herself – what was on her? Her legs were heavy and dull – and would have screamed at the pain that lanced up her arm, but her mouth was filled with rock and dirt and blood.

The Illyrian was there, leaning over her suddenly. He was saying something but Aisling couldn’t hear, all she heard was ringing. He reached out to touch her and she flinched back, suddenly panicked – he was taking her to kill her, he had just been waiting, ever since he asked her questions –

Darkness swept around them like a shawl as he grabbed her shoulder. Fear shredded at her, even as the air cleared. Eris, she thought again, lungs squeezing shut in terror. Why hadn’t he taken her with him? The blind longing for him – a want so strong she could feel it in her chest, with every beat of her heart, as if he could save her. As if he would bother, when he had already left her here once.

Aisling didn’t know when they had winnowed, or how he had brought her through the wards. She only realised time and space had passed when she heard him speak.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice pitched low and soft, like he was speaking to a wounded animal.

“Do not – don’t touch me,” she snarled, panicked despite his words, cracking her eyes open before flinging her hurt arm over her head. He let her go immediately.

Everything hurt. She lay like that, trying to take stock of herself, her head still rung like a bell. She was on a rug on a cool floor, smooth and polished beneath the fibres. Her mouth was gritty, tasting of blood and dirt. She could hear… she could hear…

Aisling’s eyes snapped open, then immediately screwed shut again as she hissed, near blinded. Instinctively she pulled darkness, wrapping herself in it, spilling from her hands. Wherever she was, it was bright; her eyes watered and head squeezed like a vice. But she could hear air moving. She could hear the wind.

“Az, what’s happened? I came as quick as I could. And what did you mean you needed to bring someone?” A voice was asking, footsteps drawing closer.

Aisling knew that voice. Everyone knew that voice. Her eyes sprang open again, mercifully cloaked in darkness this time, and she pushed herself gingerly up to face the violet eyes of the High Lord. The Illyrian – Azriel – stood by him, studying her with an inscrutable face. They loomed over her like giants.

“Eris Vanserra’s mate,” Azriel said, watching her like an animal. “Part of the mine collapsed. She was the female you had me speak to. It took me a while to realise, but she reeks of him once I puzzled it out. I thought it best not to let her get crushed to death.”

Aisling bowed her head, desperate to look away from them, to be anywhere else. Her hand pulsed with every heartbeat, which distracted her nicely from the dazzling pain in her head.

“Eris Vanserra has a mate?” The High Lord asked, voice dripping with amusement as he studied her, bleeding on his rug. His eyes suddenly narrowed and he whipped his head towards Azriel. “The mine collapsed?”

“Part of it,” Azriel confirmed, and the High Lord swore softly. “I’ll go back, try to discover what happened.”

“Not yet,” he directed. “It will take a while to settle. It’s unstable and dangerous until then. Too easy to get trapped. They’ll shore it up and we’ll all go back, together.”

Aisling struggled to her feet while they discussed, bracing her good arm on a plush settee to help her rise. She leaned against it, the room swimming drunkenly as she regained her equilibrium. It was lovely, wherever she was: pale moonstone walls and floors, gauzy white curtains, an elegantly carved hearth. Bookshelves lined the small room, comfortable chairs and chaises inviting her to sink down and sleep for the next ten years. The splitting pain in her head made that idea very appealing.

Her darkness hung heavy in the air, muting the colours, but the air itself was wild and crisp. Fresh and alive in a way Aisling couldn’t describe.

“I’ll send for a healer for you,” the High Lord was saying to her, but it was an effort to listen. “You seem to be bleeding quite a lot, and that rug was very expensive.”

“Did you know?” Azriel asked her, still staring at her unnervingly. “That Eris is your mate.”

“Yes,” Aisling ground out, dislodging a shard of rock that had been embedded in her gums as she moved her tongue.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, voice flat. It was as if he had no emotion at all. Aisling wanted to ask him how he did it, or if he genuinely didn’t feel anything.

“You didn’t ask,” she said, though it was so obvious she didn’t feel she needed to. Even a child in the Hewn City would know that and exploit that loophole.

The High Lord laughed darkly. “She has a point,” he said, as if this were all a dinnertime amusement. The room swam a little as she turned her head.

“Who would have guessed,” he mused, violet eyes flashing in the dark as he studied her. “But why leave you behind? What sort of male could stand to leave his mate in such a place?”

Aisling would have spoken up in his defence if she didn’t think she would be sick when she opened her mouth. When his attempt at baiting her didn’t succeed, the High Lord put his hands in his pockets, watching her carefully.

Something throbbed at her temple, mind squeezing inside her head. Aisling closed her eyes for a moment, letting it pass over her.

“He rarely does behave in a way that’s predictable,” the High Lord finally drawled, smirking now as he watched her. Had that been him, seeking a way in through the fog of pain currently swallowing her mind? “You can remain here, as my guest. As Eris is apparently so cavalier with your safety, it would be my pleasure to ensure it. Since he is evidently unable.”

His mouth said guest but she could read the meaning behind it plainly enough; she was to be a prisoner. Courtly manners alongside rotten treatment. Aisling was used to this, the pandering show of gentility while being handled roughly – Lord Keir, handing her his handkerchief after smashing her head into the table; Eris, calling her beautiful before holding her by the throat; her father, telling her he loved her after striking her neatly across the face.

The memory of Eris made nausea swoop again through her stomach, the realisation slowly dropping. It was as he said it would be – she was to be used as leverage over him, held to ensure his obedience for whatever ends they desired. It was exactly what Eris had sought to avoid. He had warned her, yet it came to pass regardless. Perhaps he would even reject her to avoid being manipulated, and she would be sent back to the City. Or perhaps Azriel would simply kill her, she thought wildly, sparing a glance at him.

“You could thank him for saving your life,” the High Lord suggested, noting the way she glanced, dark amusement in his voice. This was funny to him.

“You only saved me to serve the High Lord’s interests. I do not thank you,” Aisling said, refusing to be cowed by an Illyrian. She feared the High Lord, but she wouldn’t fear a lesser fae dog; he could kill her regardless, acting deferential wouldn’t spare her. More than that, she did not want to thank him and be in his debt. Debt was a form of obligation, in the City. Perhaps the Illyrians were exempt, but she certainly was not.

“She’s as arrogant as Vanserra,” the High Lord laughed as if she weren’t in the room. “You don’t think you owe him a boon?”

There were no right answers. Every word was a trap, but Aisling had played these games since she could talk. She had been born on this knife’s edge.

“I don’t think anything at all, Lord,” she said. There was a lot of blood on the floor, now. The puddle of it swam in front of her, doubling then tripling then sliding back together.

“I doubt that,” Azriel observed from behind her. They moved so she could not face them both at the same time, keeping her turning between them. She did not bare her teeth but every animal instinct screamed for her to lunge for the door, to run. But where? She was out of the City. Where was she?

“Just what we needed,” the High Lord smiled as he turned to depart. A charming grin, but with too many teeth and too little sincerity. “The Court of Nightmares to start thinking.”

After he had gone Aisling promptly vomited on the very expensive rug.

———————

A/N: I feel like faerie magic mushrooms works better in the setting than Crescent City's faerie coke and faerie weed

[xantchaslegacy]

Lyese

(A March of the Machine Aftermath fanfic; please give the story on AO3 a read and leave a comment if you can ;) )

Lyese was gone.

Lyese was gone, and the sky was empty.

And below, Phyrexia reeled.

...

Glissa stood alone. To every side the open sands of the Glorious Facade rolled away in shallow hills, fine grains of pearl-white sand cool and still beneath her heels.

Not even the wind stirred those grains.

And Lyese, that green sun of Phyrexia, and of Mirrodin before it, was gone.

They’ve all gone.

Every sun that’s ever graced Phyrexia.

Or Mirrodin before it.

Black reigned above Glissa. Not even the vivid-dark light of Ingle, the black sun, but an empty, blank, unbroken black. Lifeless black. Only the far edges of the sky (if you could call it a sky) were interrupted, by tilted, moldering monuments to Phyrexia and its praetors. Silent sentinels lording over nothing at all.

Glissa’s eyes searched the black.

Searched in vain.

Even without the light of the suns, she could see the plane around her clearly. The sands, the monuments, the wandering figure of the occasional phyrexian pilgrim, one of those pensive, nomadic creatures who graced the facade of late. Everything was thrown into sharp, shadow-less relief, as though illuminated on all sides by a colorless, unseen moon.

Whether this strange, source-less light was the effect of Phyrexia’s banishment to a pocket space beyond the multiverse, or of some as-of-yet unknown property of the argent shell their new Phyrexia had been built upon, no one yet knew.

Karn had said once, when Glissa was fitting him to be the next father of machines, that Mirrodin was sunless at the time of its creation. He had called it “Argentum” then, in the eponymous nature of a demigod. Argentum had been empty too, if the silver golem’s ravings were to be believed. Empty but for the blinkmoths. Empty, but beautiful and precise and rich in detail. Mathematical artistry in planar form.

A bitter smile split Glissa’s lips. Urabrask would have loved such a thing, that form-loving fool.

Now the exterior of the plane was an unending uniformity of sand, hex-plates...and these gaudy monuments to the glory of Elesh Norn’s Phyrexia.

Glory . Glissa spat a wad of tarry oil onto the ground. It shivered on the surface for a moment before soaking into the sands. What arrogance drives a conqueror to build monuments before she’s even triumphed? As if New Phyrexia were ever even hers entirely. As if she’d won us all over before she planted her ruinous realm-breaking tree and challenged all the multiverse.

She felt the lie in these thoughts as they filtered through her mind. Just out of sight over the horizon, there was a statue to Vorinclex. Further in the other direction, one of Urabrask, heretic and rebel though he had been. Phyrexians of all factions had joined in Norn’s invasion, even if some had dissented, and the monuments would not let her forget.

Glissa had walked as far as she could from those monuments for...for what, really?

An uninterrupted view of the blank, pitch nothing that surrounds us now?

Her eyes twitched; a hunter’s acuity taking in the whole expanse above. Again and again. Moment by moment. Alert for even the smallest movement or disruption to that black uniformity. A secondary set of optic nerves, connected to a lens in her eyes that saw heat signatures, flickered on and off, seeing the same blank field.

Yes, that’s exactly why I came here. Exactly why I keep returning. Confirmation that the suns have fled our sky.

No.

That they’ve been torn from their place.

White Bringer, red Sky Tyrant, the blue Eye of Doom, black Ingle...the green Ugly Child.

Lyese. Lyese was not an ugly. And she was a woman grown. A child for a time, perhaps, but it was beautiful.

No, not it.

She.

Glissa grimaced. Not at the sentiment itself, but because, no matter how hard she tried to recall, she did not know where the sentiment came from. The Mirran goblins had had a vast mythology prescribed to the suns. She had familiarized herself with that mythology, but she also knew their name for the green sun, ‘the ugly child’ was not appropriate. She knew Lyese was a name for the green sun, she also knew it was not their name for her. It was Glissa’s name for her. It had been her name for the green sun for many years, before she’d known Phyrexia’s touch.

She was so certain of it, she just couldn’t say why.

She moved forward. One step. Two steps. The facade had been as dangerous a place as any in New Phyrexia before the great invasion, but now it lay inert. Swallowing, confounding sands had fallen still. Wandering predators, the outcasts of the layers below, still haunted the corners of the place, but most had fled back into the lower spheres in the time since the plane had been cut off from rest of the multiverse.

Fertile hunting grounds, once. Now it was still and sterile. Prey could see and hear a predator coming miles off. This glorious facade was the furthest thing from the Hunter’s Maze. Even the Quiet Forge had ledges and heights for a predator to pounce from. Even the Jin’s surgical bays had tunnels and chambers to lie in ambush – and prey worth chasing.

There wasn’t much prey worth hunting on New Phyrexia now, and the hunt was no longer about growing strong for the Grand Evolution, but simple, mean survival. The plane could no longer afford to squander its resources pursuing the disparate objectives of every sphere and faction.

Glissa grit her teeth. Stepped faster. Even in the absence of wind, the cold air rushing past felt soothing.

The facade was no place for a hunter, but it was the only place she could get away.

The only place she could breath.

This is as far as any of us can go without leaving, and leaving is no longer an option.

She’d felt most comfortable above the surface of the plane for as long as she could remember. Maybe that was why she’d pushed to unleash the beasts of the vicious swarm on the Mirrans long before any other faction had deigned to emerge. It had been balm to leave the artificial light of the interior…

...to hunt and bask in the light of Lyese...

Glissa scowled. Rushed forward even faster.

Her responsibilities in the spheres below felt distant here. The facade was a reprieve. A precious rest and intermission from the burdens of being a leader, and a mother to a world thrice-orphaned.

Veins pulsed in the back of Glissa’s skull, beneath copper cables of hair. Each throb a phyrexian, waiting still in its incubating pod somewhere on the spheres below, destined to emerge too late to take any part in the invasion for which they’d been germinated and crafted. Each throb a child who would emerge instilled with an undeniable purpose they would never be able to fulfill.

And it fell to Glissa and the other remaining nursemaids of this abandoned Phyrexia to find purpose on their behalf.

Her skull pounded. She had attuned herself to the birthing pods of Phyrexia at Norn’s suggestion, but using the means of the Grand Evolution. She’d thought it a clever subversion of Norn’s machinations, to incorporate her own innovations, crotus-born organs and enhancements, into the final design of the birthing and conversion pods, but all she’d done in the end was saddle herself with a responsibility that weighed down like shackles of blightsteel.

Another succession of pulses, bringing her head close to aching.

Glissa did not want to be a mother.

The Glissa she had been before Phyrexia had not wanted to be a mother either. She hadn’t even wanted to be a warrior. Not in the way that was expected of the elves of the Tangle, at least. Though she only remembered this life in brief, erratic flashes, or those rare stretches when she dreamed, she was sure of this much. The Glissa-before-Phyrexia had only wanted to be free.

But Mirrodin was not a plane for being free. It had never been such a place, no matter how much the Mirran resistance romanticized the times before New Phyrexia’s ascendancy.

It had been sterile from the start. This much they knew from Karn. It had been empty. Unintended for any life except for Karn’s guests - the demigods that had been the planeswalkers of old. When life had been brought to its sterile surface, by Karn’s mad steward, Memnarch, that life found a hostile world waiting for it. Grain and game scraped from what cold metal would allow to grow on it. A menagerie of artifact predators that swept across the plane to cull and to kill.

Not a home , but a slaughterhouse. A petri dish for Memnarch to grow a planeswalking spark so he could steal it and leave that world of barren metal behind .

K arn had lamented Memnarch at length in his more lucid moments. He had not meant to be a parent either. The weeping regret he felt in his failure at that role had made Glissa uneasy in a way that even his most frantic ravings had not.

Perhaps because it affected me directly, in another life.

Memnarch’s world produced Glissa. Glissa and a spark that should have made her free, but made her prey instead – the indefinite prey of Memnarch the mad. That world had forced the old Glissa to be the meanest, lowest thing imaginable: a survivor. Prey.

None of that made her any more inclined toward motherhood, and neither her death nor rebirth had changed that inclination. To live as a phyrexian was enough. To hunt as a phyrexian had been sublime.

And yet she had let motherhood be thrust upon her.

Norn had been clever about it. Dressed motherhood in skins (skin...that hateful stuff) that she knew Glissa would find appealing. The role as an alpha not just for the Vicious Swarm, but for all the fledgling cubs of Phyrexia. A mentor for the incubated, the new swarm that would prey upon the every inch of the multiverse that their invasion tree could spread its branches into.

She would have an avenue to ensure the Grand Evolution benefited all factions of Phyrexia. Through the invasion, she would have brought the blessing of strength to countless worlds. Thanks to her, all would have known the freedom to evolve past the limits the incompleat put on themselves and others in compensation for their weakness. Liberation from all the expectations and trappings and manipulations and hypocrisies of “civilized” fools.

Glissa clenched her fists. Copper on copper ground together. Sand ground under her heels as she strode on.

In truth, she’d been nothing more than a nursery guard. A kept spouse keeping Norn’s house in order, worrying over germs in the womb while the self-proclaimed “Mother of Machines” stood on her parapet, conducting the actual invasion efforts.

Efforts that failed. Efforts that set back everything their New Phyrexia had worked towards.

And just like Norn’s incompetence had stolen the future of the Swarm, just as Norn’s cunning (and the interference of that worm, Tezzeret) had stolen Karn and Glissa’s place at the helm of Phyrexia years ago.

More pounding. Glissa touched the wind-cooled copper of her palm to her forehead, to ease the sensation.

If Norn was wrong to seize control, and to force herself on all the burgeoning beliefs of New Phyrexia, was I truly any better?

Hadn’t she been acting the mother to Karn then? Hadn’t she betrayed the swarm’s disdain for individuality by taking on that role? Hadn’t they excised Yawgmoth from their dogma of predators and prey for his failures? Didn’t making any one phyrexian the father or mother of machines run contrary to what she aspired to?

No. It was not the same. I sought to install leadership to oversee that nature was left alone to run its course. It was not for the glory or honor that came with such a role, but for the functionality. The practicality of it.

A rationale as fragile as the facade, but it would do for now.

That Glissa had believed Norn would ever hand her back any fraction of that power in earnest was laughable. She should have been suspicious when so many of the caretakers of the incubating and converted proved to be members of Norn’s Alabaster Host.

But she had persisted in her role, down in the depths of the spheres. A better caretaker than most of the Orthodoxy's host, at least. Even now, she had to move mountains to gather the hands needed to tend to the remaining pods. She had been so subservient to those ends during the invasion that she had not even been present on the surface to say a final farewell to Lyese, before the Zhalfirins stole her away.

Not been present for a final farewell.

Maybe it was justice, for her folly.

Glissa halted, inspecting the sands around her. She might as well have not moved, for all the change in scenery her strides had brought.

Her muscles tensed, and for a single, thrilling moment, Glissa warred with the impulse to attack the ground with her claws, and tear a new hole through the facade to Mirrex below. It would be a delicious catharsis , but she had to be a builder now, and tearing the facade down would only be denying Phyrexia space that it would badly need in the days ahead.

W aste not, want not.

Slobad was at work on a scheme to reinforce this outermost sphere into a surface they could actually build something meaningful upon. The facade had been made at first out of little but scrap metal and malice. A structure as mean as the spite that had motivated it, and just as flimsy. Norn’s mouthpieces had claimed constructing the Facade was a strategic decision. One to expedite the task of defeating the Mirran rebels by demoralizing them. Any fool could have guessed it would only aggravate. Solidify the Mirran resolve and spur them to fight all the fiercer. Norn had to have known that, but she was, in the end, a spiteful creature. A cruel creature.

It was by malice the mirrans had their suns taken from them. Had their suns blotted out.

And now those suns were lost to Phyrexia.

Maybe that was justice.

Glissa shuddered. That was not a phyrexian thought. Strength was the only justice in the multiverse. Triumph was the only vindication that held any value in the world.

And yet, Glissa could not help but feel Lyese would have found a justice in what had happened. She had always had a strong sense of justice, especially when it came to punishing the guilty. Especially after her parents had died.

Glissa blinked.

Parents? The only parent the suns of Mirrodin had was the core. And she was certain none of the goblin myths had mentioned any parent other than the great mother. Certainly not a mother and father, as Glissa felt certain Lyese had had.

Lyese is a sun, not a daughter.

Or was she a moon?

Again, Glissa tilted her eyes to where the sky was not. Lyese continued to be nowhere in sight.

Lyese had wanted to be a wife. A mother. Glissa could never empathize with that, but she wanted it for Lyese. She wanted Lyese to be happy.

Glissa scowled. Why did she know that? Where did it come from? The notion had vexed her for years, and not a single comple a ted mirran goblin had ever corroborated these notions of Lyese. They did not even know the name.

And why did she miss Lyese?

Because Lyese was strong and bright and beautiful.

She is a sun.

It is a sun.

A strong, beautiful sun.

But strong as it was, if Glissa didn’t know where Lyese was, then how could she protect it when it needed protecting? How could Glissa embrace her when she cried? How could-

Glissa grabbed at her shoulder with metal-shod fingers and gripped it tightly.

Where is this coming from?

The pain was just inconvenience for her body, but it centered her.

It was all the losing that was causing her to lose focus. Losing Karn. Losing authority to Norn and the machinations of that shit-licker Tezzeret. Losing the invasion. Losing Benzir. Losing Lukka, and so many of the Swarm’s other beautiful predators.

Losing Geth, even, had stung. Grasping, treacherous buffoon though he was, Geth had been familiar, even when New Phyrexia was not, and Glissa was quickly running out of familiar things to anchor herself when everything became heavy. She would work with Ixhel to keep this new, reduced Phyrexia intact, but she would never forgive Atraxa’s little maggot of a child for re-purposing Geth.

Everything familiar is falling away.

Glissa drove her claws deeper into her shoulder.

The pain centered her.

...

The pain helped her focus.

…

…

Glissa’s eyes snapped open.

Someone was coming.

She did not move, or make any further outward indication she noticed that the ground was vibrating, just slightly. That there was a shifting in the grains of sand in the distance behind her. A predator did not scare so easily, and…

...

...and besides, she recognized the tread of the creatures approaching her.

They were welcome.

So she waited, breathing steady. She tilted back her head, eyes scanning the sky.

Just in case.

“Glissa?”

“Is something wrong, Slobad?” She kept her back turned, but she could picture the two figures behind her. One made of solid-forged steel, guided by the keenest mind left on the plane. One huddled and bristling, but bulging with muscle that put the steel body of the other to shame. Smaller creatures bustled and skittered at this second figure’s feet.

“Just came to see you, huh? Everything alright?”

S he didn’t answer. D idn’t know what to say to that. So she let them approach, turning only when they were within five paces.

Vorinclex was still technically shorter than Slobad, even though he’d been eating and growing at a voracious pace since the Zhalfirins had separated his head from his body. It was a w ound that would normally have been trivial for him to regenerate from , but the Zhalfiri ns’ cursed time mage had cast an enchantment on Vorinclex that slowed his normally prodigious healing to less than a crawl. The spell had persisted beyond Phyrexia’s banishment to this void, and the nominal praetor of the Vicious Swarm was still no larger than a juvenile vorrac.

But he was growing, at least. Growing, and more than a match for most any creature left in, above, or below the Hunter’s Maze.

S curr y ing about Vorinclex’s legs were small, hunched, raptor-like creatures of chrome, poking at the sands and sniffing the air. T wo of them were perched on Vorinclex’ back.

Glissa gave a tight smile as one of the little chrome raptors trotted up to her, and examined her legs with small tilts of its head. Norn hadn’t tried to make a parent of Vorinclex, but he had insisted no one else was suited to raise Jin’s cannibal larvae into proper phyrexians.

Slobad coughed. “Glissa? How are you?”

“Did you smell me all the way up here?” Glissa did not like ignoring Slobad, but she still didn’t have an answer for him. Instead she ran a hand along Vorinclex’s snout. He growled appreciatively, though she knew, and he knew that she knew, that he had no tactile feeling in his steel bone carapace. “Stronger and sharper with every day. I knew that meddling mage couldn’t suppress your prowess for long.”

S lobad shook his head. “ Not Vorey. Myrabrask saw you, huh? Sent a message down to the other myr in the F urnace.”

Glissa spun around, grinding the sand beneath her heels and glaring at the nearest monument. It was in bad repair, even by the standard of the facade, sitting crooked in the sand like some titanic tree, a broad mask in the shape of Elesh Norn’s own face crumbling atop it.

And there, in the upper reaches of the porcelain metal, a dark-red form skulked, perched on the mask like a bird, half hidden with a single beady eye fixed on Glissa from atop a curved, beak-like head.

“From master of the forge to a skulking snitch,” Glissa hissed. “I wish you hadn’t put him back together, Slobad.”

Slobad shrugged. “Waste not, want not, huh? He’s been handy, hasn’t he?”

Glissa grunted, and turned away from the monument. She didn’t trust anything sneaky enough to get so close without her notice.

Still, she didn’t begrudge Slobad finding a use of Urabrask’s parts. He remained as good at skulking in the periphery as he’d been in his previous life, and honest to a fault. The information he’d gathered on the still-power-hungry portions of the Thane and Orthodoxy factions around the core kept their outer layers one step ahead of any scheming.

“So there’s nothing wrong?” She looked up from Vorinclex.

“Nothing you don’t already know about, huh?”

“Right.”

Glissa raised her gaze further, back to the sky above Slobad. On top of the utter upheaval among what was left of the Thanes and the basilica phyrexians, t here were growing concerns about how many of their offloaded resources were forever lost across the multiverse to the nigh-countless planes that Realmbreaker had linked together. Phyrexia had, in effect, gutted itself to empty out armies across every world in reach, banking on the prediction that what they spent would be replenished by the worlds they claimed. Very little had been brought back, relative to what Phyrexia sent out by the time the invasion tree had been hijacked, and the enemy had swapped P hyrexia’s place in the multiverse with this pocket of nothing where Zhalfir sat for centuries in stasis.

The lingering unrest between the spheres and the factions therein was almost trivial next to these logistical issues. The orthodoxy and the thanes did not have enough military might to exert the kind of authority they coveted. The former had spent themselves more completely than any other faction in the invasion, and the latter where as divided by in- f ighting as ever, the deaths of multiple thanes having done nothing to make their sphere more united.

The introduction of several not-fully-compleated, or even completely incompleat creatures from other planes was another issue. Branches that led out to the multiverse led right back to Phyrexia, and not every creature from the planes beyond that currently inhabited their isolated world had been brought their by their invasion forces. Ezuri, of all creatures, had allied with Vishgraz to gather these disparate planar orphans into a loose group that remained incompleat and as-of-yet unaffiliated with either the thanes, the orthodoxy, or Glissa’s even more tenuous coalition of Forge, Swarm, and Engine.

Slobad tapped a steely finger against his arm. The sound rang like a bell, soft and clear over the silent dunes. “Another council soon, yeah? See if we can’t talk our way to peace?”

Unlikely.

“Peace is a fever dream of the flesh,” Glissa answered. “I’ll settle for antagonistic coexistence at this point, so long as those fools don’t rip what’s left of Phyrexia to pieces.”

“You gotta talk to Ixhel at some point, huh?” Slobad tapped a nervous finger against his side. “Geth’s gone.”

“Geth’s gone,” Glissa echoed. She scooped up the Jin-raptor closest to her and set it in Slobad’s hand. The little creature tapped its snout against the goblin’s forearm, and started to climb its way up to the shoulder. “And a child holds the key to controlling the Thanes and the Orthodoxy both.”

“I’ll take Ixhel over the Alabaster Host worshiping some scarecrow made out of Norn’s guts, huh?” Slobad was flexing his arm up and down, making an obstacle course of the limb for the Jin-raptor. The goblin heads adorning Slobad’s shoulder moaned petulantly as the chrome creature clambered closer.

“A low-hanging fruit,” Glissa replied with a tight smile.

They hadn’t even found Norn’s pieces, in the end. Glissa had hoped, in small part, that she might at least be able to take out her frustrations on the Grand Cenobite’s corpse, but not a trace remained. She would have put a bounty out on the pieces, but the remainder of the Orthodoxy had put that exact call out already, and as far as anyone could tell from the wailing that still pervaded that inner sphere, no one had delivered.

“Three out of five spheres is more than we could have hoped for already,” Slobad remarked with a shrug, leaving the little raptor dangling from the lower lip of one of his shoulder-heads. The little thing squeaked and rasped as it pulled itself up, and started pecking the heads on the nose.

“More than we could have hoped for, and yet not enough.”

“When did you become the pessimist?” Slobad asked.

“I’m ever-evolving.”

“Still, well done so far, huh?”

Glissa nodded. She had thankfully engaged in plentiful diplomacy with the Progress Engine, even before Norn’s ascendancy over the other factions. Vorinclex’s constant and vitriolic spats with Jin-Gitaxias had made it necessary to pay that faction especial attention to ensure the sniping across territory had not unduly slowed the Grand Evolution. That groundwork had paid off in the past few months in securing gitaxian cooperation in negotiations with the inner spheres.

Slobad, in turn, had been vital to securing the cooperation of the fickle Furnace host. He and his newer, even more hidden Myrabrask.

Still, difficulties abounded. The gitaxians couldn't decide whether they loved or hated councils to discuss the way forward. One day they would be clamoring for an audience with every faction to proclaim they had divined some great advancement that would bring Phyrexia back to a state of flourishing. The next someone would press them on their research and the shrimp-spined fools would slink away to their labs and hiss that they did not wish to be disturbed. 

The Furnace layer remained taciturn and sullen. Preoccupied with their craft to the point of obsession. With Norn gone the personalities with the...loudest sway seemed content to treat Urabrask’s remains as figurehead and Slobad as a tolerant (meaning ignorable when it suited them) leader, following the hidden praetor's final dictates to persist in their quiet building and development. 

“We all have so much to offer,” Glissa said, half to herself. “If only we could act in harmony. If only we could converge naturally.”

Slobad tilted his head, quizzically. The raptor at his shoulder echoed this movement.

“Norn was wrong to partition New Phyrexia,” Glissa said, louder. “She was wrong for this desperate, sad attempt to ape the glory of the nine spheres. What has it benefited the Grand Evolution? Or the Great Synthesis, or the Great Work, for that matter? It was all for her vanity and the vanity of the Orthodoxy to be placed at the physical center, to keep Phyrexia divided into its singular colors, rather than letting them mix and make each other stronger. Divide us and lord over us, that’s what she did. We were meant to grind up against each other. To come together as a strong whole.”

Slobad nodded, though his lips were tight. “Is that what Phyrexia is?”

“It’s what it should be.”

“But is it what we are?”

It was Glissa’s turn to purse her lips. Old P hyrexia had been a parasite, ultimately, thriving only where it was able to steal and invade to claim the resources of others. What were the first phyrexians, after all, except for weak, arrogant, xenophobic, aristocratic flesh that had stolen the stronger flesh of other cultures, other bodies, to prop themselves up?

T he pounding in her head was back. Throbbing. Searing.

That was an incompleat way of looking at things, of course. The strength to steal for one’s own benefit was, after all, strength. Doesn’t the predator steal the life and vitality from the prey it consumes? Would anyone ever suggest that a predator apologize for taking that which it is strong enough to take?

Something nudged Glissa’s shoulder, nearly bowling her over and breaking her train of thought. Vorinclex had lunged at her, and was pouncing again, jaws wide.

She laughed and threw her body into a spin. Her foot landed along the side of Vorinclex’s face, and sent him sprawling sideways in the sand. The jin-raptors scurried all around them, flailing their arms and chirping shrilly.

Vorinclex swiped at her with one paw, then another. She dodged both, and when he swiped again, she knocked it aside with a savage counter-blow.

She hooted. “Such soft blows, cub!”

Vorinclex lunged again, but she seized him around the neck and threw herself onto the ground, dragging him to the sand with a heavy THUD.

They lay there entangled for a long minute, Glissa’s arms locked firm around Vorinclex’s neck.

“Better to – hrk – act than to stew in useless thoughts,” Vorinclex grunted.

“Better be strong if you wish to act against me,” Glissa grunted in return.

Vorinclex laughed at that. Most creatures would not know his laugh from the other fierce vocalizations of beasts, but he was Glissa’s own beating heart, and she knew.

The raptors knew too, and they swarmed the both of them, chirping and pecking.

The two disengaged and rose to their feet. Glissa gathered two of the raptors as she rose, and tossed them onto Vorinclex’ back, where they clung.

“A gathering then, soon.”

“Yeah.” Slobad dropped his shoulder-riding raptor onto Vorinclex’ back as well. “With Forge and Engine leadership, plus Ixhel and Ezuri. We’ll need to make sure the gitaxians behave this time, huh?”

Glissa nodded. “ The progress engine can posture all they want, but we have resources, and we’re the only factions willing to work with him and not above him. Unctus is too proud to acknowledge equals, but Malcator isn’t as fool-headed– he’ll wrangle the m into line.”

“And we trust Malcator to get the others in line?”

“I trust Malcator to know the value of having his house in order,” Glissa flexed her wrists. Both her arms looked the same now, for the first time in a long time. Her sickle lacked practicality on this new front, and she suspected, would antagonize those she wished to bring into the fold.

“Malcator’s not the only loud voice in the Progress Engine.”

“Yes, but he is the most stubborn by leagues. Unctus doesn’t have the pull to displace him, and he knows it. Threx just wants to get back to his work. We’ll have the surgical bays on our side.”

Vorinclex growled, just low enough for Glissa to detect, at Threx’s name. The chrome butcher had been all too keen to get his own claws on Jin’s children.

“Optimistic,” Slobad said.

“It’s that or defeatist. I thought you believed in New Phyrexia.”

“I’ve got brains enough to know Phyrexia’s the only thing that can save any of us. Not so sure Phyrexia can be saved though.”

“What choice do we have but to try?”

“You’re right, Glissa. You know I know that’s right, huh?”

Glissa smiled. “I know. Go back, Slobad. I’ll find you both when I return.” She tapped her forehead against Vorinclex’s. “Go. Eat and grow. I need you strong again soon, and there’s nothing worth consuming up here.”

“No.” Vorinclex nudged back against her head. “Nothing but memories. Those won’t sustain you, either.”

“No, but I’ll linger here a little longer all the same.”

Vorinclex grunted, but turned trudged away.

“Stay close”

The little chrome creatures clustered near to his sides, running at a pitter-patter jog to keep up with his longer strides. In the spheres below, Vorinclex left the larvae to hunt and forage on their own, but around the surface, or the remains of the Basilica, he kept them nearby. Norn’s ruinous interference into the Swarm’s evolutionary aspirations had made him protective, arguably to the point of detriment, in the production of new predators.

Glissa grit her teeth. Vorinclex resented as much as she did the way Norn had wasted Lukka. A fine predator, and a grand addition to the swarm. So much potential for evolution, and Norn had thrown him away to die in a pointless exercise against a whole world of beasts. Of course even an apex predator would die if pitted against a whole world. Norn had done it just to spite them. So she would have an example to point to when she needed to set the other factions against the Grand Evolution. ‘See how this planewalker who chose the path of the swarm fared,’ she would have said. ‘See how their path pales besides the glory of the orthodoxy.’

Well Norn had gotten what she deserved in the end. All her plotting and bluster and now she was pieces and parts – porcelain rubble on who-knows-what world that would do no more conquering.

Glissa wondered if her pieces were on Zhalfir, rotting under the light of...

“Slobad?”

The goblin stopped short, and turned about to face her. He’d waited a few seconds longer than Vorinclex had, but was turning to leave when she called out. Vorinclex kept his pace, stalking away with a muted urgency.

“Yeah?”

“Who was Lyese?”

Slobad shifted. His unease was not phyrexian. Not really. But he was a greater help and reassurance than anything else on this plane, and Glissa would take that, even if it came with the unease of the flesh. Even if he cried at times, when he thought no-one was watching him .

It was rare to see a phyrexian cry, but the bodily structures that allowed the process were left in place for most compleated sapients who had the capacity originally. Jin-Gitaxias, during a long-ago convening of the praetors, had explained it thusly to Vorinclex, in his usual haughty way:

"We've found it sensible to allow this biological release for imperfect emotions that might otherwise build up to tear one of the compleat apart on a psychological level. While it might do us good to remove the capacity for such a buildup entirely, eventually, at present it is too much a liability to have a large portion of our population susceptible to."

"Not that you would concern yourselves with such complexities," He had added unnecessarily, as was his habit.  "Working as you do with beasts."

“I’d tell you if I could, huh? Geth knew...but I don’t know if Vishgaz still has those memories. And besides...” Slobad grimaced. “Geth said they would break your heart. He was very happy about that, actually.”

“My heart is too strong for that.”

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other. Slobad. Vorinclex. Glissa would never let any harm come to these two. She had lost more than she could remember, but as long as she had them, she would persevere.

“Not today then,” She whispered, barely loud enough for Slobad to hear.

“Lyese is safe, though,” Slobad said. “At least...Geth told me she’d been sent away, and away from here must be some bit of safe, huh?

“Even after the invasion?” Glissa asked.

Slobad only lowered his head.

“Right. It is not in our nature to hope. Only to do.”

“We do what we can,” Slobad said. “Waste not, want not.”

Then he was off, following the prints Vorinclex had left in the sand. The onetime-praetor was gone already, disappeared into a hole at the base of a many-armed monument in the distance. Glissa turned away. She could tell by Slobad’s heavy, halting tread that he was stopping every few paces to glance back at her.

To make sure she was alright.

Alright was debatable, and beside the point. She was, at least, not without a pack. This was good. The scriptures, so far as she understood the interpretations of factions outside the Swarm, had little to say on the concept of being alone. The compleat were sufficient in all things, it was true, but outside the cowardly work of sleeper agents, it was pre-supposed in most texts that phyrexians worked among and besides phyrexians, and that in their inevitable spread across the multiverse, phyrexians would all be, always, among their peers.

All will be one.

It was good to not be alone. To have others. To have a pack.

A cluster of mites scuttled across the sands, some distance away. The creatures were slowly learning how to mold the sands of the facade into burrows and nests.

Glissa let out a slow breath.

I am not alone, but this new life is lonely, all the same. 

She’d come out here in the past, after Norn had erected the facade. There had been something comforting about the suns. The artificial light of the Hunter’s Maze had been a great achievement for the Swarm, but it was not the same as the moons...as the suns...as that daughter and child and…

...and what?

At times Glissa even missed the blue and the red and the white suns. She had come up here to the surface before to ponder them too, on rarer occasions. And their names…

Bruenna? Bosh? Raksha?

These were not the goblin names for those suns either, but Glissa was less sure that they had ever been the names of the suns, though something in her crotus-enhanced brain connected them nonetheless. 

A wave of nausea gripped Glissa, and she hugged herself closer, half by reflex to steady herself, and half consciously, copper claws pinching her arms. 

These spells had come in waves, nigh-paralyzing lows that she couldn't control, punctuating the longer, more stable periods. Standing there on as solid a surface as the facade could offer, she felt as if the ground beneath her had given away entirely. 

By the spheres, but I miss Lyese!

Glissa breathed, and spread her arms. Slowly, she flexed each hand, then her arms, then her shoulders. She was strong. She had her pack. All was not lost for her or for Phyrexia. 

So why do I care so much about a sun?

Glissa brought her hands back to her side.

Why does its absence feel like part of myself is lost?

Oil ran freely from her eyes, streaming harder than ever.

Why my worry for the sun's safety, its health, its...happiness? Glissa hardly fretted as much over these things for her own comrades, the closest of her pack excepted. 

A tremor hit Glissa’s knees. She would not fall. She would not kneel here. Still, she brought her hand to her mouth and gripped her jaw with talons of copper.

So why?

The flow of oil splashed down onto the white sands. Dark shapes formed in the pools and soaked into the grains.

Why do I miss Lyese?

"Lyese" is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.