#but in the orange juice the whole thing just tastes Good

[scooterfish]

listen i’ve always been a sucker for the placebo effect but i just mixed ginger turmeric juice with orange juice and i swear i can feel my immune system replenishing like a healing potion in an RPG. the little green plus signs are floating around my head and my health meter is rising.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (8/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: It's always nice meeting new people. Especially British ones.

Warnings: fluff, flirting, one swear word, social media aspect

Word Count: 3.3k

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A/N: this chapter is for everyone who send me kind words when I was feeling down. even tho I don't answer every single message, I read everything you send me. I love you.

You look desperately at the piece of paper in your hand. 

You have the chicken breast, the avocado and the kale and garlic. According to the signs in the shop, two aisles down are the jars of sun-dried tomatoes that you also need. But where the heck are the sesame seeds and chilli flakes?

You rub your forehead with the back of your hand. 

For twenty minutes you have been walking through the supermarket, which is so much bigger than the one around the corner from you. Ten minutes ago you put the chicken in the shopping basket, which is hanging down on your elbow. And since then you have been wandering the aisles with little success, trying to find the rest that Charles scribbled on the piece of paper. 

When you left the bedroom this morning, your roommate had already disappeared. He had stowed his sleeping things in the wardrobe and tidied up the living room. Even the dishes had disappeared from the sink. Apparently he got up very early. 

After drinking a glass of orange juice, you found the note on the kitchen table that Charles had left there. 

"Bonjour, 

Je suis à la salle de sport ce matin. I'm at the gym this morning.

Pourriez-vous acheter ces choses pour le déjeuner ? Could you please buy these things for lunch?

Merci, mon ami. 

Charles

PS.: Mes amis et moi sortons ce soir et j'aimerais que tu viennes avec moi. My friends and I are going out tonight and I would like you to come along".

Next to it was another piece of paper with the shopping list for the bowl his nutritionist had picked out for him. Judging by the ingredients, Charles has good taste and for a moment you had considered buying a double portion - one for him and one for you - but the toast lying in your kitchen is about to go bad and you are reluctant to throw it away. Besides, no food in the world can beat a good sandwich.

But reading the list, you also realise that the small supermarket around the corner would not be enough to get everything.

The employee you asked a few minutes ago gave you a rough direction where you could find the sesame seeds, but he disappeared so quickly that you couldn't follow up. And since then you've been standing in a corridor that looks like you might find them here. But you've read through every label on every shelf, and although your French has improved - and you have a translator app on your phone - none of them sounded remotely like sesame or seeds.

"A pretty lady wasn't on my shopping list today, but I can be spontaneous," you hear someone with a British accent say behind you.

As you turn around, a young man is standing in front of you. He is a little taller than you and wears a black hoodie with his hands in his pockets and a black cap on his head. Although it is winter, his skin is tanned, and as he grins broadly, you see a small gap between his white front teeth.

You hesitate for a moment, trying to gauge whether he is really serious, and glance briefly at your shopping list before turning to face him fully. "An overeager man is not on mine either. And unfortunately, since I have to stick to my budget, I can't be quite as spontaneous."

His grin widens even more. "So the pick-up line was that lousy?"

His smile is so honest and friendly it's infectious. "Terrible."

The young man presses his tongue into his cheek before pulling his hand out of his jumper pocket to hold it out to you. "Lando. Nice to meet you."

As you place your hand in his, you feel the warmth of his skin. "Y/N."

Before you can respond, Lando snatches the piece of paper in your hand. His eyes flicker over the ingredients on it and then over the contents of your shopping basket. "You've been standing here for ten minutes. Do you need any help?"

You narrow your eyes and try to reach for the list in his big hands, but he is quicker. He pulls his hand away. "Have you been watching me? See if the note says stalker."

He pretends to go through the ingredients again, but his gaze lingers on you again after a few moments. "Stalker it doesn't say, but helpful stranger it does." He holds the note up to your nose. "Right under chicken breast. See. Right there. In invisible ink."

You push your lower lip forward and consider whether you should accept his help. The only thing against it is the fact that you can usually help yourself. But since he has already noticed how helplessly you search for the missing groceries, the argument is not exactly convincing.

"Alright." You extend your arm and wave it in a semicircle in front of you. "Show me the way."

Lando leads the way as you follow him through the shop. Despite his jumper, you can see that his cross is relatively wide. Not as wide as Charles, but still enough to be noticeable. 

"You don't seem to be from around here, do you?" asks Lando as you walk past the cheese shelf. He looks down at you. 

"I've actually lived here for months, but I've never been to this supermarket," you admit, shrugging. "The stuff on the list isn't for me, it's for my roommate. I'm not much of a bowl fan."

The helpful stranger stops abruptly in front of a shelf, causing you to bump lightly into him. You can still feel the hard muscles through the many layers of clothing. "What are you more into?" When you look at him with a raised eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. "Food-wise, I mean."

"Culinarily, I'm afraid I've stayed at McDonalds level. Or frozen pizza." As Lando grins, you lightly punch his arm. "I know, I know. Like a kid."

He reaches out and takes a packet from the shelf, and as he puts it in the basket, you see that it's sesame seeds. He then takes the basket from your hand. "So I don't need to take you to a super fancy, expensive restaurant? You'd be happy with take-out as well?" He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. 

Apparently he can't help it. But you find his boyish charm not annoying, rather amusing. 

You raise your hand and poke your index finger against his chest. "You could buy me a can of soup, too, and I'd be blown away."

Lando is too surprised to retort, so he lowers his eyes to the list in his hand. You can still see the blush that comes to his face. He clears his throat. "Chilli flakes should be here somewhere too. Ah, there. Right behind you." He leans forward a little and reaches past you. As you inhale, you can smell his perfume.

"Thanks for your help, Lando," you say as you stand together at the checkout a little later, putting your purchase into a bag. "I don't know what I would have done without you." Your smile is genuine and you're glad he returns it. If it hadn't been for him, you'd almost certainly still be standing here tomorrow looking for the ingredients.

"I'm glad I could help." As you take your groceries from him, he shoulders the bag and shakes his head. "Would it be weird if I asked you if I could walk you home?"

"It would." You've both known each other for a few minutes and for sure it's unwise for a young stranger to find out where you live. Yet something about him makes you trust him. As Lando's mouth curls into a thin line, you smile kindly at him. "But weird is okay."

His expression brightens instantly. "Great. Show me the way. I'll follow you."

The walk home takes thirty minutes, but it feels much shorter with Lando by your side. He's two years older than you and incredibly funny, which is why your stomach starts to hurt from laughing at some point. He talks about what it was like growing up in England and that although he has his permanent home here in Monaco, he still works there. 

"So you're always flying back and forth? Isn't that very tiring?" you ask him. The house where your home is located comes into your field of vision. In a moment you are about to say goodbye and somehow you have a feeling that he would make an attempt to ask for your number. 

"It's very exhausting," he confesses, but shrugs. "But you know yourself what it's like to live here. Monaco is beautiful and I love it. Besides, many of my friends live here. It's definitely worth the stress for me."

You stop at the front door and Lando's smile disappears from his face as he realises that your time - for now - is up. He hands you your groceries, which he's been carrying for you like a gentleman for the last half hour. 

"Thank you. For your help and the nice company," you thank him and fish the front door key out of your pocket.

Lando puts his hands back in the pockets of his jumper, undecided whether to hug you goodbye or not. "I have to thank you." He pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Can I see you again? Maybe for dinner? I'll get your favourite can of soup too," he grins and you have to laugh out loud.

"I'd love to," you reply. Why green eyes and dimples suddenly flash in the back of your mind, you don't know.

"Great. Do you have Instagram?" he asks and you look at him, confused. He raises a hand and scratches the back of his neck nervously with it. "I'd ask for your number, but I don't think you're someone who gives out their number to helpful strangers just because they're friendly."

You turn your head and point to the front door. "Well, you already know where I live, after all. And yet you ask for my Instagram?"

He licks his lips once with his tongue. "I didn't mean to be too forward."

You look down at your shopping bag, then back up at him. "You? Forward? No way."

You tell him your Instagram name and he saves it before you say goodbye with a hug that, in retrospect, you might find a little too brief. But Lando doesn't seem to want to cross any lines, which is why he only puts one arm around you to pull you close for a moment, not pressing you tightly against him but leaving some space between you.

"I'll get back to you," he says as you put the key in the door lock and turn it. "Promise."

When you enter the apartment minutes later, Charles is sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop, which is on the coffee table in front of him. You feel his gaze on you as you close the door behind you and slip off your shoes.

"Bonjour, Y/N." He gets up and follows you into the kitchen, where you take the groceries out of the bag and place them on the countertop. "Thank you for shopping. Did you sleep well?"

You did indeed. Whether it was the wine or the fact that you really enjoyed your evening with him, you don't know. When you woke up this morning and found that Charles had already left, you had been a little too relieved. The thoughts you harboured towards him last night make you feel guilty, so you decide to repress them and forget about them. 

Everything that happened last night was purely amicable, which his "mon ami" on the note also confirms. Secretly, you are glad that he sees it that way too. If he were to give you signs of being interested, you would have to think seriously about the whole situation. And you don't want that.

You're happy living with Charles. And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're sure he's a better friend than anyone else has ever been. No one in your old group of friends had ever been so friendly, so helpful, so caring. 

If that's how friends behave, then you never really had any.

"Well," you answer him. "I'm still alive, although I didn't lock the door yesterday. That certainly lets me sleep well."

Charles smiles and reaches for the chicken breast, which he rinses and seasons as you put a pan of oil on the hob. "Or maybe I just want you to feel safe. And someday, when you're not expecting it, I'll catch you," he jokes. 

"And that's exactly why I was serious about my offer last night," you return, watching as he puts the chicken into the hot oil. You hear it hiss and bubble. "That you can sleep in bed tonight. I don't mind. After all, it's your bed. And it's only fair that you use it."

Charles turns the chicken in the pan and looks at you. "And you're not just doing this so I won't murder you while you sleep?" His grin widens. 

"That, my friend, is a nice side effect."

While the chicken sizzles away, you prepare the avocado and Charles the kale. "It's all right, Y/N. It's only been the second night on the couch. And I promise you nothing will happen that would make you lock the door."

"But last night you -"

"Last night the wine was talking out of me when I sent you the picture," he interrupts. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." His smile is gentle. "That's what we agreed and that's what we'll stick to."

"That we agreed, I know," you confirm, digging a bowl out of the cupboard. Charles fills it with the ingredients and finally puts the roasted chicken on top. You turn off the hob. "But I don't think we have to stick rigidly to that rule for this," you point to the space between you, "to work. We're friends, not strangers. And as your friend, I can't have you breaking your back."

You see Charles swallow before turning away and picking up the bowl. Apparently he doesn't know what to say in response, because he changes the subject as you sit down on the couch together. "So, are you coming tonight? We were going out for dinner and then to a club. You don't have to come if you don't want to, of course, but I'd love to introduce you to my friends. We're a cool group and I think you'd fit in quite well." He spears a piece of avocado with his fork. "Besides, maybe I can take your mind off your asshole of an ex-boyfriend that way."

That's right. There was something. 

You haven't had to think about him since last night. About him calling you all the time and spoiling your mood. That he cheated on you a while back and broke your heart. 

Charles managed, with just a film and his company, to make you forget the pain and anger. In his presence you felt comfortable, warm, which was perhaps also a little due to the wine. And as you thought back over the evening, a feeling spread through you that you could not describe. 

The only word you can think of to describe this feeling is Charles.

"I didn't mean to remind you," your roommate says softly when you don't answer him. His eyes are fixed on his food. "Sorry."

You shake your head, more to let him know that your thoughts are not about your ex-boyfriend, but about Charles's kindness and care, but apparently he takes it as accepting the apology. He exhales in relief. 

"So? Are you coming with me later? With my friends and me?", Charles asks again. 

Isn't it too early to meet his friends? You two haven't known each other for very long either. But after all, you would be there as his roommate slash friend, not as his girlfriend. So for him, there's no reason why you shouldn't be there. So there is none for you either. 

"Do I need to wear anything nice? My wardrobe isn't exactly the most elegant," you confess, pointing to the oversized jumper hanging from your shoulders and the black leggings down your legs. 

Charles' gaze moves from your face, across your torso, down further to the tops of your feet, which are inches away from his. "It doesn't matter what you wear. You look beautiful in anything."

You hope he doesn't notice how hard you have to swallow the lump in your throat. "Then I'll come with you."

Satisfied, Charles puts a piece of chicken in his mouth and chews on it. As his cell phone vibrates on the table in front of you, he stiffens a little. 

From your position you can see that an unknown number is calling him. And you can well understand his reaction to it. You definitely wouldn't answer a call either if you didn't know who it was from. A short time later the phone is silent again and the screen goes black again. Charles visibly relaxes.

"I think calls from unknown numbers are totally nerve-wracking," you try to lighten the situation a little. "There was a time when I let the phone keep ringing, but now I just press unknown callers away."

Charles looks to you. "Would you press my call away?"

You draw your eyebrows together. "Well, since I don't have your number, I probably would."

Your roommate presses his tongue into his cheek. "Then it would be better if I gave it to you, no?"

Without a word, you hand him your unlocked phone - which looks really puny in his big hands - so he can punch in his number before calling himself. As he hands it back to you, he picks up his own phone to put your number in, deleting the unknown call. 

"Give me your Instagram, please."

You look at him uncertainly, but give him your name. "Do you need anything else? My credit card number? Birth certificate? National insurance number?"

"No, you dickhead." He taps away on his phone and a moment later a notification pops up on your screen. 

bawsixteen started following you

You open the app and click on his account and on the "Follow" button and a few moments later his entire profile is visible to you. He hasn't posted many pictures, some you recognise from Jori's place, but one in particular catches your eye. 

"So, tonight we're going out for dinner. Around eight, so we have to leave around around quarter to." Charles puts the empty bowl on the table and turns to you. "I have to leave in a few minutes. Will you be okay on your own until then? I don't think I'll be gone too long." 

You wonder if he's going to the woman he spoke to on the phone yesterday. "I'm an adult, Charles. I'll be fine," you smile. "Maybe by then I'll find a nice potato sack to wear later."

Charles laughs, gets up and goes into the kitchen to wash the bowl. "If you can find a second one that might fit me, bring it along. Then we could go in matching clothes. That would be something." You hear him turn on the tap at the sink. "Well, if you find one, you can call me."

"As long as you promise to answer." You turn and lean your arm over the back of the couch to watch him. His back muscles stand out under his shirt and you can see them moving. 

Charles looks over his shoulder at you and smiles. "Deal."

-

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bawsixteen: 📍📸 the most beautiful place in Monaco

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[aesethewitch]

Learning to Cook Like a Witch: Using the Scraps

Cooking can create a lot of waste. From peels and rinds to bones and leaves, people throw away quite a lot of scraps in the kitchen. And witches, as you may know, are experts in the art of the cunning use of whatever we’ve got around.

As a witch who spends a lot of time in the kitchen, I’ve had ample opportunities to get creative in my cooking craft. It helps that I grew up in a household defined by scarcity: not our own, by the time I was conscious enough to remember, but my parents’ poverty. It colored the way I learned to cook, using everything I possibly could, making enough to last, preserving what I didn’t immediately use, and creatively reusing leftovers and scraps.

There are some topics I won’t necessarily cover here. Composting is an option, but there are some bits of food scrap that don’t need to be composted — they can be saved and repurposed for all sorts of things, magic and mundane. Likewise, recycling, buying sustainably, and growing your own food when you can are all great options for reducing household waste in the kitchen.

For the purposes of this post, I want to focus specifically on food scraps. This is an organized list of kitchen scraps that I’ve used in a variety of other dishes and projects. I’m focusing primarily on food waste, not so much on packaging (such as reusing egg cartons, milk containers, boxes, and so forth).

Vegetable Scraps

Freeze leftover vegetable scraps to make stock. This is a fairly common bit of advice — save bits of leftover vegetables to make a vegetable stock or another kind of stock. It’s good advice! I keep a bag in my freezer that I put vegetable scraps in to save until I’m ready to make a new batch of stock. Not all veggies should be saved like this and used for stock! Some make stock bitter or otherwise unpleasant-tasting. Personally, I tend to freeze these for stock:

- The skins, ends, and leftover cuts of onions (just be wary of the skins; too much will make your broth bitter) - The ends of celery (not the leaves — they’re bitter!) - Corn cobs - Garlic skins, ends, tiny cloves that aren’t useful otherwise, and sprouted cloves - The ends of carrots (also not the leaves) - The ends of leeks - Pepper tops/bottoms (not the seeds)

I would recommend against putting things like potatoes, brussels sprouts, cabbage, and leafy greens in there. Potatoes don’t add flavor, sprouts and cabbage make the whole thing taste like those foods, and leafy greens end up bitter. If something has a strong, distinctive flavor (beets, sprouts), I wouldn’t add it to my freezer bag. These scraps often form the veggie portion of my Sick-Be-Gone Chicken Broth spell recipe!

Regrow leeks, green onions, and celery. Pop these in a bit of water and watch them grow back! It’s a fun experiment, and you’ll never have to buy them again.

Plant sprouted garlic. Aside from the fact that you can still cook and eat garlic that’s sprouted, you can plant a sprouted clove in a pot. Care for it well enough, and you’ll end up with a full head of garlic from that one clove!

Fry potato peels. Anytime I make mashed potatoes or peel potatoes for something, I always save the peels. Give them a thorough rinse and shallow-fry them in oil, turning them over until they’re golden and crispy. Toss them in a bit of salt and pepper while they’re still hot, and you’ve got tasty chips to snack on while you cook the rest of your meal! No need to cover them in more oil or anything — the heat will cause the salt to stick right to them.

Save leaves for pesto. Yum, yum, yum. Pesto isn’t just all about basil, you know. Save the leaves from carrots, beets, radishes, and even celery to grind up alongside basil, garlic, salt, and lemon juice for a delicious pesto recipe.

Fruit Scraps

Save citrus peels. Peels from oranges, lemons, grapefruits, and other citrus fruits have a multitude of uses. Candy them for a sweet treat, dry them to add to potpourri or incense, or save them to put into a simmer pot for bright, sunny energy.

Juice the whole fruit. Again, thinking mostly about citrus fruits, when you need the zest from something but not the rest, don’t just throw away the fruit. Squeeze out all the juice you can. Even if you don’t need it right now, you can freeze it to use later in simmer pots, fruity waters, or anything else that needs a touch of juice.

Turn extra fruit and berries into jam or syrup. If you’ve got berries and fruit that are about to go off, or maybe the ends of strawberries, don’t toss them! Look up recipes for jam of the specific fruit you’ve got or make an infused syrup. Syrups in particular can be used for cocktails, teas, and desserts for an extra magical kick.

Pickle watermelon rinds. That’s right. Pickle those suckers. They’re so tasty. I’ve seen people make kimchi with watermelon rinds, too, though I’ve never tried it myself!

Save seeds for abundance work. Seeds in general are great for spells geared toward long-term success, new beginnings, and — when there are a lot of them — wealth. Different fruit seeds have properties that tend to correspond with the fruit they come from, so consider their potential purposes before you just toss them! (Note also that some fruit seeds are toxic; these would be suitable for baneful workings.)

Keep cherry stems for love magic. Have you ever done that thing where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue? If I’m eating cherries, I like to save some of the stems for love workings. Tie them into little knots like you might with string while envisioning ensnaring the love you’re looking for. I wouldn’t do this with a particular person in mind; binding someone to you is almost never a good idea. I’ve used it to attract specific qualities in a person of romantic interest: attentiveness, humor, kindness, and so forth.

Use pits to represent blockages, barriers, and problems. I most often use them in baneful workings, typically jammed into a poppet’s mouth or throat to keep someone from talking shit. It could also represent a sense of dread in that way — a pit in the stomach, uneasy and nauseating. But you could also use them in the sense of removal, ritualistically removing the pit or problem from a given situation.

Herb Scraps

Freeze or dry extra fresh herbs. Different drying techniques are ideal for specific herbs. I’d suggest looking up recommended methods before sticking anything in the microwave. If you’d like to freeze your herbs instead, I typically will lay them on a damp paper towel, wrap them up, place them into a freezer-safe bag, and then put them in the freezer. Most herbs will keep for a couple months this way. When you want to use them, pull them out and let them defrost right on the counter.

Make pesto. Again, pesto isn’t just basil! Experiment with tossing in different scraps of herbs to find out what combination you like best.

Reuse steeped tea. Particularly when I use loose herbal tea, I like to lay out the used tea to dry out. It can be burned similarly to loose incense, though the scent may be somewhat weaker than with herbs that are fresher or unused. I find that it’s fine, since I’m sensitive to smells anyways.

Toss extra herbs into your stock freezer bag. Just like with vegetables, extra herbs make welcome additions to a scrap stock pot. I always make a point to save sage, thyme, marjoram, and ginger. You can add just about anything to a stock pot, but be aware of the flavors you’re adding. Not all herbs will match with all dishes.

Protein Scraps

Dry and crush empty egg shells. This is one most witches will know! I use crushed egg shells for protection magic most often: sprinkled at a doorstep mixed with other herbs, added to jars, and spread around spell candles.

Save shrimp, crab, and lobster shells. They’re a goldmine of flavor. Toss them into water with veggies and herbs, and you’ve got a delicious, easy shellfish stock. Use it to make fishy soups and chowders that much richer.

Don’t discard roasted chicken remains. Use them for stock, just like the shells. I like to get rotisserie chickens on occasion since they’re ready-made and very tasty. Once all the meat has been stripped off the bones, simmer the entire carcass with — you guessed it — veggies and herbs for a tasty chicken stock.

Reuse bacon grease for frying. After cooking bacon, don’t throw away the grease right away. Melt it over low heat, strain the bits of bacon out, and pour it into a jar to put in the fridge. You can use it to fry all sorts of things, but my favorite thing is brussels sprouts. They pick up the delicious, salty, bacony flavor from all that rendered bacon fat. So good.

Other Scraps

Use stale bread for croutons or bread crumbs. When I reach the stale end of a loaf of bread, as long as it isn’t moldy, I like to tear it into pieces and toss it into the oven for a little while. Let it cool and then pulse it in a food processor, and I’ve got delicious bread crumbs! Or, cut it a little more neatly, toss it in oil and seasonings, and then bake, and now I’ve got homemade croutons for salads. You can really hone your herbs for both of these, tuning them to be perfect for whatever spell needs you have.

Small amounts of leftover sugar. I don’t know why, but I always end up with a tiny amount of white and brown sugar in the containers. This can be used in teas, of course, but I like to offer it up to spirits. In particular, my ancestors tend to appreciate a spoonful of brown sugar stirred into a small, warmed cup of milk. You can also look up mug cake or single-serving cookie recipes; often, they’re cooked in the microwave, and they only need a little sugar to make!

Keep vanilla bean pods. Vanilla is fucking expensive. When I have a little extra and want to really splurge for a special occasion, I’ll get a couple pods. And because they’re so expensive, I hate wasting any part of them. They’re good for love magic, sure, but you can also toss the spent pods in a jar full of sugar to make vanilla-infused sugar. I’ll often use the pods to make infused milks, too; warm the milk over low heat, add the pods, and let it steep like tea. It goes great in teas and desserts. For a nice self-love spell, sometimes I’ll melt chocolate into the vanilla milk and make hot cocoa!

Save the rinds from Parmesan and Pecorino Romano cheese. You might not be able to just bite into these, but they’re fabulous additions to a stock pot. They add a rich, umami depth to the flavors. I also like to throw these into pots of tomato sauce to add even more flavor to the sauce.

Used coffee is still coffee. After I make a pot of coffee, I’ll sometimes save the grounds by letting them dry back out. I wouldn’t make another cup of coffee with them, since all the flavor’s gone, but they’ll still have attributes of energy generation and smell great. I like to pack used grounds into sachets to hang in places where I want to encourage more energy and focus, replaced every few days or so. Coffee grounds also have high amounts of nitrogen in them, which can help plants thrive; just be careful about pH values in the soil! You don’t want to hurt your plants with too much acidity.

Final Thoughts

I hope you found these tips helpful! There are a ton more ways to save and reuse kitchen scraps that would otherwise go to waste. Sometimes, tossing stuff into the compost or trash can’t be avoided. But I’ve found that being aware of the possibilities can help diminish the amount that gets wasted.

If you have questions or other suggestions for reusing kitchen scraps, feel free to drop them in my inbox, reblogs, or replies. And if you did enjoy this post, consider tossing a couple dollars in my tip jar! Supporters get early and sometimes exclusive access to my work, and monthly members get bonuses like commission discounts and extras. (:

[verstappentime]

here’s some sunday unfinished fic for y’all. max retired after his head injury at silverstone was a lot worse than irl. daniel’s his ex. charles calls when max has a migraine while they’re hanging out and he doesn’t know what to do, dan comes to the rescue. <3

Max looks up at him, exhausted, eyes glassy. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. Jesus fuck. “Hey, Maxy,” Daniel says, crouching down beside the couch. Charles hangs back, crossing his arms, looking at him disdainfully. Daniel can feel it even when he can’t see it.

“Daniel,” is all Max says, voice cracking around his name.

“Got your medicine, okay? It’s going to help.” Daniel can’t help brushing his fingers through the sweaty hair sticking to Max’s forehead. Maybe Max doesn’t want that. Maybe Max wants him to fuck off. He doesn’t pause to find out. “Sit up a bit more for me? Do you have something to drink?”

“On the table,” Charles says. Daniel squints, finding the glass in the dark. It smells like some sort of juice, maybe orange. Good, Charles listened about the sugar.

Max pushes himself up a little bit, enough that Daniel doesn’t think he’ll choke. It seems like even that’s painful, the way he pushes the heel of his palm against his eye. Max’s doctor always said it would be hard for anyone to understand how much this hurts him.

“Charles, can you get me an ice pack or something like that?” Daniel doesn’t bother turning to look at him. “Baby,” he says, softer, to Max, “Can you give me your hand?”

Max holds out his palm. It’s unsettling how little noise he’s making.

Daniel unscrews the top of one of the bottles and presses two pills into his hand. Max reaches for the glass, but when Daniel hands it over, he’s shaking and almost spills the whole thing. “Okay, nope, let’s have me do that,” he says, carefully prying it back.

“I can—”

“No you can’t,” Daniel says, because he’s not interested in Max’s pride. “Come on, I won’t drown you.”

It makes Daniel’s chest feel gooey and weird, cupping the back of Max’s head and helping him take a sip at a time. Max’s hand-eye coordination was awful in the first few days after his injury. They’ve been here before. Everything is just— different now.

He tries to keep talking, distracting Max from how intimate this is. “I got the beta blockers, the nausea stuff, painkillers, all that. Gang’s all here.” He hands another pill over. “I think these are the ones that taste bad, so take it slow.”

Max takes that one; Daniel tries to be careful with the juice. He gags, and Daniel can’t help steadying him by the shoulder.

“Swallow, you’re alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb in little circles. Max manages to take a deep breath and keep it down. Daniel’s proud of him. He loves him. Max isn’t shoving him off. The next pill he gives Max is the last one. “There you are, that’s all, yeah? It should help soon.”

He smooths his thumb over Max’s brow. He swears he can feel the tension there release a little. Max is still letting him touch.

“Thank you,” Max says, so quiet Charles might not even hear it.

I’d do anything for you, Daniel wants to say. Even if I fall in love again, I’d still do anything for you. He keeps that thought to himself. “Can I stay?” he asks instead. “Just till you’re a little better.”

“This is my apartment, you know,” Charles pipes up.

“Stay,” Max says, rushed, before Charles can get anything else out.

[donutz]

Smiling Critters x sick! employee reader

You twisted and turned in your sleep. Sweat collecting on your cold body. Even with a blanket on. All windows and doors were shut, no cool air could flow into even the smallest corners of your room.

So why were you so damn cold?

Oh. A fever.

You woke up with a stuffy nose, an aching head, and a sore throat mixed with a high temperature(ME!!!).

Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today.

But money… 

But getting better…

But money… :(

Eh whatever. Just take some tylenol and you’ll be fine.

You woke up at your designated time—

SHUT UP!! I woke uh(up) ah(at) my.. Uhhhh. Deserted time! And.. Ate.. Uhm..

… Will you let me speak?

Uhm.. NO!! I ate.. Uhhhh, someeee Eggo waffles!!! Yurmy.. With syrup bcus.. I like syrup! And.. A cup of orang juice..

Lovely explanation of your morning.

May I speak now?

You.. MaY!!

Thanks. You sloppily trotted around your kitchen, trying to find something to eat. You couldn’t even see things right, ughhh. And you were just soooo HOT!! But you got chills at the same time!!

Maybe you should stay home.

NO!! I need… THe mONey!!

Alright. You looked in your freezer, finding some eggo waffles you could munch on. Now for a drink, since you had a fever, maybe some orange juice would help calm it down.

It isn’t THAT bad. The orange juice I mean, your health state is terrible.

Mmm… What should I consume next?

Maybe a spoon of honey and lemon? It helps with your throat. Like a lot.

Hmm… OkAYY!!

You took the spoon of honey and lemon, now for some vitamins(zinc and vitamin c, that’s what I took) and now you’re off!

You were still not right in the head, so you may have tripped on your own feet while walking to your car. You entered it, and sat down with a sigh. So you’re not coughing up the workplace, you decided to suck on a cough drop.

They taste gross, but it’s worth it. You sat there in your car seat for a few minutes, just thinking about what’ll possibly happen at your job. Maybe the other employees will notice and ask if you’re okay. Or maybe the Smiling Critters will notice how sick you are and try to take care of you.

Heh.. Little animals taking care of a whole human. How is that even possible?

.

.

.

Pretty possible if I do say so myself. You stepped into work after scanning with your id— This place is always so high with security, it could even have those red beaming laser beams from movies.

Anyways, you said your hi’s and hello’s to your employees, including toys of course. How could you miss out on saying hello to such cuties?

And those cuties could see how sick you were, but were too busy with the workers or the children that just LOVE receiving some toy attention.

You went over to Playcare, preparing to deal with possibly another headache, even if yours is gone now. Another headache from the kids’ yelling and screaming, from their shrieks of joy, much more reasons to make your head throb with annoyance.

Being sick makes you grumpy.

“Hey coworker!” A voice from behind erupted, from how bright and loud it was, you could tell it was a certain dog.

You turned around, slightly closing your eyes from his bright aura, “Hey Dog—” You interrupted your greeting with a cough, “Day.. How are you today?” You had a wobbling smile on your face, trying to make it seem like you were the most healthy person alive.

“Um, I’m good! Are you alright? You seem kind of out of it..?” Dogday asked, he was worried about you and your well being. Kind of similar to that scenario you came up with in your head…

“Yeah I’m—” You coughed, a bit more aggressively compared to other recent one. “... Are you sure..?”

“Yeah—” You fainted, falling towards the ground.

Waiting for a thud to be echoed around the big place, but only a soft one. Including some fur and a vanilla scent. Had he.. Caught you? How? He’s like 5 ft?(In his more kiddish form, not his bigger form)

“Oh geez..” He said, calling to the other critters to help him with getting you somewhere where you could rest. As you were slowly falling asleep, you could hear many worried voices. But by the time words could clearly be said, you were gone.

You were slightly waking up, slowly blinking your eyelids. You wanted to go back to sleep, but you have a job to do.

OH SHOOT YOU HAVE A JOB TO DO!!!!

You abruptly woke up, fully awake or not. But the sudden motion really messed with your head. The whole world was blurry, even the colorful blobs that were small in your vision.

“Oh my!” You could hear a soft pitter patter of paws hurrying over to you. Why's the red blob getting bigger?

“Mmm… Muh?” You couldn't properly possess words at the moment, so whatever came out your mouth was unauthorized sounds.

“You should rest! Sitting up that quickly can mess with you!” A paw gently grabbed your hand.

“Buh.. Bear?” You sounded like a 3 year old trying to pronounce words..

“Oh! Yes, I'm a bear..” You couldn't process the face right, but it looked like the bear was smiling. Why was the bear red? Aren't they supposed to brown? Or white, or black and white..? Or something.. This sickness is really messing with your head..

“Now rest, please…” The worried voice calmly said to you. Not pushing you, just holding your hand.

“Work.. I—” You leaned forward and fell cheek flat on the bear’s face.

“Ee—!” They made a slight squeak at the contact. “Alright. That works.” They chuckled.

Hours later, you finally woke up. You could hear conversations while you blinked your eyes open.

“And then— they fell on me!” Laughter was spread around the room from different voices and tones.

You figured that whoever was speaking, was talking about you…

One of them looked over and saw you—

“Guys, they’re up!” They said.

They all looked over at you, as you slowly but surely sat up. Your head wasn’t as woozy, still had your stuffy nose and hurting throat though..

Now that you didn’t quickly get up, and were more rested, you could finally clearly see the animals that were once blobs.

“Oh.. Hoppy? And Bobby—” They all rushed over to you, wanting to see if you were okay to even get out of bed. You weren’t sweaty, your voice was kinda ehh.., your nose seems stuffy, you didn’t have a headache because they would’ve noticed the second you sat up.. But you’re still not in the right condition to work!

“Are you okay?” What was this one’s name again..? Dogday?

“Uhhh, yea Dogday, I’m okay.”

“No headache or anything?” A soft voice said, that was Craftycorn, right?

“Luckily, no. I took a tylenol so I was fine when I woke up.” You let out a cough, covering your mouth while doing so(no spreading germs!!).

Throughout the day, you had little animals taking care of you and your sickness. You had a couple of spoons of honey and lemon, took some vitamins, ate, and had a humidifier on all day. Also you were secluded in their little room they all had. So the ‘sunlight’ was on you all day, as if you were some sunflower..

You were wondering if the employees were even thinking about your disappearance.

At the end of the day, you ended up sleeping in Dogday’s bed, cuddled up to him. He said, “It’ll help with your sickness! And make you feel better!”

You woke up the next day, and yeah— it did make you feel better.

A/N|| I apologize for not including all of the Smiling Critters, I did try to include at least some of the ones that weren't always in the spotlight(I mean the ones that aren't talked about too much).

Another A/N|| Hip hip hooray!! I'm back ^_^

[avocado-writing]

i hope u know im chewing on ur good omens work like a cat does with those matatabi sticks ,,,, ANYWAY do u mind writing an aziraphale x reader [gn] x crowley w a recurring fruit means love metaphor ? like sharing a lil clementine or getting ur hands all gross n sticky from cutting smthn open [cough cough a peach . i had 2 stick my fingers in one 2 separate it n get the pit out n it was ,,, mildly uncomfortable] n the other person sucks the juice off their fingers ,,,,,,,,, just very intimate n cute things like that :] thanx !!

so I’m sorry this is less love as fruit and more uhhh lust as fruit please forgive me

Crowley x reader x Aziraphale (good omens)

From his place sorting books he never intends to sell into one of his many already-cramped shelves, Aziraphale watches you in the break room. 

You’re waiting for the kettle to boil, eating an apple while you grab a mug and teabag. Even from here Aziraphale can hear the pop-hiss as you take a bite from the crisp skin. Your teeth sink into the flesh and juice rolls down your chin onto the counter. You wipe it away absent-mindedly with the back of your hand.  

You might be the one eating, but it’s Aziraphale who swallows. 

You lick your lips, thumbing the sweet stickiness from your face and sucking it clean. Aziraphale wonders what it tastes like.

He wonders if he could do it for you. 

🍎 

“Crowley, you want a bit of tangerine?”

Crowley looks up from where he’s been idly scrolling through his phone - tiktok! Credit where it’s due, hell did a great job on that one - right into your smiling face. He’s not much of an eater (that’s more Aziraphale’s speed) but your eagerness enraptures him. 

“Oh, go on then.”

It’s so human, to share a little bit of your food with someone. It shows you care about them; want them nourished. Crowley’s gaze falls to where your fingers begin to work the orange skin. 

There’s something entrancing about the way you work it. Something almost illicit. The juice dripping from you as your thumb accidentally slides its way through a segment. You curse quietly and work on the other half, your fingertips gliding across the folds of fruit. 

There’s something that trips from being suggestive into lewd. 

He’s glad when you finally manage to pass him a piece, because his mouth has gone utterly dry. 

🍊 

They find you in the shared kitchen, sucking the flesh from a mango. Your eyes dart up from the sticky mess you’ve made on your hands and face. 

“Sorry,” you mutter through your bite, “I promise I’ll clean up in a moment, just—”

You don’t get to finish because they descend upon you. 

Aziraphale licks it from your lips, moaning in the back of his throat at the combined taste of your sweetness. Crowley grabs your hand and takes your whole thumb into his mouth, tongue dancing around the soft pad. 

Their mouths don’t leave you for the next couple of hours. 

[scary-event2369]

Yandere! Alien (ONE-SHOT)

I’m sick as hell rn and I just want to write. Sorry it’s been awhile TT

Never wrote something like this before so be nice but criticism is always welcome!!

Also been awhile since I wrote smut, so i apologize if it’s not good either

Content: AFAB Reader (no gendered terms used), aphrodisiac effect (alien’s saliva), sexual themes, alien dick (ikyk) oviposition (egg-laying/having eggs inside you), breeding, brief mention of blood.  P -> V. Cunnilingus.  This is a lighter yandere.  —

You headed up to your grandparents' mountain cabin, craving some alone time to clear your head and unplug. It was meant to be a chill getaway, a routine check. The cozy rustic vibes inside welcomed you, but what caught you off guard was the sight of an alien, looking totally puzzled by a simple piece of fruit. It was almost cute, but definitely not part of the plan.

It was not even a full 24-hours before you heard a loud crash outside. Your first thought was a tree possibly falling. To your surprise, there was this odd pod thing sitting there. 

You immediately wanted to call someone, but then you remembered. No service, no humans around for miles – classic mountain problems. However, your curiosity got the best of you, so you grabbed a stick and poked the mysterious pod. It hissed open, releasing a fog that revealed a towering alien.

This dude was something else. Humanoid, but not quite right. Terrifying yet strangely captivating. Pale, almost ghostly skin, cat-like features with pointy ears and weird dark marks all over. Antennas sticking out of his head and long silky smooth white hair flowing down. 

Now, a few days later, he couldn't take his eyes off an apple, completely captivated like a kid in a candy store. His long finger reached out, gently tapping it.

"Want a bite?" I interrupted his apple stare-down. He turned to me, his language sounding weird, definitely not from around here, but the guy picked up English crazy fast.

"Can eat this?" he questioned, his voice all deep and otherworldly, like trying to put words to an alien sound. I nod, “Yeah go ahead. It’s pretty tasty.”

He snatched the apple, giving it a good sniff and admiring its vibrant red hue. Hesitating for a moment, he finally decided to take a cautious bite. His eyes widened, almost sparkling with surprise. Without wasting any time, he went for another bite, a grin spreading across his face.

A little chuckle escaped me."So, what do you think? Is the apple a hit?” I asked him between giggles. His mouth was full of the apple, the juice pouring down her cheek. “Apple... good," he responded with a few mysterious words, likely compliments, before switching back to English. "Tastes like Earth. Want more."

"More apples?" I questioned, making sure. His face lit up with happiness as he nodded. I got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. I grabbed more apples, including some oranges and pears for good measure. Dumping the fruity treasure on the end table, I declared, "Voila!"

He gobbled up the whole apple, even the core, and then flopped into a chair by the table. Snatching an orange, he sniffed it just like he did with the apple. A big bite, some chewing, and he declared, "Different, but good,” he mumbled with a nod. "Earth food, good." I shook my head, chuckling. "No, you can't eat the skin like that. Let me peel it for you," I said, quickly peeling it for him. "Here, give it another shot. It'll be way tastier this way." I held out the peeled orange, urging him to try it again.

He narrowed his eyes at it, unsure, then decided to take another bite. The look on his face mirrored the one he had when munching on the apple. "This is real good," he exclaimed, before launching into a stream of excited chatter in his own language. "You," he stopped to find the right word. "Smart! Lots of cool things. I wanna know more."

I flashed him a smile, saying, "Awh, thanks! I'm curious to know more about you too." We took a little pause, just locking eyes. His big, dark, almost black orbs were fixed right on me, kind of hypnotic. I turned my head and blurted out, "So, um, what else do you wanna find out?" His intense look left me a bit flustered.

I still felt his intense gaze burning into the side of my head. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and yanked me back onto the couch, plopping down beside me. I was a bit confused, but I took this as him wanting to know what this was. “Oh, this thing? It's a couch. Like a big chair, so more people fit on it," I explained.

He gave a little nod, inching closer. Those eyes were still locked onto mine, like he had something important to say but was stuck on the words. Next thing I knew, his hands were on my cheeks, squishing them, and his forehead rested against mine. Our noses touched. If you told me a few days ago that a massive alien would nuzzle noses with me and I'd just roll with it, I'd have called you nuts. However I just let it happen. Despite us knowing each other only a few days I felt a strange trust and connection to him. 

I raised an eyebrow, still kinda confused but not backing off. His fingers, long and gentle, traced my cheek, giving me a ticklish feeling. His breath brushed against my face, and he stayed quiet. “So… is this some alien custom or what?" I questioned, getting even more confused by all the physical contact. He nodded, making a small clicking noise. Then he began to say a bunch of words in his native language. I think he could notice I wasn't understanding in the slightest because he let out a huff before he kissed me quickly.

I gasped at the sudden feeling. It wasn't like any regular kiss; it was way more enjoyable, sending a tingling and numbing feeling through me. His lips still held the sweetness from the fruit we had earlier.

His hand moved to the back of my head, pulling me in closer, while the other one continued to gently stroke my cheek. A warmth began to wrap around me, it was a strange feeling, but one I wasn’t pulling away from. 

I shut my eyes and leaned in, returning his kiss. A surge of warmth enveloped us, almost like a sweet paralysis. It was too irresistible to pull away.

The hold he had on the back of my neck got a bit tighter. It didn’t hurt but it was obvious he didn’t want me to pull away, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. His soft lips were intoxicating, both of our lips moving in rhythm. 

His tongue teased my bottom lip, coaxing them to open. It felt like an aphrodisiac, a warm and comforting sensation. Slowly, I surrendered as he pressed me down onto the couch, rendering me completely immobile.

Breaking away, he panted slightly, and we gazed at each other breathlessly. It felt like we were just staring at each other for hours, even though it was only a couple seconds. The warm feeling growing in my chest and stomach was growing, it was pure need.

Gasping for breath, he uttered "Xylorvex," a word in his native tongue. Pausing for a moment, thinking, he repeated, "Mate. You're mine, all mine." With that, he pressed his head against my neck, as he began to kiss and suck the skin.

The words hit me, making my face burn as he nibbled and kissed my neck. His teeth were sharp, but he tried to be gentle, though sometimes he bit too hard, making me bleed.

Yet, he was quick to lick and clean the wounds, sending a rush of arousal through me. My body went numb, and all I could feel was the strange alien's touch. His kisses left me craving more. "P-please," I stammered, desperate.

The strange creature stared at me, clearly confused. I let out a groan and pleaded, "I need more," hoping it would catch my drift. It took a while but then he nodded, finally understanding as his long fingers slowly pulled down my pants and now slicked covered underwear.

The cold air on my bare pussy made me flitch and shiver slightly. He brought one his face down and looked at it which only made me more embarrassed but aroused. After a while he brought his hand towards it, going up and down the folds, gathering more of the wetness. I let out a shaky moan and quivered slightly. I was so turned on it was almost painful. The creature watched as my pussy convulse around nothing. He slowly brought his face towards it as he began to carefully lap the folds. I cover my mouth as I let out a loud mouth. My breathing has gone heavy yet shallow as he continued licking and sucking. It was tingling in a way that caused more sensations than ever. I grabbed a handful of his hair, not knowing whether I was pulling him closer or pushing him away.

“Sweet. Like fruit,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving my cut as it dripped leaving a small pool onto the couch. He quickly went back towards it, slurping up all the arousal that poured out of me. He was mostly silent throughout this, a few clicks that I took as happiness as his half-lidded eyes switched from my pussy to my face. Luckily enough I was making enough noises for the both. It was only a matter of minutes before I felt my orgasm building full force. He began to swirl his long tongue around my clit sucking on it before going back towards my hole pushing his tongue in. “Nghh~ ah fuck~” I moaned out loudly as I came all over his face. The slick trailing down his chin as he made sure to give my pussy a few more kisses before sitting back up and looking at me. “Good?” I nodded as my chest went up and down heavily. I have never experienced anything like that before and it took a lot of the energy out of me. He smiled slightly as he then took off his pants showing his now fully erect dick, it was nothing like you have ever seen before. It was long and girthy, with the same black markings that were across his skin. It was veiny, and twitching. Despite being quiet it was obvious he was just as excited as you were. 

He slowly rubbed the entrance, gathering my slick onto his dick. I rarely had time to think before he pushed it in slowly, filling me up instantly. We both let out a moan as he bottomed out. The clicking noise became louder as he began to mumble something. He kissed my lips before he started to thrust his and wiggle inside me.

It was otherworldly, it was like his cock was perfectly morphing itself to my folds causing a sensation I couldn’t explain. The moans I let out came off as more of screams as I gripped the couch. However they were not as loud as they could be because of his sweet kisses, almost praising and encouraging me to take it.

You quickly learned that his species had a strong stamina. He was doing all sorts of positions with you, forcing orgasm after orgasm before all you could do was cry and take the pleasure. Hours later and after your nth orgasm did he finally cum. He gave his final thrusts as he shot his load inside you. The warmth filling you as you whined. You could  feel him depositing large eggs within you. Causing your belly to bulge as he cooed and petted your head.

After he laid all his eggs within you he finally put out, a clear sticky substance pooled out of your entrance as you trembled. The alien held you close as he brought you to the bed, grabbing something he thought was a towel and wiped you up.

You quickly fell passed out as he cuddled up next to you, spooning you and continuing his pats to your head. He just knew that you’ll be such a kind and loving mate for the children slowly growing inside you.

[satinsummer]

Chapter 3: The Morning After

Summary: Sam wakes up alone in Y/N'S bed before she had a chance to process anything the door is slowly opening as Y/N slips back into the room. Did she regret last night?

Pairings: G!PReader x Fem!SamCarpente & Fem!Y/BF/N x Fem!Tara Carpneter

Chapter 4: https://www.tumblr.com/satinsummer/761208076522127360/chapter-4-what-do-i-wear

Warnings: Suggestive Language, Drug Use (smoking weed), Fluff

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

Nobody's Pov:

As Sam stirred awake while memories of last night began flashing behind her eyelids. Moving a little further back in the bed, thinking she'd be met with another warm body instead the space beside her was empty, almost cold like the girl had been hours ahead of Sam. What time was it? How long had she slept? Reaching out for her phone on the nightstand beside her and checking the time it read "8:36am" Way too early for Tara or Y/BF/N to be awake the older girl started to wonder where you had run off to. It was almost like Y/N could hear Sam's thoughts as she reentered her room closing the door gently with her foot, two mugs and another serving tray in hand. Her clothes were changed too; and Sam felt caught herself thinking about last night all over again.

(outfit ref.)

Approaching the bed and very carefully handing Sam one of the mugs on the tray Y/N took a good look at the girl in her bed, wearing her shirt and she couldn't stop the smile that took over her face. "Good morning Sam" Y/N rasps out, voice still thick with sleep. Sam's heart fluttered never had she thought waking up in Y/N's bed would feel so natural between the two of them. "Good morning..Do you want to talk about last night" Sam hesitantly says, while forcing her eyes down on the mug in her hands like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Look at me" Y/N requests after shuffling around the bed, kneeling before the older girl. Lifting her eyes from the mug Sam watches Y/N speak, eyes searching for a hint of deception or dishonesty the whole time. "If you think I regret what happened last night you are sorely mistaken." Mid sentence Y/N grabs Sam's hand placing it on her chest right above her heart. "Do you feel that? That's what you do to me Samantha" Y/N whispers leaning in. Sharing a smile as their noses brush up against each other Sam takes it upon herself to close the gap between them. It's a short kiss but still sweet nonetheless. "You should try your coffee and eat before it gets cold" Y/N says after pulling away only to kiss the girl once more before getting up.

Removing the steal dome from the tray Y/N placed over Sam's lap, a small buffet sits in front of her. Pancakes, fruit, hash browns, eggs, bacon and toast fill the plate in front of her, surrounding by smaller dishes some had pastries and the others filled with jams & jellies, butter and maple syrup? There was also a cup of apple and orange juice. Always giving her options, never forcing decisions. Sam truly couldn't believe the girl standing above her, hands clasped behind her back awaiting Sam's approval.

"You made ALL this..for me?" Sam asks staring down at the assortment that was so graciously provided to her. "Yeah, just for you.. I left some in the fridge for everybody else but this is just for you, Sammy" Y/N says making her way over to her desk as Sam begins to dig in. "So what about us going on a dat-" "Yeessss" Sam moans out loud, eye rolling back as she tastes the food in front of her. "That good, huh?" Y/N smirks. The food is too good for Sam to be embarrassed "Yes, to the date as long as YOU are not cooking but actually sitting and entertaining me. I want to know more about you" Sam says still eating her food. "I know a good place, it's Pan-Asain restaurant over in Phi-" "I KNEW IT" Tara interrupts as the door swings open. "Sorry about that folks, continue on. Y/N/N, we are so talking about this later" Y/BF/N says looking between her best friend and her girlfriends older sister.

"Back to that date, Does tomorrow tonight at 8 work?" Y/N says turning her attention back to Sam. "Sounds great" the older girl says while walking over to Y/N and pressing a kiss to her lips. Sam's lips are naturally sweet and slightly sticky but Y/N just couldn't get enough. She tastes so good, Y/N wondered what else on her tasted good. But not wanting to get too carried away Sam pulled back and put some distance between the two of them. Turing on her feet and making herself comfy in Y/N's bed again to finish eating as she did so Y/N turned on the TV, offering the remote to Sam who easily reached out and took it. Scrolling through Y/N's streaming options she picks a true crime show on Netflix called "American Murder: Laci Peterson."

"I love true crime, this was a great pick" Y/N says getting comfortable in the leather chair just across from her bed. Sam eyes her questioningly "Is that chair as comfortable as you look?" She asks tilting her head with a small smile. "Super comfy" the other girl responds reaching up to a random place on the bookshelf and pulling down a pair of glasses, putting them on and turning her attention back to the show playing.

After a few episodes and a small nap after eating enough for two, Sam found herself not wanting to but having to leave the younger girl as they parted ways for work. "I can always stop by after the dinner service tonight? Hopefully I can be out by 1-130AM" Y/N says leaning against the door frame while checking her watch. She was now dressed in her Chefs Coat, hair pulled back and tattoos covered. Yet she still looked and smelled AMAZING. Throwing her arms around Y/'s neck, Sam pulled her into a heated kiss that was nothing but lips, tongue and teeth. Stunning the younger girl and poking her softly in the chest, Sam whispers "Come over after" All Y/N can do is nod, checking her watch again and suddenly she's pressing a quick kiss to Sam's lips, before she takes off running down the hall and out of the building.

8hrs Later, 7:45pm

Sam is trudging up the steps to her and Tara's shared apartment. Opening the door and making sure to lock it behind her, she hears laughter coming from the living room. Making her way over, Y/BF/N, the twins, Akina plus her sister have set up shop in the living room for an impromptu "Game Night" She didn't have it in her to kick them out, giving them a stern "Don't break the coffee table again Y/BF/N and Mindy" before walking out of the living room and into her room to get ready for a long and well deserved shower. She wondered how Y/N was doing, the girls ironically forgot or never really got around to exchanging numbers. It was a overlooked step that drove both of them crazy. Until Sam's phone dinged, picking it up and seeing it was an unknown number who texted her. She decided to click open the message hoping it was you, sure enough it was.

Text Convo Between Y/N & Sam:

+1 212-356-9122: "I hope work wasn't too hard on you. I'll be sending dinner over in an hour -Y/N🕷️"

A second message follows the first

Y/N💕: "Also I had to bribe Tara for your number, she drives a hard bargain😭. There is dessert in the bag for you both"

Sam: "Thank you, how much do i owe you?"

Y/N💕: "Our date tomorrow is a great form of payment, but seriously you owe me nothing. I know you're probably tired from today so I just wanted to make it easy on you..plus it's my cooking"

Sam: "Thank you Y/N..that's so thoughtful"

Y/N💕: "Of course. Would you like me to have it sent now? You say the word and it's on the way"

Sam: "Yes, please. Tara is currently whining about how hungry she is through my door like a cat"

Y/N💕: "Sent, Should arrive in 20. I'll text you when I'm headed out. Enjoy dinner!"

(Sam Loved Y/N message )

Sam: "Don't work too hard!"

(Y/N loved Sam's message )

Y/N ran dinner service like a pro, no dropped plates, everything came out on time and the communication in the kitchen tonight was perfect. After hiding in the bathroom for bit and texting with Sam again, Y/N made her way back into the kitchen where Head Chef Philippe greeted her with a small pat on the shoulder.

Taking her under his wing when his signature restaurant "Philippe" opened a second location in NYC was the best decision he'd ever made. Y/N was quick, headstrong, never too cocky or confident but always looking to be better if not the best, he admired that about the young girl. She perfected almost all the dishes he had on the menu in a single weekend. She was a natural. "Why don't you get out of here for the night, kid" Chef said "I can't leave you after the dinner rush, we still have to prep for tom-" "I'm sure Y/N/N, I have enough hands here to help. You aren't on tomorrow so don't worry about prep. Now go, go have some fun. Get a drink, be young! You worked hard tonight" He says motioning towards the exit with his free hand. "Alright, Call me if you need me. I appreciate you Phi" The young girl responds running over to hug her Head Chef.

Just like earlier Y/N is running out of the building and to her car but this time she's going back to Sam instead of work. Y/N couldn't be happier. Hopping in her car and sending a quick "Got off early, gonna shower and head over. If that's cool?" text, she anxiously awaits her response to which comes through in the minute it was sent.

Sammy🖤: "that's more than fine, I may be asleep when you get here but I can leave my door open for you? Dinner was amazing by the way💕"

Y/N: "Take your nap. I won't disturb you unless you want me to, and I'm happy you enjoyed it"

Sammy🖤: "Disturb me"

Y/N: 🤭

Around 1 hour later

A knock at the door interrupts the intense UNO match between Chad and Y/BF/N. "I'll get it" Mindy calls out, shuffling towards the front door. On the other side she's met with Y/N's relaxed sate and hazy eyes. "Hey Minds" She says pulling her into a hug and following her into the apartment after closing the door. "Look what the cat dragged in" She chuckles at the others as you both enter the living room. "Oh great, Y/N/N help me whoop his ass" Y/BF/N says handing the other girl her cards. Several curse words and draw 4s later Chad was pouting like a small child who got their favorite toy taken and Y/N was happy to put that look on his face. He always talked the most shit during game nights but Y/N somehow always washed him in UNO.

Afterwards Y/N slipped out of the living room undetected and went on her search for Sam's room. The second she hit the dark hallway, she was pulled into a room too fast for her to comprehend. Once she gains her bearings she see's that it's Sam who has taken her hostage in her room (not that she's complaining) "I was just coming to disturb you" Y/N whispered into Sam's hair having now pulled the older girl into her arms still standing against the closed door. "Yeah, well I beat you to it" Sam retorts. Leading Y/N to her bed, Sam climbs in on one side and settles in and looking at Y/N to follow suit. "Lock the door and come here" Sam says and Y/N says nothing in response, simply honoring her request and removing your hoodie and sweats (Y/N has satin shorts on underneath) Who wants outdoor clothes in/on their bed? Surely not Sam. "Is this okay or pants back o-" "It's okay" Sam reassures, patting the empty space next to her.

"Want to continue that show from earlier" Sam inquires. "I thought you'd never ask" Y/N replies, snuggling up to the older girl. With Y/N's head on her chest, TV show playing and the girls arms around her. Sam felt like all was right within the world. She didn't know how she got so lucky, nor would she question it. She just wanted to experience whatever it was Y/N were making her feel every single day. She hoped Y/N felt the same.

The two girls had eventually fallen asleep after many shared kisses and hesitant touches, Sam made Y/N promise not to leave her bed empty in the morning. She wanted to wake up in still wrapped in her arms. Sam was just selfish like that, could anybody blame her for it though? While pulling Sam closer to her Y/N placed a kiss to the back of her head and let sleep take over your body not before reminding sam of how much you looked forward to your upcoming date the following day. "I know, I can't wait either baby" Sam replies.

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

AN: How are feeling about chapter 3? Chapter 4 will the date and maybe a little fluff before the smut

Lmk what you guys think! Chapter 4 might be out later on today as well!

[fishysaltine]

Odd internet discourse but I absolutely think every single of the main NPC’s would peel and orange for TAV/Durge, mostly depending on relationship status.

Wyll would peel an orange for you if he didn’t know you, he’s the Blade of the Frontiers!!! Peeling an orange for someone, let alone his friend or lover with probably a breath of relief from killing goblins/giant bats/gnolls. And he’d be a good orange peeler too. He’d even probably break it down perfectly into the little slices too. He kind of gets a hiccup when Mizora transforms him but he quickly figures out how to put his new claws to use and uses them to cut the peel even better like one of those fancy orange peelers.

Gale probably wouldn’t peel an orange for someone if they were some stranger on the street, but most definitely if you’re his friend or beyond. But if you’re his lover he’d probably make you a magic orange tree that gives you perfectly peeled oranges whenever you want them, mostly bc he’s not the best at peeling oranges (the skin is too tight for him, ok???) and everything HAS to be perfect for his Tav/Durge. God Gale would just be like “you’re just not ambitious enough try harder”, give you a thumbs up, and fuck off.

Karach would totally peel and orange for her bestie, and most definitely for her Tav/Durge. The thing is she’d totally suck at it. I imagine she just bites the peel to get it loose, but then her claws would just cut into the orange and get juice all over her hands (and in her eye), and it’d be a totally fucked up orange BUT she would do her best and yk what? She can just squish it and make Tav/Durge orange juice. (Plus Tav/Durge can lick it off her hands so who’s complaining rlly)

Shadowheart would only peel an orange for you if you were her BEST friend/lover and also if she’s a Selunite. Yk Shar has some sacred law about oranges being some weird metaphor for emotions and she won’t stand for that as a Sharran. She would look at Tav/Durge with that incredulous “okay…?” Look she does and that tone she has when she thinks her dearest is being silly/stupid, but she would do it. She would also be a decent peeler I imagine, but she would leave those annoying white strands on it just to kind of piss Tav/durge off.

Lae’zel would peel an orange depending on how you approach her. I think she’d have to see you peeling an orange first, get curious about it, and eventually break down and ask “wtf is that?” And Tav/Durge has to show her how to peel and orange. Then it becomes some like wild competition to her, especially if you romance her and give her a peeled orange once. Then she just starts peeling oranges and is absolutely awful at it and then gets angry that she’s not good at peeling oranges. So in the end she’ll probably take your orange, peel it for you, go like “chck, see? This is how a true warrior peels an orange.” Just to show off how goddamn good she is at peeling oranges, then give it back. And in the end she is crazy good at peeling oranges. (I imagine Tav/Durge and Lae’zel peeling oranges, then exchanging them while waiting for a sunrise. I also imagine Lae’zel likes the citrusy taste, but not how sticky it is.)

Astarion would only peel an orange for you only if you’re his lover. People who don’t think he would have never seen him interact with Durge or Half-illithid Tav (heavy on Durge in their entirety). And I don’t mean this in a “omg he’s my Prince Charming” I mean it in a way of like, a silent act of service. He would peel an orange for a romanced Tav in Act 3. He’d probably look at you weird, but he’d peel it, being anxious and snarky the whole time (bc let’s be real this man has probably never in his 240ish years of life, peeled an orange. Probably makes a note about how “CAZAdor never had USE for ORANGES”). But he would peel it, and complain about his nails and clothes in that whiny tone that he has when he really doesn’t mind, he’d just taking the piss out of you because you’re an adult and can technically do it yourself. But he gets the point. Kind of. Non-ascended epilogue Astarion is the one who gets it, and isn’t as snarky about doing it as Act 3 Astarion.

Ascended Astarion would peel oranges for Tav/Durge only after they beg him too, he wants/needs to see them pathetic before he entertains the thought of being anything for them just for them. He would also be super manipulative and bitchy about it like “oooohhh look at what I do for you, darling. You owe me so such, my pretty little consort. I treat you sooo well, don’t I?” The whole works.

P.S. Halsin would peel an orange for anyone who asks, and I imagine he’s good at it. He’s Archdruid, which means he gets a +10 to fruit checks. And oranges he peels also just always taste the best too. It’s concerning how good they are.

[breaniebree]

Hinny Scene

Random smut scene that came to me the other day -- no im not writing anything new (outside of this scene)

This would fit into the Kismet universe, somewhere before Ginny discovers she's pregnant with James (before summer of 2003)

Ginny met Theo for morning yoga as they began their stretches under the instructor. They had been doing this for almost a year now and Ginny loved it. She loved how it made her feel and she loved meeting Theo. They always went to breakfast after and chatted and it was one of Ginny’s favourite parts of her day. Hermione sometimes joined them, but she didn’t always have time for breakfast and she wasn’t as diligent about the yoga as Ginny and Theo were.

Today was even better because Luna had returned to England for a few weeks and had surprised them in class that morning.

“Two more days,” Theo said with a sigh as he added some honey to his tea. “I miss him so much.”

Ginny gave her friend a sympathetic look. She knew that Theo missed his boyfriend when he was travelling and she was so glad that she didn’t have to worry about that too much with Harry. 

“Any plans for when he’s home?”

Theo winked, a slow smile on his lips. “Just the usual. Suck him off until he’s a whimpering mess at my mercy.”

Ginny shook her head in amusement. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You asked and you know how much I love to suck my man off.”

“I know,” Ginny said, taking a sip of her orange juice.

“You know I was worried at first that Macmillan might have taken that from me but… it’s not the same,” Theo said quietly. “He… forced me and this is because I want to. I want to hold that control and bloody hell, chick, when I have him in my mouth, I hold all the cards. It’s so… powerful. I love it. Not the power itself, but everything. I love feeling the weight of him on my tongue. I love the feel of my mouth stretching around him. I love the taste of his skin. I love the little sounds he makes when he’s trying to keep himself under control. I love the sounds he makes when I do something he really likes. I love the look in his eyes when I look up at him with my mouth full of his cock and he knows I’m in control. I love it when I get the drops of precum that are a reward for my good work and then when he lets go… I mean, yes, I love to swallow, but it’s the idea, you know? The idea that he’s giving me this part of himself; that he’s trusting me with his loss of control. It’s the sexiest bloody thing in the whole world,” Theo said. “Don’t either of you ever feel like that?”

Ginny bit her bottom lip as she nodded. She did understand what Theo meant by the power of it. It was this moment of trust between them that she treasured. “Yes, I do.”

“Me too,” Luna replied. “It’s why I always feel so good when Rolf and I are together because we both give each other that power. Blowing him is fun and I enjoy it a lot, but a few weeks ago when we were in Jodhpur, I enjoyed watching him suck cock even more.”

“Um… I’m sorry, what?” Ginny demanded, shooting her gaze to her friend.

Luna blinked owlishly. “Oh, it was nothing. We just met this lovely couple there who invited us over for the afternoon. They had a large home and there was about a dozen people from all over the world having an orgy. It was fascinating.”

“You had an orgy?” Theo asked, his eyes widening.

“Well, that depends entirely on what you consider an orgy to be,” Luna said. “Rolf and I discussed it and thought it might be fun to participate in a few naughty activities and he really liked it when I ate out this pretty Japanese woman. She tasted lovely and she loved to pull on my hair. Rolf used his tongue on me while I licked her and then her boyfriend, this really big muscular man who played rugby fed her his huge cock. The two of us both came and then we sort of switched, you know? Rolf sucked off her boyfriend and I sat on the rugby player’s face while she sucked off Rolf. It was really sexy.”

Theo and Ginny exchanged looks of disbelief. “LUNA!”

Luna only lifted an eyebrow. “What? That doesn’t count as an orgy, does it? I only had intercourse with Rolf, but there was this other blond man who rimmed Rolf for like half an hour while I watched and touched myself. He really liked it. I think we’re going to add it to our bedroom activities. Oh and then Rolf and the rugby player both ate me out at the same time. I had so many tongues and fingers down there, it was like a party and I came like ten times.”

“Luna, I cannot believe you and Rolf just went to that kind of party!” Ginny exclaimed.

Luna shrugged. “It’s hardly something we do all of the time, but it doesn’t hurt to try new things sometimes. It was fun and exciting, but we both agreed that we’d rather just be with each other. In fact, just this morning he did me doggy style.”

Theo shook his head. “I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Don’t,” Ginny suggested, making him grin.

“Anyway,” Theo continued. “I knew you’d both understand what I was saying. It’s not just the orgasms though we can all agree those are bloody brilliant, it’s the build up and the foreplay and the trust. I know that Bas will use my mouth if I ask him too and I know that he won’t hurt me; I know he’ll take care of me. I know that he loves me.”

“He loves you so much,” Ginny told him.

“He really does,” Luna said. “Well, I have to be off. I have a meeting at the Ministry to discuss my newest finds. I’ll meet you both again in the morning for yoga. Goodbye.”

Luna pecked Theo’s cheek and then Ginny’s before taking off and Ginny shook her head.

“I can’t believe she and Rolf had an orgy!”

“It wasn’t an orgy,” Theo said. “There was no shagging.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I think that hardly constitutes a rule.”

“It sounds like it was sexy,” Theo said. “But that’s not for me. No one else is allowed to touch my man.”

“On that we can both agree,” Ginny said.

Theo sighed and reached for his tea. “Is it bloody Friday yet?”

“No, still only Wednesday,” Ginny teased.

“Well hurry up Friday. I want my man in my mouth and then I want him to rim me until I come all over myself,” Theo said just as the waitress appeared at their table. 

Ginny blushed but the waitress didn’t comment and she was grateful. When she left, she kicked her friend under the table. 

“Ow!”

“You need to watch what you say!”

He grinned as he pulled out his wallet. “You love that about me. It’s my turn to buy breakfast so you head off. I think I need to use one of my toys before work this morning.”

“How do you still overshare this much?”

Theo winked. “It’s a big toy too. Not as big as Bas mind you, but it definitely has some girth to it.”

Ginny snorted. “Thanks for breakfast, Theo.”

“Bye, chick! See you tomorrow.”

Ginny hugged Theo goodbye, shaking her head at her breakfast conversation. Her friends were obsessed with sex, but as she headed home, she couldn’t get her thoughts to leave what Theo had said about the trust and the power. She found her husband in the kitchen in his Auror kit, filling a travel tumblr with coffee.

“Hey, Gin,” Harry said. “How was breakfast?”

“Enlightening,” Ginny said, dropping her bag by the doorway of the kitchen.

Harry lifted an eyebrow, his black hair as messy as usual and his green eyes giving her an amused look. “Isn’t that always the way with Theo?”

“Luna was there too,” Ginny told him. “She and Rolf are back in England for a few weeks.”

“Oh, we’ll have to have them over for dinner or something.”

“Yes,” Ginny said, stomping across the kitchen to take his tumblr from his hands. She put it in the counter with a rather loud bang before she grabbed him by his suspenders and stood on her toes to kiss him.

Not just any little kiss either, but a deep kiss that made his hands grip her arse tightly as he pulled her up against him. His tongue met hers eagerly and when she felt him harden against her stomach, she pulled back and licked her lips.

“Mm, bloody hell, Gin,” Harry grumbled. “You can’t snog me like that when I’m two seconds from leaving. I have to go to work.”

Ginny stood on her toes and stole another quick kiss. “Trust and power.”

“What?” Harry asked, giving her a bewildered look.

“Trust and power,” Ginny repeated. “It’s something Theo said.”

“Er, all right,” Harry said. “You can fill me in later. I really have to go. I have to report in to Robards in less than ten minutes.”

Ginny teased her fingers down the straps of his suspenders, unhooking them. “Ten minutes, eh?”

Before Harry could comment, she knelt before him and popped open the button on his black trousers. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

“Gin…”

Ginny lowered the zipper and then slid them down his hips, her mouth kissing him through his boxer briefs.

“Bloody hell!”

Her tongue dragged over the cotton before those were pushed down to his knees too and then with her eyes locked on his, she dragged her tongue over his hardening length. Harry groaned, his hands reaching back to grip the counter behind him. Ginny’s tongue continued to tease his length, soft licks and kisses that made him tremble before she took him into her mouth. 

Her tongue twirled at the underside of his head in a way to designed to drive him mad while one hand fondled and stroked his balls and the other fisted around him, working him with firm, tight strokes. Then she slid her hands around him to cup his arse and took him down her throat.

Harry grunted as her nose touched his pelvis, eyes wide. It still amazed him that this wife had mastered this. She swallowed around him, making him nice and wet before she slowly pulled off and began to lick him like she was savouring him. When her hand fisted around him once more, her mouth moved to his balls and Harry moved one of his hands to grip her ponytail as he watched her suck them into his mouth, his cock moving in and out of her fist in a steady rhythm that made his breath hitch.

Then her mouth was back around him, sucking faster and Harry gripped her hair tighter, hips moving to meet her mouth. 

Ginny moaned around him. This right here was what Theo had been talking about. There was no one she trusted more than her husband right now. She had the power, the heart of him in her mouth and yet here he was, giving her more. His hips moved faster and she swallowed around him, tugging and rolling his balls in her hand as his taste told her he was close. She slid her finger behind his balls, teasing his rim and he made a strangled sound of warning before he finished with a loud groan. Ginny swallowed every drop before she took her time licking him clean.

Harry sagged back against the counter, his breath ragged. “Bloody fucking hell, Gin… what the hell was that?”

Ginny continued to lap at him before she stood up, tugging him down to meet her lips. She knew he could taste himself there. “I love you, Harry Potter. I trust you. I love the power you give me and I love how powerful you make me feel.” She patted his cheek with a wink. “Now pull up your trousers. You’re late for work.”

She turned to go and Harry grabbed her arm. “I don’t know what the hell Theo said to you at breakfast this morning, but feel free to make it a regular thing.”

She chuckled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Harry tugged up his boxer briefs and his trousers, hastily trying to fix his kit. “And Gin? When I get home tonight, you can trust that I‘m going to make you come so hard you’re going to scream.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Harry hooked his suspenders back into place and grabbed his tumblr. “I am,” he said, grabbing her hip and his lips brushing her ear. “Three times. Then I’m going to bend you over whatever the fuck is closest and shag you until you come again and then I’m going to start all over again. Clear?”

Ginny bit her bottom lip as a shiver of pleasure ran through her and then her breath hitched when his hand moved from her hip to slide into her knickers and his fingers pushed into her.

“Merlin, you’re bloody soaked,” he hissed.

He pumped his fingers a few times before he stroked her clit and yanked his hand out, sucking his fingers into his mouth. 

“Don’t you dare touch yourself until I get home.”

“And if I do?” she taunted.

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Don’t.”

Then he grabbed his red cloak and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Ginny standing there with flushed cheeks.

“You’re thirty minutes late, Potter!” Robards barked when Harry walked into the bullpen five minutes later.

“Sorry, Sir,” Harry said. “Overslept.”

When Robards turned, Ron gave him a look. “Overslept my arse.”

Harry grinned. “What can I say? It’s a bloody fan-fucking-tastic morning.”

“Someone got laid,” Baxter teased.

Harry shot up two fingers in response, but he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. 

He bloody loved being married.

[apolloendymion]

ok! i think tumblr ate my fucking apple cider recipe post. still, my autumn equinox tradition must carry on!

Apollo's Foolproof From-Scratch Apple Cider That Was So Good It Allegedly Landed Me A Boyfriend

you will need:

12 apples (the variety is up to you, i usually do half granny smith and half whatever's on sale plus a red delicious for garnishing)

10oz raisins

cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, star anise, nutmeg, allspice, cardamom pods, any other warming spices u like (whole > ground) (follow ur heart on the amounts, it's like garlic just throw so much in there. just go wild)

1 orange

brown sugar (i don't have measurements but be prepared to use a LOT lmao, i always buy at least one 32oz bag. you'll be sweetening to taste.)

large pot with lid

potato masher (optional)

two large bowls/pots/receptacles to strain the cider into

fine mesh strainer

cheesecloth or coffee filters (optional)

apple corer or knife

citrus zester

slotted spoon or ladle

the steps:

1. scrub apples gently under hot water to remove grocery store wax coating. core apples making sure all seeds & stems are removed. add apples, raisins, and mulling spices to pot with enough water to fully cover ingredients, and bring to boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 1 hour.

2. scrub orange to remove wax. zest and juice, avoiding the pith & seeds. use a potato masher or other utensil to lightly mash boiled apple mixture so every apple slice is at least partially broken up, then add the zest & juice to the pot. bring back to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer for another hour. then turn off the heat and allow mixture to cool.

3. place two mesh strainers over two bowls or pots (and cover each with a cheesecloth or coffee filters, if you have them). with a slotted spoon or ladle, remove as much of the solids from the pot as you can and place them in one strainer (the larger one, if they are different sizes) to drain, then press out as much liquid into the cheesecloth as possible.

4. pour the cider from the simmer pot into the second cheesecloth and press. combine the liquid from both bowls.

5. add brown sugar to taste

cooking tips:

the times listed above are bare minimums. once all the ingredients are in the pot (minus sugar!) you can simmer as long as you want, so long as someone's nearby to supervise.

always add any sweeteners after the cooking process. otherwise, they'll burn and make the whole thing bitter.

if it's too acidic, add baking soda or more spices. if it's not acidic enough, add lemon juice, additional orange juice, or apple cider vinegar.

variations:

add 12oz fresh cranberries to the first step

sub oranges for lemons or apple cider vinegar

sub brown sugar for straight molasses, maple syrup, or alternative sweetener of your choice (I'd imagine fig or other fruit-based sweeteners would work best)

report back to me if you try something new!! i want to hear how it turned out!

serving suggestions:

add three or four cinnamon imperials (red hots) to your mug, along with a dash of fireball whiskey if you're so inclined. i cannot stress enough how fucking amazing this tastes.

garnish with apple slices, orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and/or star anise

if you have dairy-free ice cream on hand, pour some cider over a scoop. you can use dairy ice cream, but it's more likely to curdle.

freeze some in an ice cube tray, then blend with some non-frozen cider for a slushie

ok I've never tried this, but i bet blending with pumpkin puree would slap. PLEASE tell me if you try it

this makes a metric fuckload of cider, which is very rich and can be watered down considerably (seriously). share with your friends and/or freeze some to last the season (or halve it, i guess, but that's no fun :P)

[stevenssacrab]

Chicken Noodle Soup

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: When you're feeling under the weather, Peter saves the day with some classic chicken noodle soup

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Reader is sick

Word Count: 0.7k

a/n: I'm feeling a little sick thus, this baby was born, wish I had a Peter to take care of me.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

You felt like shit and probably looked like it, this sickness was kicking your ass, and no amount of medication helped; you just had to let it run its course; you've been tossing and turning in bed, a thin layer of sweat covering your body but you felt like you were freezing to death, your nose red and raw from the constant sneezing and blowing, you lost track of how much aspirins you'd taken for the killer headache you had since you first started getting sick, with the constant pounding everything seemed way too bright, currently sucking on some halls, to soothe the irritation in your throat, your cheeks hollow, you haven't had the energy to eat much, you've lost a few pounds, and it showed in your face.

"Add chicken and let simmer for 10 minutes," Peter repeated to himself; following May's instructions, Peter grabbed the cutting board and rinsed, placing it on the drying rack, opening the cabinet, grabbed a medium-sized bowl, and carefully poured it into the bowl, taste testing it making sure it was perfect. He delicately held the bowl and placed it onto the tray, accompanied by a glass of orange juice and some saltine crackers. He cautiously walked to your bedroom; you were sleeping, your face contorted in discomfort; even in sleep, you couldn't find peace; he quietly placed the tray on your nightstand.

"Y/N, wake up; it's time to eat," Peter whispered and gently shook you awake; you groaned softly and opened your eyes, landing on Peter's sweet face; you smiled lightly; it didn't matter how you felt you were always happy to see Peter, your eyes shifted to the tray and your smile broadened, Peter never failed to impressive you, he had always been so thoughtful and caring, you hadn't asked him to make food in the first place, he came up with it all on his own, it's how you knew his heart is in the right place, you'd kiss him right now if it weren't for your current state.

"What's this?" you asked, smiling brightly at him. You reached for the tray, but Peter beat you to it, lightly placing the tray on your lap, "You made this?" you croaked out; this cold hasn't been easy on your voice and throat.

"I made it for you," Peter smiled bashfully, lifting a spoonful to your mouth; you accepted it happily and groaned loudly. Peter's eyes widened, fearing the worst, but you snatched the spoon out of Peter's hand and spooned more soup into your mouth; groaning again, Peter let out a hardy laugh, watching as you practically inhaled the soup.

"Here, drink some juice," he smiled brightly, handing you the glass; you eagerly grabbed the glass, almost drinking the whole thing in one go. You had no idea you were this hungry, but you felt this soup warm up your soul. It was so good.

"Ahh, man, that's good," you sighed happily, "great job, Pete, it's perfect," you beamed and then returned to inhaling the soup.

"I also brought some medication to help you, some DayQuil and NyQuil, and some Pedialyte," Peter said, pulling a ray of medications out of the little care package he made for you, " I want you to rest. I don't want you to do anything; I'll be here if you need anything, okay?" Peter questioned; you nodded your head.

"When did you make this?" You quizzed, dipping a saltine cracker into the soup; Peter grinned.

"I made it at home with May and heated it up when I got here," he said matter of factly.

'Is all this from scratch?'

"Yes, it's from scratch, down to the noodles," he beamed.

"I had no idea you could cook so well," you say, impressed further. Peter laughs in shock, "Oh no, thank May, she basically made the whole thing; I just added the chicken when I got here and heated it up," Peter says, slightly embarrassed, rubbing his neck sheepishly; you laugh lightly.

"It's okay, Peter. I still love it, and thank Aunt May," you smiled. Peter leaned into your touch, caressing the hand holding him, and kissed the inside of your palm; you smiled bashfully; you grabbed the bowl and drank the rest of the broth, licking your lips, satisfied with your meal.

“Thank you, Pete, it was delicious,” you kissed his forehead; Peter grinned and held your hand.

“Okay, get some rest, baby,” he utters, lifting the tray from your lap and exiting the room; getting one last look in, you shift comfortably in your bed, sighing happily, already feeling ten times better.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

series masterlist

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A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes. 

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you. 

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him. 

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point. 

Pure friendship. 

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence. 

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose. 

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth. 

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows. 

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him. 

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice. 

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him. 

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him. 

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances. 

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake. 

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws. 

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses. 

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums. 

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms. 

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room. 

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other. 

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him. 

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him. 

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your heart beat faster. 

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat. 

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other. 

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means. 

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking. 

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him. 

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head. 

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath. 

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face. 

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right. 

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both. 

Maman?

next part

[p4rallel-universe]

brokeback

(Lip Gallagher x male reader)

summary: when Ian leaves the club for good, he brings home a friend from work to crash at the Gallagher house for a bit. Lip is drawn to him a bit more than he'd like to admit, and he isn't sure what it means.

"who's this?" Lip questions as he enters the gallagher house to find Ian on the couch and next to him, another guy of a seemingly similar age. a few bags are on the floor between them. the guy looks sheepish as Ian speaks up.

"this is Y/N, we worked together at the club. left that place for good and he decided to join me. he's gonna stay here for a bit, i'll take care of him though. don't worry about it." Ian explains and Lip nods, lighting up a cig as he walks to the kitchen. "good to meet you," he mumbles as he walks off, and you sigh in relief.

you felt awful, really, intruding on your friends house like this, but when Ian announced he was sick of being thrown around like a piece of meat at the club and was going to leave for good, you figured you'd follow. tips weren't nearly as good as they used to be, so they stopped making up for the whole starving-yourself-just-to-be-groped-by-old-guys thing. you didn't have a plan for leaving. no family and no friends who weren't in similar situations, so Ian suggested you crash at his family's place till you figure it out. Ian could be crazy unhinged, but he was a damn good friend.

Ian invites you upstairs and you pick up your stuff, it isn't much, but it proves to be quite heavy. you see Ian's brother - you're sure his name is Phil or something - in the kitchen. he's in an off white wife-beater drinking orange juice from the carton and you notice his arms are pretty nice. then you realise lusting after your friends brother who you're staying with for the forseeable probably isn't smart.

you decide to get an early night, Ian helps you settle in and says goodnight. you can't thank him enough for it all, really. he leaves to head downstairs as you try get some sleep.

"so, new friend, huh?" Lip asks Ian as they share a cig on the back porch,

"yeah, he used to be a dancer at the club, same as me," Ian explains as he takes a puff,

"so we got another gay under the gallagher roof then?" Lip jokes with a bit too much intensity and he cringes, because he doesn't mean it that way, "i feel like a dick, you know, not saying hi or anything."

"nah don't worry about it, he's just glad you didn't throw him out the second you saw him." this makes Lip smile and he doesn't know why,

"cool." he says, tossing the burnt-out cig and heading inside. and when he walks past his old room where Y/N is asleep he pretends he doesn't want to crack open the door and check on him. and when he tries to sleep he hopes the fact he can't stop thinking about another guy doesn't mean anything.

the next morning Y/N comes downstairs ready to make a better impression, Lip is at the breakfast table, just about the leave when he sees you.

"hey," Lip nods to you and Y/N greets him back, "you want some of this? i gotta leave soon anyway."

when Lip passes Y/N the plate their hands brush and Lip's lingers for a bit longer than it maybe should've. when Y/N looks right in his eyes he feels too strange not to leave right there. so he does, and Y/N is left at the table, flustered and very confused. and maybe a bit too hopeful.

Ian is outside on the porch drinking a beer when Y/N finds him and sits with him. Ian offers the bottle and Y/N takes it, taking a sip and grimacing.

"tastes like the club." you joke and Ian chuckles taking another swig, "so, your brother- Phil?"

"Lip." he corrects,

"yeah, Lip, what's his deal anyway?" you ask, trying not to sound too curious, and the look Ian gives you makes you think you didn't do a very good job.

"what d'you mean?" he looks at you, puzzled,

"i dunno, he seems...edgy? like nervous, he practically threw himself out the door when i came down for breakfast." you joke and take another sip of the cold drink you're sharing,

"huh, doesn't sound like Lip...maybe he's into you" Ian gives you a look and you both burst into a fit of laughter. Ian is laughing because the idea of his own brother liking another guy AND getting flustered around him is a joke in his mind. Y/N is laughing because he's not sure what else to do when he can't help but feel drawn to his new temporary roommates very attractive, very enigmatic, very straight brother.

on the other side of the city, Lip throws a book across an empty room because he can't get you out of his head. when he picks the textbook up off the ground, he isn't sure if he recognises the hands infront of him.

that night, Lip gets home late. it's dark outside and in the Gallagher house. dark and strangely, quiet. Ian's already upstairs in bed, having an early night. Lip sniffles from the cold and takes his jacket off, throwing it over the couch, when he flicks on the room light, he sees Y/N sat at the kitchen island.

Lip nods to him because he's not sure what else to do, "couldn't sleep", Y/N says and offers the cigarette in his hands over to Lip, who walks over and tentatively takes it, bringing it to his lips. he's still close enough now that when he exhales, the smoke blows into Y/N's face. Lip's eyes shine bright in the still-dim light.

Lip flicks the cig away, not caring where it lands and Y/N's brow furrows until Lip grabs his face and slams his lips onto his. it's rough and messy because Lip is scared and Y/N is surprised. it would hurt a lot more if they both hadn't secretly craved it for days. when Lip pulls away his blue eyes look apologetic and just as he plans to brush the whole thing off, apologise, it was his bad, and take off upstairs or outside or anywhere else, Y/N grabs his face again and pulls him into a much more gentle kiss.

it's still a bit aggressive, but deliciously so. Lip's hands aren't sure where to go until they find themselves on Y/N's back. and he feels steady, and strong. and okay. this is okay. when Y/N's hands tenderly tangle themselves in his hair they both smile into the kiss.

when they finally part, their eyes both shine in the dim light with the kind of happiness you can only get from a night like this. with dim light, and a guy you can't stop thinking about. and everything smells and tastes of cigarette smoke.

and when they both go to sleep that night, they can finally close their eyes.

[ghoulodont]

β-Lactam

Getting sick on the road is a well known phenomenon in the touring world, but only a folktale for the newly summoned ghouls — up to this point. Dewdrop gets hit particularly hard by whatever illness the roadies are passing around, but the show must go on. Rain considers the nature of his relationship with his bandmate in light of subsequent events.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain, Aether Words: 6846

Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Prequelle Era, Pre-relationship, warning for vomit and needles

Read below or on AO3

A plague is spreading among the production’s cast and crew.

For the more experienced members, it’s to be expected. Having that many people in close proximity for enough time is bound to encourage contagion, and they know from experience that it will. For many of the musicians — the ones who are freshly summoned from Hell, tailor-made to fill that role — it’s something they’ve only been warned about. Their ability to perform is the top priority, and they are expected to take care of themselves.

So illness prevention becomes part of their daily routine. Immune fortifiers and remedies of all kinds start showing up on the bus and at the venues, added to the hospitality rider, fetched by staff on errands, picked out themselves during their downtime.

Understandably, the vocalists are all extra concerned about how this situation might impact them. Copia keeps his distance from anyone he deems a potential disease vector, usually squirreling away to his dressing room before and after the show. Cumulus swears by a tea that purports throat soothing properties. Swiss eats cough drops nonstop, though it’s later determined that he just thinks they taste good.

Mountain hands out tiny bottles of vibrant yellow-orange juice one afternoon before the concert. The blurb on the label is packed with scientific-sounding words about vitamins and antioxidants. Rain reads the ingredients — he doesn’t recognize any other than lemon and ginger — and knocks his bottle back all at once like a shot of alcohol, as suggested. The back of his nose burns for the next two hours. Upon searching the internet he learns that “cayenne” is a type of pepper. Several other ghouls fall victim to this as well, excluding Dewdrop, who sneaks away with the bottle and passes it off to an unsuspecting roadie, and Aether, who drinks the juice but seems to genuinely enjoy the taste.

But, otherwise, it’s business as usual. As showtime approaches everyone focuses on the task at hand. They’re warmed up, soundchecked, costumed, ready to go.

And after the performance, the ghouls can relax again, for the time being. Most of them usually end up in the green room while the crew is tearing down, and tonight is no different. At some point they’ll all head to their dressing rooms and get ready to get back on the bus, and then the cycle will repeat. For now, they can revel in this brief low tide in their ebbing and flowing responsibilities.

It’s nearing the time that the party inevitably dies down when things go awry.

Dewdrop has been subdued since coming offstage. He’s always more reserved day-to-day than he is in front of a crowd, but his behavior tonight, by Rain’s assessment, is uncharacteristic. He had gone straight to a couch near the corner of the green room and barely interacted with anyone, even when Swiss pelted him with a grape from the catering table, something that on any other day would have warranted a ruthless counterattack.

At one point over the course of the evening he ventures away from his outpost to retrieve a bottle of water, but he brings it right back to where he had been sitting.

Later, out of nowhere, he drags himself up from the couch and staggers to the big commercial-grade plastic trash bin next to the door. He grabs the edge of it with enough horizontal momentum that it hits the wall with a hollow thunk before he leans his whole body over it and retches. This sudden series of actions makes everyone still in the green room pause. The sound of whatever was in his stomach — just water, presumably — hitting whatever else is in the trash can is stark in the now quiet space.

Rain is the first to react; he stands from his seat and promptly freezes in place. Aether is the first to actually get up and walk over towards the door. It snaps Rain out of his daze, and he follows behind.

Before they can get there, Dew is already on his way back to his spot on the couch. Aether recalibrates their trajectory to meet him there. Dew flops back onto the seat, his head tipped back against the top of the backrest, legs extended out in front of him, arms limp at his sides.

“What’s going on, you okay?” Aether stands over Dew, and Rain stands next to Aether. Dew doesn’t respond. His eyes are unfocused.

From this distance Dew is visibly shaking, his entire body inundated by a fine vibration that itself pulses in intensity, like a modulated wave.

“Hey,” Aether tries again, “you okay?”

Dew groans and puts his hands over his eyes. Then he jolts upright, the soles of his costume shoes squeaking against the laminate tile floor. He takes short, hitching breaths.

Aether immediately anticipates what is about to happen and drags over the trash bin. Dew leans over it, gripping the edge, and releases a tendril of saliva. He gags.

Swiss runs out of the room, hands over his ears.

The trash bin is so large compared to Dew’s seated form that it looks like he could fall into it and disappear. Rain finds a small plastic-lined wastebasket by one of the other seating areas and swaps it with the big bin. Dew relinquishes his grasp on its folded rim as Rain pulls it away. He relaxes somewhat, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees and the wastebasket between his ankles.

He heaves again, unproductive. Aether and Rain hover over him like if they look at him long enough the power of their concern could will him to be better somehow.

After a few more dry heaves, Aether prompts again, “What’s going on?”

Dew responds this time. “My throat hurts so much.”

“Your throat? Are you sick?” Aether puts the back of his hand against Dew’s forehead. Dew tries to lean away from him as he approaches, but his dodge is ineffective and Aether makes contact anyway. His gesture is so maternal, but as far as Rain knows, Aether is just as experienced with this kind of situation as he is, which is to say not at all.

“For how long?” Rain asks.

“Just today.” Dew pauses, amends his statement. “Just since the show.”

“Maybe he has what all the roadies had?” Aether wonders out loud.

"It hasn’t been this bad for anyone else, though, right?" Rain mentally tallies the casualties so far. It’s only been crew members, none of the musicians, and none of them have had to take any time off.

Aether's brow furrows. "Do you think he needs a doctor? We probably have enough time to get one here before bus call."

"Why are you asking him? I'm right here." Dew directs this comment to the wastebasket.

"Do you think you need a doctor?"

"No."

"And you're going to be better for the show tomorrow?"

"I was fine for the show tonight."

"Sure, but it seems like you're not fine now."

Rain isn’t sure whether Dew's tight-lipped expression is indicative of the nausea or the denial. Dew might not be sure himself, either.

"I think you should let a doctor look at you, at least, just in case," Rain suggests. He’s never seen Dew this sick before, or anyone else, for that matter, and it’s scaring him a little.

Dew actually always seems to be the most likely ghoul to throw up — repeatedly, even — when they're all hung over on a day off. He’s prone to motion sickness as well; Rain wasn’t there, but he’s been told it gets bad enough that on Dew’s first tour he had to swap bunks because the top one swayed too much whenever the bus took an exit on the highway. But he never really seemed bothered about any of those incidents. He certainly wasn’t trembling like a newborn fawn. So this feels different.

“Fine.”

Aether nods. “Okay, I’m going to go find someone who can help.” He briefly places his hand on Dew’s hunched shoulder before leaving.

—

Rain leans against a nearby table for a few minutes while Dew drools occasionally into the wastebasket. He’s stopped outright dry heaving over it at this point, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to part with it. Then he suddenly moves to get up.

“I need to go shower.” Dew has to brace against the couch with his hands as he stands.

He sways in place as he rearranges his feet to avoid kicking over the wastebasket. Rain steadies him with a hand on his upper arm.

“Okay, yeah, let me walk you there.”

Dew is already walking toward the door. Rain keeps his hand on his arm and follows, letting him lead the way to his dressing room. At some point in the hallway Rain adjusts his steadying hand to hook around Dew’s waist instead. He isn’t supporting any of Dew’s weight, and only applies any pressure at all when the two of them start to veer from their intended bearing.

Dressing room situations varied between tour stops, depending on what the venue offered and what the management requested. Usually the ghouls ended up sharing them, in groups of two or three. The worst so far was actually when they had individual rooms — each room was so small that Rain could almost touch both sides at the same time if he extended his arms all the way. By the time they were all on the bus that night, there was at least one dent in the drywall that hadn’t been there before.

This time, Dew is sharing a dressing room with Aether. When they get there, it’s empty and quiet. Dew rifles through his bag for clothes and toiletries and heads for the ensuite bathroom, closing the painted steel door behind him.

Now Rain is alone in a dressing room that isn’t his. He checks the time on his phone. There’s still plenty of time before bus call. He should shower too. His shoes are glued to the worn low-pile carpet. He listens to the shower turning on in the bathroom.

Aether shows up a couple minutes later.

“Oh! Hey,” he greets, looking a little surprised to see Rain there. “I explained what happened and they’re calling a doctor to come out.”

Rain nods. “Here?”

“Yeah, and then hopefully he can be on the bus in time.”

Rain nods again, checks his phone. Aether stands there.

“You should go shower,” Aether offers.

“Yeah.” Rain doesn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s okay in there.”

This finally unglues Rain’s feet. He nods, thanks Aether, and heads for his own dressing room.

He ends up pacing around the room, and later up and down a segment of the hallway, while he waits an eternity for Swiss to finish showering. He takes his own shower as quickly as possible — normally he would be in there at least as long as Swiss was, if not longer — and finds himself drawn back to Dew and Aether’s dressing room when he’s done.

When he gets there, the door is propped open. Aether isn’t there, but Rain can hear the shower running. Dew is slouched in an armchair, curled up with his feet on the seat. He’s changed from his costume into jeans and a hoodie, and his hair is damp. As Rain steps through the door, he’s in the process of forcing down a minuscule sip of water. Dew looks up at him and offers what he thinks is supposed to be a polite smile but ends up more like a tight-lipped grimace.

“Are you feeling any better?” Rain leans against the makeup counter along one wall of the room.

Dew shrugs.

The two of them sit in relative silence for a few minutes, Rain tapping his fingers rhythmically on the laminate countertop and Dew fiddling with the lid of his plastic water bottle, before Dew leans over a strategically placed wastebasket — if Rain hadn’t walked him here himself he would have assumed Dew brought this one from the green room — and throws up the tiny mouthful of water from earlier. He sighs, quietly, turbulent air rushing out through his nose, and leans his head back against the chair.

Eventually a member of the venue staff arrives outside the room, knocking politely on the doorframe. She explains she’s here to escort Dew to where the doctor is set up. Rain hovers next to him as he stands, ready to steady him if he needs it.

The three of them zigzag through the backstage hallways. The trip isn’t far, but Dew is moving slowly, still wobbly. The staff member, seemingly stuck in a state of haste, has to stop and wait at each intersection for Dew and Rain to catch up.

Their journey ends at a door propped open by the tour manager. He waves them into a dressing room, the larger kind that might be used by an ensemble cast. It is devoid of everything but furniture, clearly not intended to be occupied tonight. There is a couch against one wall; two others are lined with makeup counters and mirrors. The doctor stands at one end of the counter, picking through a hefty bag of supplies.

They walk single file through the doorway, Dew first and then Rain. The doctor glances up at them through the mirror, then turns and introduces herself. She’s wearing inconspicuous, casual clothes, nothing that would explicitly indicate she’s a medical professional.

“Please have a seat.” She gestures toward the couch.

Dew settles onto one end of the couch, but doesn’t relax. He folds his arms loosely around himself. Rain considers his own seating options and decides to perch next to him on the couch’s padded arm in a pose somewhere between sitting and leaning.

At the counter, the doctor drapes a stethoscope around her neck and picks up a small collection of equipment.

“I’d like to start by checking your vitals,” she says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” says the tour manager, taking a step toward the hallway while holding the door open. Rain realizes it’s a cue for him, that he is expected to leave as well.

He suddenly also realizes there was no real reason for him to have followed Dew here in the first place. The venue management had been considerate enough to find him a private room, and Rain had invaded that privacy without even thinking. He stands up from the couch arm, turning back towards Dew to tell him he’ll see him on the bus and —

Dew is looking back with his eyes wide and his shoulders tense. One of his arms is extended toward Rain from where it had been wrapped around his body, his hand resting limp on the couch in a noncommittal, minimal energy version of physically reaching out to him.

Dew has his mouth slightly open like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Should I stay?” Rain finally asks.

“If you want to,” Dew counters, not ready to admit that he’s the one who wants it.

“I don’t mind.” Rain settles back down on the arm of the couch.

Dew looks away from him and deflates, compressing back in against himself.

The tour manager just nods and waves goodbye, then lets the door swing closed.

—

The doctor crosses the room from the counter to the couch and hands Dew a digital thermometer. “Hold this under your tongue, please.”

Dew complies, holding it in place with one hand. She clips a pulse oximeter on the other.

The shrill beep of the thermometer breaks the silence in the room. Dew removes it from his mouth and hands it back to the doctor without looking at it.

She takes it and reads the glowing screen. “You have a fever. Are you having body aches? Chills?” She reaches to collect the pulse oximeter as well.

Dew lifts his hand slightly so she can unclip it from his finger, the minor exertion causing it to tremor. He shakes his head. Rain thinks about how he looked when he was flopped on the green room couch and wonders if they have different definitions of those words.

The doctor checks the measurement, hums quietly, then places the device on the couch and picks up a blood pressure cuff. She wraps it around Dew’s upper arm and then squats next to him, donning her stethoscope. She takes his forearm and flips it so his hand rests supine on his knee.

The room is quiet except for the rush of air as she inflates the cuff, then lets it slowly deflate again. The sound of the velcro ripping apart when she unwraps it echoes in the still room. Dew tucks his relinquished arm back around himself. The doctor stands and removes the stethoscope from her ears and drapes it over her shoulders again. She replaces her other equipment in her bag.

When she returns, she sits down next to Dew on the couch, perched close to the edge so she can turn to face him.

“Can you tell me more about your symptoms? The sore throat started tonight, after your performance?”

Dew nods. “I felt fine during the show. But then it was like I noticed…” He pauses, considering, as if he’s trying to string together the events. “My throat hurt a lot and I tried to drink water and I threw up.”

“Your body is full of adrenaline when you’re performing. It masks your symptoms and gives you energy, and then when it wears off you suddenly feel worse.”

Rain nods at this. It makes sense. He’s accustomed to that feeling after every show — being hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion when the excitement of the situation finally falls away. It’s absolutely never been this dramatic before, for any of them.

“Have you been drinking water since then?”

“Trying to,” Dew answers. When she raises her eyebrows, he elaborates, “It keeps coming back up.”

The doctor nods. She holds out her hand toward Dew’s. “Can I see your hand for just a minute?”

Dew offers her the hand that’s closer to her, which because of the way he’s folding his arms is actually the one from the other side of his body. She takes it and gently pinches his skin, then presses on his fingernail and watches it change color.

“You don’t seem too dehydrated right now, but it’s something to watch out for.” She releases his hand and he tucks it back against his side.

“I need to look at the inside of your throat.” She picks up a tiny flashlight.

Dew unwraps his arms from around himself, resting them in his lap instead. He sits up a little straighter, tilts his head back slightly, and opens his mouth.

She shines the light into Dew’s mouth. Rain can’t see what she sees because Dew is facing away from him. Whatever it is, her face doesn’t reveal anything. She doesn’t look for very long. Seconds later, she clicks off the light and places it on the couch. Dew closes his mouth and drops his shoulders.

“I’d like to feel the outside of your neck.” She’s paused halfway though the motion of reaching out to touch him. Her hands are palm-up, fingers curled loosely, nonthreatening. The gesture reminds Rain of someone holding their hand out for a cat to sniff before petting it.

Dew nods, staring over her shoulder at nothing.

She presses her fingers into both sides of his neck where it connects to the underside of his jaw. She walks them forward from beneath his ears towards his chin. As she feels, she asks, “Is that sore?”

“A little.” His brow is creased slightly and his mouth is drawn into a straight line.

She lowers her hands to her lap. “Have you been coughing at all?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Still nauseous?”

He pauses, then nods.

“Alright.” She sits back slightly. “Based on your symptoms it sounds like you have strep throat, but I want to run a test to confirm. It takes about ten minutes, and if it comes back positive I’ll give you an antibiotic which should have you feeling better within a day or two and also prevent you from spreading this to anyone else. Regardless, I can give you something for your symptoms so you get through your performance tomorrow night.”

She pauses. Her unasked question hangs in the air — is that okay? She’s giving Dew a chance to say no, or request another option, or do anything other than drift through this situation like an unmoored boat.

“Okay.”

“Great.” She stands up from the couch and returns to her bag on the counter. As she comes back to the couch, she peels open the paper package of a sterile cotton swab. She sits back down next to Dew, facing him like before.

“I’m going to take a sample from your throat. I need you to open your mouth and stay as still as you can.”

Dew sits up and opens his mouth again. This time, he closes his eyes.

The doctor pulls the swab from its packaging and inserts it through his open mouth and all the way to the other side of his head, rubbing it against the back of his throat. He gags, but doesn’t close his mouth. He reflexively lifts one hand from his lap like he’s going to grab her arm; it hovers for a moment before he pulls it back down.

“I know.” She keeps rubbing.

Dew lets out a tiny sound, a round, open-mouthed “ah,” and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. The flush in his cheeks spreads.

“Done, I’m sorry for that.” She stands and returns to her supplies, holding the swab upright like a lit match.

Dew slouches forward. His eyes are still closed. He sniffs once, quietly.

Rain rubs his hand back and forth along Dew’s shoulder blade. He feels the tension in his muscles ease just a little under his touch. His breaths are slow and intentional.

Rain pulls back his hand when Dew leans back on the couch, pulling his feet up in front of him. The two of them watch the doctor performing some alchemical ritual with the swab, combining reagents and swirling them in a plastic tube. When it’s complete, she pulls a laptop from her bag and types on it, which is less interesting. Rain lets his eyes drift shut.

He opens them again when Dew speaks.

“I’m sorry for making you stay. You didn’t have to.” His voice is quiet. He’s curled up now, with his arms draped loosely around his knees, leaning one side of his body against the back of the couch so he faces Rain.

Dew, in fact, didn’t make Rain do anything. He didn’t even ask him to do anything, really. But Rain knows what he’s trying to say.

“It’s okay, I wanted to,” is how Rain decides to respond. He cringes inside at the implication. He did want to stay, but it feels creepy to say it outright like that, like he had been selfish to intrude on Dew’s vulnerable situation, even though Dew just claimed he had asked him to. They’re both talking about an imaginary interaction instead of what actually happened.

If Dew hadn’t stopped him like that when he went to leave, if he had wanted privacy, Rain would have understood. He probably would have gone back to his dressing room and paced around, or made himself busy doing something useless. He would have been worried, but he would rather be worried than make Dew uncomfortable.

And if Dew hadn’t stopped him despite actually wanting him to stay, hadn’t been able to ask for what he needed in even the most subtle, minimal way — it makes Rain’s chest ache. He imagines Dew sitting in this unfamiliar room being touched by a stranger, wishing he was there with him.

But Dew looks almost comfortable now, all things considered. He’s resting the side of his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed. His face is relaxed except for a single crease between his eyebrows. Rain is nearly overpowered by a sudden instinctive desire to reach out and touch him again, to feel his forehead like Aether did, to press his hand against his flushed cheek, to tuck a strand of mostly-dry hair behind his ear. But he doesn’t want to violate the trust Dew is putting in him by simply allowing him to be here. Instead, he counts Dew’s steady breaths.

—

Rain shifts his attention to the doctor when she closes her laptop and moves back to her makeshift alchemy lab. She barely glances at the test before she’s on her way back towards the couch.

She sits next to Dew again. He pivots so he’s facing forward, but leaves his legs tucked up in front of him.

“The test is positive for strep,” she explains, “which is treatable with antibiotics.”

Dew nods.

“Because of the vomiting I would recommend an antibiotic injection. Given your schedule, I think it’s the most reliable choice. The other option is pills, but if you can’t keep them down you won’t see any benefit.”

Dew is staring at the carpet somewhere near the middle of the room. He nods again, slowly, like he’s on autopilot.

“It’s just one dose and it will start working right away. I really do think it would be the best way to ensure you’re feeling better by tomorrow night.”

Dew glances at her and nods again, a little more present this time.

“Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I can also give you a corticosteroid to help with the inflammation in your throat until the antibiotic starts working.”

“Okay.”

She nods. “I’ll be right back.”

She stands and crosses the room once again to the counter. She picks an assortment of sterile packages and medicine vials out of her bag. She unwraps empty syringes and plastic-capped needles.

Rain has gotten shots before — each of the ghouls had been vaccinated against earthly diseases soon after being summoned. He didn’t mind them. They hadn’t really hurt, though his arms were sore afterwards. The idea of something being injected into him makes his stomach turn, but he had made sure not to look when it was happening and the actual experience ended up being uneventful.

These syringes are significantly larger than any he’s seen before, though. He watches the doctor fill one of them at least two thirds of the way full in a single motion. It makes his stomach drop.

Dew, on the other hand, has never been squeamish about anything. Blood, gore, and other stuff like that doesn’t phase him whatsoever. He isn’t really averse to pain either. Rain wouldn’t expect needles to be an issue for him. Looking at him now, Rain can’t place the expression on his face. It’s not one he would have imagined.

Dew is watching the doctor closely. He looks exhausted, which is expected. His eyes are lidded and rimmed with dark circles. He still has that single crease between his eyebrows. He’s frowning, just barely, a slight deviation from his usual neutral expression that you might not notice if you didn’t know him. There’s something else in his face that, if Rain had to put a word to it, he would guess it was nervousness, or apprehension. It’s visible in the way he tracks the doctor’s every move despite his eyes clearly wanting to be closed. He seems to be carrying more tension than he can afford to right now.

The doctor has gone back to searching for something in her bag. “Okay,” she instructs, “can you lower your pants a couple inches and lie facing down on the couch for me please?”

Dew’s eyes widen just a bit, just for a moment. But he stands, unbuttons his jeans, and slides the waistband down slightly. Then he lowers himself back onto the couch.

He doesn't actually lie all the way down; his hips and legs are flat against the couch, but his head and shoulders are propped up with his elbows. Rain imagines he's ready to fling himself up from the couch and scuttle away. It’s at odds with how sluggish his movements have been since he came offstage tonight.

Dew turns his head to watch the doctor cross the room but looks down at the couch when she gets close. She squats next to the couch and places her supplies on the seat near his leg: two prepared syringes, two adhesive bandages, a few alcohol swab packets and some small gauze pads.

She pushes the edge of his hoodie up to expose the bare skin of his hip. She tears open the wrapper of an alcohol swab, saturating the air with its sharp smell.

“I’m going to start with the steroid.”

Dew nods without looking at her, plucking at a loose thread on the edge of the couch seat cushion. He flinches slightly when she wipes the back of one hip with alcohol. She picks up one of the syringes, pulls the cap off the needle.

Dew glances up at Rain with that same inscrutable expression — tired, apprehensive. He’s blushing, or maybe it’s just because he’s feverish. Rain smiles, tries his best to look reassuring. Dew’s flush deepens. He breaks away from the eye contact.

The doctor places one gloved hand on Dew’s sanitized hip. “Try to relax your leg as much as possible.” She taps her fingers against his skin a few times. Dew’s body is lean and wiry, but this is one of his softer places.

Dew wiggles his feet a bit to loosen the muscles in his legs.

“Good. Here we go.”

She sticks the needle in quickly like an animal striking its prey. Dew doesn’t react to this, but the sudden motion makes Rain flinch.

She presses down on the plunger of the syringe painstakingly slowly. Rain decides he can’t watch this part. He watches Dew’s face instead. His eyes are closed but he looks mostly the same as before. A muscle in his jaw flexes.

When the doctor withdraws the needle she immediately flips an attached plastic cover over it. She presses a folded square of gauze over the tiny puncture wound on Dew’s hip.

“Well done. One more.” She’s praising Dew for doing absolutely nothing, but Rain supposes that must be the point. He still looks like he’s considering in the back of his mind that he could get up and run away.

She removes the gauze and smooths a band-aid over the puncture. She selects another alcohol swab and unwraps it, renewing the lingering smell in the room.

“Relax,” she reminds him, rubbing his other hip with the swab.

She picks up the other syringe and removes the cap from the needle. This one seems bigger. Not the needle, but the contents of the syringe are greater. Rain is trying not to think too much about details like that.

She repeats the same procedure — hand on his hip, needle through his skin like a predator, slow pressure on the plunger. Rain looks away from it again.

Dew’s eyes are closed again, and his jaw is still tense. His fingers curl slightly against the flat surface of the couch seat cushion. He cranes his neck to look behind him at what the doctor is doing. The plunger has barely moved. He turns himself back around and lets his head hang forward between his shoulders. He pushes a slow breath out through his nose.

Rain watches Dew's hands close fully into fists.

Rain offers his hand to hold instead. He’s not sure if Dew would accept it. His understanding is that affectionate touch is a gray area for Dew. It’s more likely to be okay when it’s playful and unserious. And onstage, anything goes; it’s all a game. Rain would place hand holding firmly in mushy, lovey-dovey, serious territory, completely off limits. But his other supportive and even comforting touches tonight had been uncharacteristically tolerated, and it's not like anyone else is here to see them besides this doctor — who he's pretty sure they will never encounter again. Plus, it’s not necessarily romantic at all. He would do this for anyone, he tells himself.

Dew grasps his hand immediately, without looking up. He doesn't squeeze it tightly, but his grip is firm. Rain presses back with just as much force. He glances up at the doctor, unintentionally making eye contact. She looks away, back to her task, without saying anything. Rain looks back to his and Dew’s hands.

Dew is still looking down, motionless. It makes Rain think of the way a sick wild animal will shut down and hide from predators in some secluded place. Or, more broadly, the instinct of fight or flight. He already observed Dew’s desire to flee in his body language, and there’s clearly no fight in him right now. All that’s left for him to do is accept what’s happening.

Rain ventures a glance to the syringe again. It’s probably about halfway emptied. Which means half of what was in it is now deposited inside Dew’s flesh. He snaps his gaze away from it and tightens his grip on Dew’s hand — just sympathetically, he justifies, not because that makes him feel queasy.

Dew squeezes back a little tighter too.

“Keep breathing slowly,” the doctor encourages. “You’re doing great.”

This first comment makes Rain notice his breathing sped up just now, and he has to glance up at her to see if it was actually directed at him. It doesn’t seem to be — she’s looking at Dew — but he realizes that Dew’s breathing has been mirroring his. So maybe it was, in a roundabout way, an instruction for him. He focuses on setting a good example.

He counts eight measured breaths before it’s over.

“Good job,” the doctor says as she removes the needle. “You’re all done.”

Dew’s shoulders droop. Rain releases his hand. The doctor continues with the rest of the procedure from before — needle cover, gauze, band-aid. Then she gathers her discarded items and returns to the counter.

Dew rolls himself onto his side and gingerly sits up. He runs his hands over his face, pausing for a few seconds with both palms cupping his jaw, eyes unfocused. Then he stands and shimmies up his pants and fastens the button. Rain stands too, ready to support him if necessary.

The doctor is digging in her bag again.“You’ll be contagious for the next day or so, so try to avoid close contact as much as possible.” She returns to the ghouls with a small stack of disposable face masks and offers them to Dew. “You should wear a mask at least until your performance tomorrow.”

Dew nods, taking them and putting one on right there. The pastel yellow contrasts with his otherwise all-black outfit.

“Try to keep drinking fluids and get as much rest as you can. The steroid will give you a bit of a boost, so don’t overdo it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Anything else I can do for you?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Well, if you think of anything, you can have your tour manager get in contact with me. I won’t be able to see you again but I can answer questions or consult with any other providers you see."

Dew nods. He’s thumbing through the stack of masks like the world’s most boring flipbook.

“Alright, take care. Feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Rain echoes.

—

With that, the two of them wordlessly split to their separate dressing rooms to retrieve their bags.

After packing, Rain backtracks down the hall to Dew’s dressing room instead of heading straight to the bus. He checks the time on his phone. He’s cutting it much closer than he would ever consider doing on any other day. Their schedule is usually strict — the shows are the top priority, of course, and everything surrounding them is carefully arranged maximize their success — but maybe illness would be an extenuating circumstance. Regardless, he’s already decided he won’t let Dew risk getting left behind alone. If the bus leaves without Dew, it will leave without Rain as well.

In his dressing room, Dew is haphazardly throwing items into his bag. He startles slightly when he notices Rain through the mirror, but goes right back to packing his luggage. When he’s done, the two of them head for the bus.

Thankfully, the bus is still there when they get outside, parked just past the back door of the venue. Dew wobbles on the first step of the steep staircase, and Rain steadies him with a hand on the middle of his back. They proceed up into the warmly lit front lounge.

Everyone else is already there, and so everyone’s eyes are on them as they get to the top of the stairs. Swiss is the first to greet them.

“Hey, look who made it!”

Dew glares at him. “Back off, I’m contagious.”

“I see how it is,” Swiss says, looking pointedly at Rain, who is still following Dew closely.

Dew tugs at the top of his mask like he’s going to pull it down. Swiss raises his hands in surrender.

Dew and Rain continue through the tight space of the lounge into the aisle between the two rows of bunks. Rain lets the door swing closed behind them. It’s quiet, and darker than the front lounge.

Dew hurls his bag at the closed curtains of his bunk. It ends up halfway on the mattress, halfway on the floor of the aisle. He nudges it with his foot, to no effect, wobbling as he tries to balance on one leg. He grips the platform of the middle bunk to steady himself and kicks at it again. It remains stubbornly on the ground. He crouches and shoves it all the way inside.

He groans quietly as he stands back up, one hand against his hip and the other clenched into a fist. The sound makes Rain pause where he’s stowing items in his own bunk. He watches Dew stand there, unmoving except for the heaving rise and fall of his chest.

Then Dew moves the hand on his hip to one belt loop of his jeans and yanks the waistband down slightly. He hitches up the hem of his hoodie with the other hand, exposing the band-aid there from earlier. He cranes his neck so he can look at it. Rain isn’t sure what Dew was expecting to see, but it’s just a plain, unmarred band-aid, looking like it could be covering up nothing at all.

Dew prods at the flesh of his hip with one finger, pressing into a spot an inch above the band-aid. Facing away, masked, head tucked behind his shoulder, it’s the only part of him Rain can see.

Rain isn’t sure what comes over him, but this image of Dew metaphorically licking his wounds, with his frustration simmering over, pulls at his heart. He reaches out and places his hand over the band-aid.

Dew’s sharp inhale hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry.” Rain snatches his hand back.

“It’s okay. It actually feels nice. Your hands are cold.”

Rain lays his fingers over the spot again, touching as lightly as possible. Dew exhales, almost a sigh.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s okay,” he answers, too quickly, a question Rain wasn’t asking. “But yeah, more than I expected. Feels like I pulled a muscle.”

Dew turns around so they’re facing each other, but doesn’t make eye contact. Instead he looks down at the hem of Rain’s shirt, pinches at it, worries it between his fingers, not actually touching him but bridging an indirect connection between their bodies.

Rain lets his hand fall away when Dew moves, but puts them back, both of them this time, on Dew’s hips. He strokes his fingers up to his waist under his shirt, then back down again. The skin there is so warm.

“It’s not that bad. Everything is just, a lot. Right now.” Dew’s voice is so small. “My brain is frying.”

It sort of is, in a literal way. Dew leans forward and rests his forehead against Rain’s shoulder. Rain can feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

“And my throat really fucking hurts and now my ass hurts too and I still feel like I’m going to throw up everywhere.”

Rain thinks his chest might crack open and swallow him up.

“Oh,” is what he manages to say to express this feeling. “Can I get you something? Water? Tea, maybe?” He thinks. “An ice pack?”

Dew chuckles, or maybe scoffs.

“I don’t know,” Rain backpedals. “I’ll get you anything on this bus. Or I’ll make the driver stop somewhere before we get on the highway if you want.”

“I mostly just want to sleep right now.”

“Okay, well, text me if you need anything.”

Dew pulls back from his shoulder to look up at him. He’s smiling; the mask is covering his mouth but Rain can tell by the way his cheeks are raised near the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe an ice pack would be nice.”

[smoft-demons]

Bonding

(Takes place at some point shortly after Auva pacts with Beel. After the events of ‘Tsundere Nonsense’)

I wrote a thing about these pact headcanons! Extremely sappy fluff. Brace yourself lol

_______

Auva sits atop the kitchen counter near the cutting board, idly swinging her feet as she chats with Beel and Mammon about the upcoming retreat.

Beel distractedly replies to them, as he devotes most of his attention to slicing and peeling a Devildom citrus of some kind. It’s large and round and purple. It’s constructed like an orange, and it’s sour-sweet-refreshing kind of like an orange, but with a different flavour. It has a proper name, but Auva insists on referring to it as a purple.

Beel cuts a fruit segment off the peel and hands it to her.

“Levi was complaining about the timing earlier, something about a character’s birthday? I said I’d help him out with packing later today because he’s gonna bring a whole bunch of his figurines with him t—wh? For me?” Auva says in surprise, looking between the purple fruit segment in her hand and her friend who put it there. She has NEVER seen Beel share his food with anyone before!

“Mmhm” Beel nonchalantly replies, humming his confirmation through a mouthful of purple citrus.

Stunned and touched at his seemingly automatic—but wildly uncharacteristic—generosity towards her, she pops the piece of fruit into her mouth. Slices of purple have never tasted so good before.

Auva leans over and hugs Beel’s free arm as she chews. “Thank you..!”

Beel smiles at her, then perks up as if he’s had an idea.

Auva feels her pact bond with Beel stirring awake in the vague un-space in the back of her mind. He’s reaching for her. Auva reaches back, making the mental contact to open up their pact bond. It feels like holding his hand, except… closer, warmer, because it’s really their souls making contact.

Auva receives a gentle pulse of ‘protectiveness-affection-friendship-softness’ from Beel, sent directly into her mind. Auva replies ‘warm-soft-appreciation-devotion-affection’, far more clumsily. Less practiced. Still, it works. Beel receives the emotions she means to share with him, letting an echo of it reverberate back through the bond to her so she knows he heard her.

Beel takes a bite of another fruit slice. Leaving one regular human bite sized piece of it instead of eating the whole slice at once. Auva doesn’t have time to wonder why before Beel feeds her the remaining piece.

She swallows it, and the pact bond seems to spark to life! Suddenly, it feels less like holding his hand, and more like being hugged. The emotions Beel shares with her are clearer this time. His soul wraps lovingly around hers and they blend together, the lines between them blurring and melting. It feels so close. Understanding Beel is suddenly easier than breathing. It’s the most intimate connection she has ever felt in her life.

She gets ‘fondness-loyalty-warmth-small human-promise to catch you-promise to feed you-grow healthy and strong-give you bites of my Life-I love you’ from him. Not quite in words, but the sentiment is fully conveyed. The new clarity to their bond is incredible, and the sentiment he conveys to her touches her deeply.

Without a thought, she sends back ‘aww, Beel-would die for you-I love you-big precious friend-appreciation-devotion-loyalty-I love you-I love you-I love you’ to him. Also without words, but the sentiment is completely understood.

Beel puts down the knife and the piece of empty citrus peel so he can wipe off a drop of juice from her face. With one final gentle pulse of ‘warmth-love-devotion’ from him, their bond goes still and dormant again. Her soul is once again hers alone.

“Woah… what WAS that?” Auva breathily asks.

“Strengthening our pact,” Beel answers, fondness subtly colouring his tone of voice.

Auva can’t help but think she must be able to pick up on that now because of that experience. She feels like she understands him a bit better now, having just had their minds linked more closely than ever before in that incredible moment of connection.

Beel picks up the knife again, and a new fruit. He returns to slicing and snacking.

“That’s a thing we can do?” Auva asks, fascinated.

“Sure can,” Mammon finally chimes in. He gets up from leaning against the wall and approaches her. “Here.”

Mammon cups her jaw carefully in one hand, then tenderly touches their foreheads together. He holds them there for a long moment, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he reaches for her through their pact.

Auva reaches back to Mammon. Mentally taking his offered hand.

They breathe together, sharing the same air. Sharing the same breath. This time, the pact bond opens up gradually, pulsing in time with their slow breaths like a flickering candle, until their back and forth exchange of ‘love-trust-devotion-best friend-mine-precious’ becomes clear and strong. Less like a conversation with turns, and more like harmonizing.

As their vitality blends together, Auva feels surrounded by him, wrapped up in his energy like a blanket, thoroughly warm and loved. She feels him languidly pouring ‘affection-care-endearment-protectiveness’ into her mind. She feels ‘mine-I love you-anything for you-my human-stay close to me-I love you’ from him.

Wordlessly, Auva replies ‘would follow you anywhere-I love you-feel safe together-I’m home-I love you-my Mammon-want you to be happy-I love you-stay close to me-would give you the world-I love you’, trying to give him the same warmth right back.

After a minute, Mammon pulls back. The intense connection fades back to normal.

Auva stares at him in awe, and he smiles at her, all glassy-eyed and soft. He taps her nose fondly, then takes a step back.

He clears his throat—as if to banish any hints of emotion from his voice before he speaks—and rubs the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s embarrassed.

“Pretty cool, huh? It’ll make usin’ the bond easier—OI, easy, human!” Mammon had tried to act cool and chill, but gets suddenly cut off by Auva hopping down from her seat on the kitchen counter and nearly bowling him over in a very enthusiastic hug.

“What the fuck Mam, we could have been doing that the whole time, what the fuck, I love you so fucking much!!” Auva says directly into Mammon’s shirt where her face is smushed against him.

Mammon quickly softens again, immediately returning the hug. Who does he think he’s kidding? “I… yeah, alright. I love ya too, or some shit…”

In perfect sync, Auva and Beel roll their eyes and huff an identical soft laugh at Mammon.

(Her mind buzzes excitedly as it drifts to her other pact partner, Levi. Did he know about this too?? It’s incredible, she’s TOTALLY gonna do this with him too when she meets up with him later!! She can hardly wait!)

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