#cold brew setup

[littlelovelunette]

Hii, could you do a sevika x reader, where reader gets like really injured during a mission of Silco's and Sevika panicks badly? Thank you🫂💗

Shaken

Contains blood, mentions of death

Oh, please hug me anon I need one haha...

The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning metal and gunpowder clinging to every breath.

The mission had gone sideways, a setup, a trap—whatever it was, it left you sprawled on the cold concrete, vision blurring as crimson pooled beneath you.

Your limbs felt heavy, the pain a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

"Shit—shit!" Sevika's voice cut through the chaos, rough with something you rarely heard from her; panic.

Heavy boots skidded against the ground as she dropped to her knees beside you, flesh fingers trembling as they hovered over your wound.

"What the fuck happened?"

You tried to speak, but the words barely scraped past your throat, a weak wheeze that did nothing to soothe the wild storm brewing in her grey eyes.

"Stay awake. Don't you dare fucking close your eyes on me."

Sevika wasn’t one to show weakness—never. But now, she looked frantic, her usual controlled expression shattered.

Her hand, the one that wasn’t cold steel, pressed against your side, trying to stem the bleeding. It was a bad wound. Too bad.

"Where the fuck is Jinx? Or anyone?" she snarled and took a wild look around. No response. Just the pounding of her heart in her ears. "Fuck!"

Your fingers twitched, reaching for her, and she caught your hand immediately, squeezing tight, as if she could anchor you here just by touch alone.

"You’re gonna be fine. I’ll carry your ass back myself if I have to." Her tone was all forced confidence, but her breathing was uneven, her muscles taut with barely restrained terror.

You couldn't help smiling a little at the words she just uttered, "I l-love... Y...you..."

The world spun, dark edges creeping in. Sevika shifted, scooping you up as gently as she could, but she was shaking. She never shook.

"Hold on, just—just hold on, okay? I love you too, you fucking dumbass."

For the first time, Sevika wasn’t the unshakable enforcer, the woman who always had control. She was desperate, raw, and fucking terrified. Because if she lost you—

...

She wasn't sure what would be left of her.

When you woke up you were in Sevika's bed, blankets draped around you in a desperate attempt to keep your almost bloodless body warm.

"You're awake." Sevika's voice was low, as she reached around and tucked you in better. "Got me worried back there for a second."

You smiled faintly. "I'm okay."

"Damn right, you are." Sevika averted her gaze. She didn't want you to know she'd been crying. She thought you had died, the mere thought of your death terrified her. Her flesh hand was still resting on your stomach.

You could sense the emotional turmoil she had going on inside her heart. "Sevika." You called out. "Hug me."

Sevika didn't need telling twice, her arms encircled around you and she pressed her body against yours. You didn't care how much your raw yet bandaged wound hurt.

You stayed in her arms. Where you belonged.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Unscripted - San

KINKTOBER DAY 17 , REQ BY. 🤧 anon

~"okay so its me 🤧 but anyways so maybe a reader x streamer bf. It was a drunk stream like where like he would drink maybe invite friends over to drink and stream it this time he did but he included reader which is a rare occasion because he prefers to keep things more private because of his fans Reader was on his lap while like streaming and the camera was on 2 of his other friends yunho and woo were there too chatting with san and reader but because reader got a little drunk and bcs ofc reader doesnt get drunk normally but she was clingy asf a thing leading to another she slowly started grinding and like yes , but like no one to notice not this friends and the people watching it was pretty late at night so the friends went to sleep in another room because driving and drunk doesnt fit well together so reader took the opportunity even tho the stream was on she pretended to leave to fool the people watching and got under the desk and yes."

pairing: bf streamer!san x gf fem!reader

genre: 18+, filthish

summary: you get one hand too touchy with your boyfriend while he's streaming, which ends up being one of your best decisions.

wc: 2.3k

warnings: harsh dom!san, bratty!reader, oral (m receiving), oral while flaccid (yes reader was needy af), ingestion of alcohol, mentions of alcohol, slight exhibitionism (yunho and woo being in another room sleeping and the livestream going on in the bg on mute), degradation + praise (good slut and otjer similar to this), quickie on the desk ^^, helping from under the desk ifykwim, completely consensual, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: Tell me why tf did I just catch a cold 😞😞😞 Anyways this was hot hello... going insane as we speak? Exhibitionism will always be one of my faves (upsi). Enjoy. my love ! ❤️

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The flickering glow from San’s PC screen filled the room as he glanced over his setup one more time, making sure every angle was perfect, every light calibrated. Tonight was special. Usually, his streams consisted of just him, the screen, and thousands of viewers, who tuned in to watch him crack jokes, crush game after game, and occasionally just sit back and chat with everyone in that effortless, laid-back way he had. But tonight was a little different. Tonight, he wasn’t just inviting his fans into his space; he was bringing over his friends, Yunho and Wooyoung, for a spontaneous stream that had been brewing in the group chat for weeks.

You’d been excited the moment you heard the plan—finally, a stream that felt like a mix of San’s world and yours. You could almost hear the buzz of excitement from his fans as San tweeted a teaser about the night. He hadn’t told them yet that you’d be there, though. Usually, San liked to keep your relationship private. He was protective that way; he liked that what you two had felt like something separate from the stream, from the fans, something he could keep just for himself. But tonight, after some gentle coaxing and a lot of puppy eyes, he agreed to let you in on this rare, shared glimpse into his world.

As the clock ticked toward the start time, Yunho and Wooyoung arrived, their energy filling the room as they greeted you with easy laughter and hugs. Yunho brought along his usual playful banter, and Wooyoung had already started teasing San about having to “babysit” him through the stream. You couldn’t help but laugh; the whole setup felt like a group of friends just hanging out—only with the whole world watching.

San threw you a grin as he sat down, the screen lighting up with his chatroom. Thousands of fans flooded in, messages rolling in faster than the eye could track. You settled off to the side, sipping on a drink, watching San as he fell into his element, one hand on the controller, the other waving as he greeted his viewers. He was captivating, totally immersed, and you found yourself smiling at how natural he was at it all.

“Alright, alright! Everyone, say hi to Yunho and Wooyoung!” San said, pulling his friends into view. The chat exploded with excitement at the sight of the two familiar faces. Yunho waved, effortlessly charming, while Wooyoung leaned close to San, playfully invading his space until they were half-laughing, half-wrestling on camera.

You enjoyed watching them banter, the energy high and easygoing, the camaraderie between them infectious. San glanced over at you with a mischievous smile, and, feeling a surge of confidence, you edged closer to the camera’s view. You didn’t have to say anything; just being there was enough to set off a wave of messages in the chat, a blend of shock, excitement, and curiosity.

“Who’s that?” someone typed, followed by dozens of similar comments as people pieced together the implication of you being there.

San reached for his drink, laughing at the chat’s reaction, as if he’d just let everyone in on a private joke. He leaned closer to you, brushing his shoulder against yours, and in that brief touch, there was a warmth that reassured you. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was just the thrill of finally being part of his stream, but you felt yourself relax into the moment.

As the night wore on, laughter filled the room. The three of them were a perfect mix: Yunho’s easygoing wit, Wooyoung’s playful sarcasm, and San’s effortless charisma made the stream a blend of nonstop jokes, a few failed games, and moments of genuine connection with the fans. You joined in here and there, your own laughter mingling with theirs, and with each passing hour, the line between the screen and reality seemed to blur a little more.

You, a few drinks in, became noticeably more affectionate, your usual playful self replaced by something softer, gentler. Your hand found yours under the table at one point, a silent gesture that was both grounding and intimate. He shot you a look, one that seemed to carry a thousand words in it, his gaze lingering longer than usual. The camera still rolled, and the chat was oblivious, but you knew he was letting you in on a rare moment—this was the part of him he usually kept away from the camera, the side of him that was just yours.

After he gave you the slightest, softest, reassuring look, you unconsciously started to slowly grind on his thigh, as you were sitting on his lap.

"B-babe what are you doing?" he whispered in your ear, stuttering from surprise.

"N-nothing..?" you whispered back, smiling innocently at him. He knew exactly what you were doing but.. it was even more thrilling, as thousands of people could catch glimpses of what was happening.

As the night pushed into the early hours, Yunho and Wooyoung started to look like they were ready to crash, their laughter slower, their words slurred from the drinks. It didn’t take much convincing for them to decide to stay the night. After all, nobody wanted to drive home at this hour. So they threw their jackets in the living room, claimed the couches, and left you and San in his dorm alone to wrap up the stream.

As San turned back to the camera, you noticed he seemed even more relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hand lazily finding its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. His fans kept chatting, mostly commenting on how unusual it was to see him this open and unguarded, and San smirked at their remarks.

And that’s when you felt it—a sudden, irresistible need to be closer to him. You shifted in your seat, inching toward him until your body pressed against his, your head leaning onto his shoulder. San glanced down at you, his smile softening, his hand moving to trace small circles on your back. The chat was still buzzing, but he seemed only half-aware of it now, his attention slowly focusing more on you than the screen.

The camera captured only part of the scene—the laughter, the playfulness, but missed the soft intensity in San’s eyes as he glanced your way, the way his hand gently tugged at your waist, urging you closer. You were barely aware of the camera now, your focus on him, on this shared warmth, the world beyond the screen fading into the background.

He looked your way, whispering something, “what are you trying to do!? I’m live, darling” he softly said, not letting the viewers hear any of his words. You leaned towards his ear and said, “I’m so fucking horny right now.. maybe it’s the drinks but, how I’d love to suck you off in this instant..”. His eyes widened at your words and he wasn’t able to say anything, as you instinctively got off his thigh and got on your knees under the desk, eyes looking sheepishly at him. He looked down in horror as you rode your hands up his thighs, finding your way to his pants. You hovered your hand over the slight bulge of his sweatpants, feeling his cock twitch at your touch. He was slowly getting hard, but you just couldn’t wait anymore. You slid them off to his ankles to which San gasped, looking surprised at the camera, not knowing what to do. He was still live, after all.

As you took his cock in your hand, still soft, only slightly hard, mainly at the base, you started stroking it. Slowly but surely, looking up at him. You spit one, two times in your hand to lube his cock up and pumped his length, getting is hard pump bt pump. You just couldn’t wait anymore and took his cock in your mouth, San's eyes widening and his mouth left agape. He was truly trying hard not to mimic anything, but was slowly losing control.

His leg was lightly bouncing near you, trying to get a hold of himself. He looked down for a moment at you, then at the camera and at the comments. No one realised yet.

“Guys, I-uh” he stopped for a moment, your mouth wrapping on the tip of his cock, sucking it harshly. You pressed your tongue to it, San's hand going for your hair as soon as you did that. He pulled you back for a second, then continued, “my network is not that good, should we take a break for a minute? I'll try to refresh everything and maybe ask Yunho to help me with the router.” his eyes then flew to the chat, everyone agreeing with him. He muted himself and moved the camera up a bit, only a small part of his forehead could be seen. Though, as soon as he slowly laid back into his gaming chair, his forehead disappeared from the view and the stream viewers could only see the curtains in the back and the dozens of plants you and him had together. He looked down at you, a smirk rising on his face.

“You're damn impatient, aren't you, my love?” he said and the hand in your hair tangled in it and pulled you to his cock. His cock was now half erected, but he absolutely didn't care. He started to softly thrust in your mouth, he threw his head back in pleasure. You could feel his length growing in your mouth, which turned you on even more. What could've been better than feeling your man getting hard because of you? and with that thought in mind, you took a deep breath and took his growing length down your throat, slightly choking on it.

“What a good girl… the heads you always give are fucking unreal…” he whined out, mouth-fucking you. “But.. what if the viewers find out, hm? Or is it your own little plan.. to let people know… just how much of a filthy, obedient little slut you really are?” he taunted, thrusting into your mouth deeper, his grip tightening as he kept you firmly in place. His low, rough voice sent shivers down your spine, each word designed to push you closer to that edge. “Or maybe... that’s what you want, isn’t it? To have them see how good you are for me?”

Your cheeks burned, but the thrill of his words ignited something fierce within you. His gaze darkened as he continued, voice dripping with desire, “Tell me, sweetheart. Do you want them to see? To know that this is exactly where you belong… right here, giving me exactly what I want?”

The intensity of his words and his rhythm brought you to a breaking point, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body, until you could barely think of anything else.

He kept his gaze locked on you, enjoying the way your eyes glazed over with pure need. His voice softened, almost taunting, as he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “That’s right… no hiding, no pretending. You want this as much as I do, don’t you?”

You nodded, your mind hazy, completely overtaken by him. Every touch, every word was calculated, designed to make you lose yourself in the moment. His hand found the back of your neck, guiding you as he continued, his rhythm relentless, making you feel as if every fiber of your being belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone low and possessive. "Tell me you want them to see just how good you are for me."

As you pulled back, your lips parted, a breathless moan escaping before you whispered, "Yes… I want them to see.”

“Oh, is that so? Are you really… that eager?” he said and moved the camera away, facing the wardrobe. He got up and continued, “Well, it’s a shame, sweetie. I don't like sharing and you just made a serious mistake, turning me on like that when you knew I couldn't do anything. What are you gonna do now, huh?” he teasingly said.

“San, I-” but you didn't have time to answer as he pulled you up and pushed you on the desk, forcefully throwing away anything he had on it.. Some books, stickers, decorations, too. “Let's see how you're gonna handle this, my love” he said and pulled your pants down, squeezing your ass. He spread you out, two of his fingers slipping in your cunt, a grin appearing on his face. “You're so wet already.. you've been expecting this? What a little slut..” he said and pulled the fingers out, hand going for your mouth and covered it, then with his other hand he guided his cock to your entrance, fully thrusting in. “This is what you get for getting me hard while I was live…”

You gripped the table in pleasure and pain, head dizzy from the drinks you had and all the movement. “S-San-!”you moaned in his hand, tears forming in your eyes. It was either the drinks or the fact that you haven't been fucked by him this angry and powerful in so long, but as he hit all your sweet spots you came undone surprisingly fast, all over his cock. Your walls clenched onto him, his veiny, slightly curved cock switched inches deep inside you before he finished into you. He pounded into you through his orgasm. He slowly came down to a stop and pulled out, spreading your ass out and looking at his work, bodily fluids seeping out of your cunt.

He stepped back and pulled you up, turning you around to make you sit on the table. “See? this what happens when you act up. Go to the bathroom, I'm not done with you, yet.” I'll be there in 5, saying by to my viewers.”

“Hm? why, babe? why the bathroom?” you asked, confused but slightly anticipating.

“We're gonna shower together and no, you don't have any way out of this” he said and kissed your forehead, squeezing your ass and urging you to the door.

The night was just about to get started.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26 @memorabxlia

[earthlybeam]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your writing. Especially the way you write Elrond! So good. You've very quickly become one of my favorite tumblr posters :) I don't know if anyone has asked this yet, but if not, how would Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad react to the reader rescuing them from being captured by orcs/bandits? Thanks!

Thank you so much for your kind words! It truly means the world to me to hear that you enjoy my writing. 🥹❤️‍🔥🫶✨

As for your question, I actually wrote something similar to this idea before the title called “Elves reacting their you saving their life’s” it’s on my Masterlist pinned at top of my page you’ll find it in their, though I haven’t explored a scenario with orcs or bandits specifically—so I’d be more than happy to write it for you. It’s such a fun and dynamic setup, and I love the idea of exploring how Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-galad would react in that kind of situation. Thank you for the inspiration! 🥺🤌

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond, Gil-Galad Círdan Version below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The ancient woods of Eregion were silent, the kind of silence that came when predators were near. The golden light of dusk bled through the canopy, staining the forest floor in hues of amber and crimson. The wind barely stirred, as if the trees themselves held their breath. Somewhere within this tranquil facade, chaos brewed. Elrond Half-elven had been captured. The orcs had struck swiftly and without mercy, ambushing him and his small party as they returned from a reconnaissance mission. His guards had fought valiantly but were quickly overwhelmed. Now, bound and bloodied, Elrond knelt in a rough clearing, surrounded by the jeers of his captors. His silver-threaded tunic was torn, his dark hair matted with dirt and blood. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, his eyes shone like steel—cold, calculating, and unyielding.

The orcs had made a mistake. They had underestimated him. But even Elrond, for all his cunning, could not see a clear path to freedom. His hands were tightly bound behind him, the ropes cutting into his skin, a reminder of his helplessness. His weapons were gone, and though his mind raced with strategies, every scenario ended the same: with his blood soaking the earth. His pride and experience told him to fight, but in the quiet dark of the clearing, with the weight of captivity pressing down on him, Elrond knew he was out of options. For a fleeting moment, something close to frustration stirred within him—but he quickly pushed it aside. Anger wouldn’t free him, nor would it serve him here. He needed to think, needed to wait, but time was a luxury he no longer had.

The orcs were already bickering over their prize. One particularly large brute brandished a jagged blade and snarled something in their guttural tongue. Elrond didn’t flinch. He met the orc’s gaze with cold detachment, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of his fear. He had seen this before—death in various forms, and in many guises. If this was to be his end, he would meet it with dignity. But even as he steeled himself, he could feel the weight of his impending fate, the very real possibility of this moment being his last. And then, a sound—a faint rustle in the underbrush. The orcs didn’t notice, too consumed by their squabble, but Elrond’s keen ears caught it. His sharp gaze flickered toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing, where the fading light painted shifting patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, his mind raced. Was it a stray animal? A larger threat? No. The movement was too deliberate, too precise, to be mere chance.

A slight shift in the air, a tension, drew his attention fully. He felt a strange spark of hope—a quick, unfamiliar surge, like a breath after being submerged too long. And then, his senses sharpened, pulling his attention entirely to the darkness beyond. Something—or someone—was coming. Someone was there. Someone you. You had tracked the orcs for hours, following the trail of broken branches and spilled blood. When you’d come upon the scene—Elrond bound and surrounded—you hadn’t hesitated. There wasn’t time to formulate a grand plan or to consider the consequences. All that mattered was saving him.

From the shadows, you moved with practiced stealth, each step as quiet as the fall of a leaf. Your hand tightened around the hilt of your blade as you assessed the situation. The orcs were many—more than you’d expected—but their focus on Elrond gave you the element of surprise. It would have to be enough. Your attack was swift. The first orc didn’t even have time to scream before your blade slid across its throat. The second fell just as quickly, your dagger finding its mark in the gap between its armor. By the time the others realized what was happening, you were already upon them, a whirlwind of steel and determination.

Elrond’s head snapped up at the commotion, his sharp gaze locking onto your form as you cut through his captors like a storm. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by something else—something akin to awe. You moved with a grace that rivaled even the elves, your every strike precise, your every motion purposeful. The orcs snarled and lunged at you, but you were relentless. The clearing erupted into chaos as you danced between them, your blade gleaming in the fading light. One by one, the orcs fell, their cries echoing through the trees. Still, more kept coming, their brute strength and numbers threatening to overwhelm you.

Elrond, though bound and weaponless, wasn’t idle. He twisted his wrists against the ropes, his sharp mind analyzing every detail of the fight. When one orc charged toward you from behind, he shouted, “Behind you!” His voice, commanding even in captivity, gave you just enough warning to sidestep the attack and deliver a killing blow. Finally, the last orc fell, its body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The clearing was eerily quiet once more, the air thick with the stench of blood. You turned to Elrond, your chest heaving as you hurried to his side.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice breathless but steady. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he replied, his tone calm despite the ordeal. His eyes, however, betrayed the storm of emotions roiling beneath his composed exterior—relief, gratitude, and perhaps a touch of disbelief. You knelt behind him, cutting through the ropes with quick, efficient movements. As the bindings fell away, Elrond flexed his hands, wincing slightly at the raw skin beneath. He rose to his feet with the grace of one who had endured far worse, his imposing presence undiminished by his injuries. “You should not have come for me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It was reckless.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I wasn’t about to leave you to them.” For a moment, Elrond said nothing, his piercing gray eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Foolish,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But brave.” Together, you moved through the forest, leaving the carnage behind. Elrond insisted he was fine, though you couldn’t help but notice the way he favored one leg as he walked. When you offered to slow down, he waved you off with a faint smirk. “I am not as fragile as I look.” As night fell, the two of you stopped to rest in a small, sheltered glade. Elrond sat with his back against a tree, his eyes fixed on the stars above. You sat beside him, the silence between you comfortable but charged with unspoken words. Finally, Elrond broke the silence. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice soft. “I do not say this lightly, but I am in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you replied. “I did what anyone would do.” “No,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Not anyone. Few would risk their lives for another, let alone against such odds. You have my gratitude—and my respect.” There was a sincerity in his tone that left no room for doubt. For all his wisdom and strength, Elrond was not one to offer his trust easily. Yet, in this moment, he looked at you not as a subordinate or even a savior, but as an equal. As the night deepened and the stars shone brighter, you realized that this moment—shared in the aftermath of danger—was the beginning of something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-Galad might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The night air was cold, and the sky overhead was shrouded in a blanket of clouds. The dark, twisted trees of Middle-earth seemed to close in, casting ominous shadows across the forest floor. In the heart of the woods, Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, stood tall—his regal bearing unshaken, even in the face of danger. The faintest shimmer of starlight glanced off his golden armor as he and his companions prepared for an ambush. His keen silver grey eyes scanned the surroundings, always vigilant, always prepared for what came next. But even the most vigilant of Elven kings could be caught off guard. The attack was swift. Orcs, crawling from the dark crevices of the forest, came at them like a tide. The clash of metal on metal rang out as Gil-galad led his warriors with strength and precision, a beacon of light in the chaos. His movements were fluid, his strikes calculated, but even he was not immune to the overwhelming number of attackers.

In the midst of the fray, one of the Orcs, taller and stronger than the others, launched itself at Gil-galad with terrifying speed. It knocked the King off balance, sending him crashing to the forest floor with a heavy thud. His sword fell from his hand, skidding away into the underbrush. For a fleeting moment, Gil-galad’s breath was knocked from his lungs, his vision blurred from the sudden impact. The sting of the fall reached deep into his ribs, and the sharpness of the pain reminded him that even a King was not invincible. The Orcs closed in, snarling, their eyes gleaming with malice. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his pulse quickening as he struggled to regain his bearings. Gil-galad’s gaze sharpened despite the fog of disorientation, his mind already calculating his next move. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade aimed at his heart. He reached for his sword, but it was too far away. There was a fleeting moment, a brief weakness—something unfamiliar—that passed through him. A flash of helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. It was swiftly buried beneath layers of command and duty, but it lingered just a little longer than he would have liked. Just as the Orcs began to close in, something unexpected happened.

A rush of movement swept through the trees. In a blink, you appeared—your form silhouetted by the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. Without hesitation, you leapt into the fray, your blade flashing like a streak of lightning in the darkness. The battle paused for a brief second as Gil-galad, still on the ground, turned his head in your direction. His heart skipped a beat—not from fear or shock, but from an overwhelming sense of awe. With swift precision, you cut through the nearest Orc, your movements an elegant dance of strength and agility. The creatures fell back, surprised by the sudden turn of events, their snarls turning to fearful hisses. But it wasn’t the Orcs that held Gil-galad’s attention. It was you. Your movements were effortless, your focus unwavering. You cut through their ranks, protecting the King as though you were born for this very moment. Gil-galad’s thoughts raced. He knew his warriors were skilled, but there was something about you—something about the way you moved, the way you fought with such certainty and grace—that left him speechless. A profound sense of gratitude and admiration swelled in his chest.

His breath was still ragged from the fall, but he forced himself to push off the ground, his hand gripping the earth for support. His eyes locked on yours as you cleared the final Orcs with a grace that could only come from an elf with purpose. The moment you turned toward him, your gaze filled with concern, his lips parted to speak, but no words came. For the first time in many long years, the weight of the battle felt distant compared to the relief that flooded him at your presence. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it was tempered by an undeniable surge of gratitude. You had been there when he faltered—when the weight of the crown, the history of his people, and the perils of the battle had threatened to pull him down. You stepped toward him, your voice calm and steady as you spoke. “Are you injured, my king?” Gil-galad, still shaken but steadying himself, nodded. “I am unharmed, thanks to you.” His voice was low, but the words carried a sincerity that he could not conceal. There was no formality in his words, no regal distance between you. Only an unspoken appreciation. He would have never admitted it aloud, but in that fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar vulnerability, one he did not know how to shield himself from.

You bent down to help him, extending your hand. He took it, and as you helped him rise to his feet, a look of quiet admiration crossed his face. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze softening as he took in the full depth of your actions. A flicker of something more stirred within him—a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. But it was the steadiness of your touch, the way you stood by him without hesitation, that left him in awe. The king, ever the leader, found his heart racing not with the weight of his title, but with something far simpler: a respect, perhaps something even deeper, for the one who had stood by him in the face of danger. “You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, his tone rich with meaning. “Without your intervention, I may not have made it out of this alive.” There was a weight in his words—an acknowledgement that, in this chaotic world of shifting alliances and countless battles, your presence had changed everything. He had long borne the weight of his kingdom, the responsibility of leadership, but tonight, that burden had been eased by you.

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world around them faded. The sounds of battle, the crashing of blades, the cries of the fallen—all of it melted away as Gil-galad’s gaze softened. “Your bravery… it does not go unnoticed,” he added, his voice low and earnest. “I will not forget this.” As you stood by him, your hands still holding his, he felt the weight of the moment settle between you both. The connection was undeniable. He had seen countless lives lost in the wars of Middle-earth, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, but in this fleeting moment, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—trust. Perhaps, even something more. The night was still, the threat of the Orcs momentarily forgotten, as the two of you shared a brief but significant moment. It was then that Gil-galad realized the depths of your loyalty—not just as a warrior, but as someone who had saved him not for glory, but for the simple love of what was right. And as he returned to the fight, standing side by side with you, the King’s heart swelled with something he hadn’t expected—hope.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Círdan might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The salt-laden air of the Grey Havens stung the skin as the distant waves crashed relentlessly against the shore, their rhythm a cruel backdrop to the chaos unfolding on the docks. The normally serene harbor had become a battlefield, its once tranquil shores stained with the blood of the brave and the wicked alike. Orcs had struck swiftly, their guttural cries mingling with the clang of steel and the roar of flames licking the sky. A boat had been set ablaze, its wreckage casting an eerie glow on the water as smoke swirled into the darkening sky. Círdan, his silver hair flowing behind him like a banner, stood as an unyielding sentinel amidst the chaos. His movements were fluid, a dance of deadly elegance as he cut down the attackers one by one. Despite the ferocity of his strikes, his age was beginning to show. His breath, though steady, came with more effort now, and his movements were slower, less sharp than they had once been. The weight of centuries rested on his shoulders, and though his resolve was unbroken, fatigue crept into his limbs.

The orcs were relentless, and soon he was surrounded. A heavy cleaver struck his sword with a resounding clash, forcing him back against the stone wall of the harbor. The ground beneath his feet was slick, and for a brief moment, Círdan felt the full weight of age and weariness. His heart pounded in his chest, but still he raised his sword, determined to protect his people, to fend off the dark tide. Then, the sound—a rustle in the trees above, so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. But not to Círdan. His sharp eyes flickered toward the movement, his heart quickening with hope. He knew what it meant. You were here. You had been tracking the orc band for days, following their trail with patience and precision. But when you had seen the smoke rising from the docks, when you had realized that the mighty Shipwright himself was in peril, there was no hesitation. You burst from the shadows, a whirlwind of action and determination. Your blade was already in your hand as you descended from the ridge above the harbor, landing with the grace of a predator.

The first orc never knew what hit it. You moved like lightning, your strike clean and efficient, the orc’s blood spilling across the stones before it even had time to scream. The second orc fared no better, falling at your feet with a single, well-placed blow. Círdan’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you, the flicker of disbelief in his gaze quickly replaced by something far deeper—recognition, relief, and perhaps even a touch of awe. You had come for him, risking everything to pull him from the jaws of death. “Stay behind me!” you shouted as you moved toward him, your voice firm and unyielding amidst the chaos of battle. For a moment, Círdan hesitated. He had always been the protector, the one to stand between others and danger. But as he saw you cut through the orcs with such deadly precision, the decision was made for him. He gritted his teeth, his sword rising once more to meet the next foe. Together, you formed an unstoppable force, a seamless unity that struck terror into the hearts of the orcs.

The battle raged on, but your combined strength was a force of nature. At one point, a brutish orc captain, wielding a massive axe, charged at you. Círdan saw it coming before you did. Without hesitation, he stepped into the line of fire, his sword parrying the deadly blow that would have otherwise struck you down. The force of the strike rattled him, but his gaze remained as steady as the sea. “You risk much for an old shipwright,” he said, his voice calm even in the midst of the battle. “I’m not leaving you here!” you replied fiercely, spinning to meet another attacker. “Not after all you’ve done for Middle-earth.” For a fleeting moment, Círdan’s expression softened, and his eyes lingered on you with a new respect. Few understood the sacrifices he had made over the centuries, the countless battles fought in the shadows, the weight of leadership that bore down on him. But you—here you were, putting everything on the line for him. And somehow, it stirred something deep within him.

With renewed purpose, you fought side by side, driving the orcs back, step by step, until their resolve shattered. The last of the attackers fell with a guttural cry, their bodies littering the stones of the harbor like discarded refuse. The once-bloody battlefield fell silent. The air was thick with the scent of salt and blood, but the clamor of battle had ceased. Only the gentle lap of the waves against the shore and the distant cries of gulls broke the stillness. Círdan stood beside you, his breath coming in measured, steady bursts. He was still strong, but the toll of the fight had left its mark on him. His cheek was bloodied, a thin cut running across his face, but his posture was unyielding. He looked at you with gratitude and something deeper—an understanding that had not existed between you before.

“You have my thanks,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion. His blue eyes held yours, and for the first time in your presence, he spoke not as a leader, but as a fellow soul who had witnessed your bravery firsthand. “Few would have risked their lives for me. Fewer still would have succeeded.” You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve spent centuries helping others, Círdan. It’s about time someone returned the favor.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but filled with warmth. “Then I am fortunate it was you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the harbor, you and Círdan stood side by side, looking out over the water. The battle had been long and fierce, but the bond forged between you in the heat of conflict was even stronger. There was no need for words now. The understanding between you was clear.

Círdan placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip gentle but strong—a silent gesture of respect. “You have the heart of a mariner,” he said softly, his voice carrying the cadence of the sea. “Fearless, steadfast, and loyal. I will not forget this.” And as the light of the new day broke over the Grey Havens, you knew that, in your heart, you had not only saved a life—you had earned the trust and respect of one of Middle-earth’s greatest figures.

[swarmofabout1000bees]

My headcanons on how gravity falls characters drink their coffee or other drinks because I'm bored:

Ford: used to drink his coffee with a splash of milk and a mildly concerning amount of sugar but started downing it black while trying to stop Bill from possessing him, probably still drinks it black out of habit.

Stan: either splash of milk and no sugar or way too much sugar and no milk, I can't decide. probably both. I also imagine it's scorching hot, nuking it in the microwave immediately when it's anything colder than lava. It's reminiscent of painfully hot gas station coffee.

Fiddleford: this is an Appalachian/southern man, his coffee is either 99% sugar and milk or just black, I'm leaning towards the first. he also definitely drinks a lot of tea. Sweet tea, hot tea, herbal tea, all of them. it'd be a miracle if this man has never had a kidney stone.

Mabel: definitely something like an iced chai tea, blended coffee, or any themed drink that's going viral at that moment. She was the actual creator of the unicorn frappe. Regardless of what it is, you'll have to brush your teeth immediately after drinking unless you want a cavity from all the sugar.

Dipper: absolutely hates hot brewed coffee and only drinks cold brew if any coffee at all, Is not a fan of the bitterness. at least in my experience, cold brew is way smoother and less bitter than hot brewed. but I do feel like he would stick to sodas more often than not anyways.

Soos: is definitely a white or Green tea guy and you cannot convince me otherwise, would also have a floral tea like jasmine every once in awhile. Would totally have traditional Chinese tea setup and so many tea pets, especially the ones that spit water.

Wendy: Dr pepper.

[queenofdragons12]

Taming the Satoru | s.g

Pairing: Alpha!Reader x Omega!Gojo Satoru

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM elements, dom/sub relationship, collaring, oral sex, orgasm control

Word Count: 1,542

You were sitting in your chair when a hand crept over your shoulder and down to your perky breasts. You sighed, "Gojo, not now, I'm working," you chided your boyfriend who rutted against the back of the chair.

"But I'm horny baby," he whined in your ear, white hair strands tickling your shoulder. "Please, you know that I am in rut," he breathed, his voice husky with need, his fingers teasing your sensitive skin until you felt yourself growing wet with desire.

You sighed then stood up, turning to face him. Gojo backed away slightly, a needy whimper escaping his throat as your eyes flashed crimson, your alpha nature rising to the surface.

"What have I said about disturbing me when I'm working?" you asked tersely, your voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

He gulped visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "T-that I shouldn't," he whimpered, then yelped as you advanced on him, backing him onto the bed. You stepped between his spread legs where his cock already stood proud and flushed, the tip glistening with precum.

Leaning into his space, you hummed appreciatively, fingers trailing up to tug at the leather collar you'd given him for his birthday last year. The metal ring clinked softly as you pulled him closer by it.

"Yes, and what do I do when you don't follow my rules, hmm?" you prompted, your free hand sliding up his trembling thigh.

He gulped, pupils blown wide with arousal and submission. "Y-you punish me," he whispered, his cock twitching eagerly between you.

He stammered out his reply, "I'm really sorry, ma'am, I'm really sorry!" His iPhone pinged with a notification that he ignored completely as you gave his cock a deliberate stroke. You knelt down on the plush area rug, the Bluetooth speaker in the corner softly playing lo-fi beats as you inhaled his scent, your red alpha eyes flashing in the LED ambient lighting of your bedroom.

"I see," you said, rising gracefully before settling into your ergonomic office chair, crossing your legs as your wet pussy glistened invitingly. You adjusted your AirPods and gestured to the space in front of you. "Please be nice to me then, baby. If you do well with that talented tongue of yours, I'll let you cum. Maybe I'll even post it on my private account."

He whimpered, his body trembling as a sudden jet of cum squirted out, his AirPods Max headphones sliding off his head onto the memory foam mattress. "P-please master," he gasped, his voice barely audible over the Spotify playlist still streaming in the background.

You leaned back in your Herman Miller chair, the RGB lighting from your gaming setup casting a sultry glow across your skin as he positioned himself between your thighs.

He soon found your slick folds with his eager mouth, and you grimaced slightly as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. You said nothing, scrolling absently through TikTok on your iPhone 15 Pro Max while he devoured you hungrily, his tongue working desperately as if your essence was premium cold brew on a Monday morning.

His tongue soon found a steady rhythm against your swollen clit, alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that sent electric currents racing up your spine. You let out a low, throaty moan that echoed off the minimalist walls of your bedroom, your fingers instinctively tightening in his soft white hair.

Gojo immediately perked up at the sound, his ice-blue eyes flicking upward with a hint of pride. You caught the look and pinched his flushed cheek between your manicured fingers, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.

"Ah ah, don't begin to get excited now, little slut," you admonished, your voice dripping with authority as you pressed his face more firmly against your heat. "You still need to make me cum, okay?" The last word was punctuated with a sharp tug on his collar.

He nodded eagerly against your thigh, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he redoubled his efforts. His tongue wiggled deeper into your pussy, the wet, obscene sounds of his devotion filling the room as he lapped hungrily at your entrance. His nose brushed repeatedly against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core with each deliberate movement.

Soon, you could feel the familiar coil in your belly beginning to tighten, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. Your breathing grew ragged, your scrolling forgotten as your iPhone slipped from your fingers onto the padded armrest. The tension built exquisitely, your hips rolling against his face as you chased your release.

When it finally hit, you winced and arched your back, gripping the edge of your desk as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your cum leaked out of your pussy in a hot rush, coating his eager tongue and dripping down his chin as he moaned appreciatively against your flesh, drinking down every drop like it was the finest champagne.

When the last tremors of your orgasm subsided, you gazed down at him through half-lidded eyes, watching your essence glisten on his lips and chin, pooling onto the plush rug beneath him. A wicked smile curved your lips, predatory and promising.

"Your turn, baby," you purred, voice like honey laced with venom.

You lunged at him with feline grace, a predator claiming its prey. Gojo yelped—a delicious, broken sound—as his cock slammed against your slick entrance. The contact alone drew a moan from him so loud and slutty it echoed off the walls, his body arching beneath yours like a bow pulled taut.

With deliberate slowness, you adjusted your hips, allowing his throbbing length to nudge against your entrance. His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in silent supplication as you finally—finally—allowed him to sink into your velvety heat, your puffy, sensitive walls stretching deliciously around his girth.

Then, without warning, you began to move. Not gentle, not sweet—you hammered down on his cock with punishing rhythm, showing absolutely no mercy as you used his body for your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by his desperate whimpers and broken pleas.

His fingers clutched helplessly at the sheets, knuckles white with strain as you rode him mercilessly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his white hair plastered to his skin as he writhed beneath you, completely at your mercy.

When his release finally tore through him, it was violent and all-consuming. He came hard with a strangled cry, his entire body convulsing as he emptied himself inside you. You watched with savage satisfaction as he unraveled completely, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering, trembling mess beneath you, utterly broken and beautifully yours.

You smiled down at him, your fingers caressing his flushed cheek as you leaned in to kiss his wet, swollen lips. "You did good baby, oh so very good," you purred, your voice dripping with honey and satisfaction.

His eyes fluttered open, those gorgeous blue orbs glazed with pleasure and adoration as he gazed up at you like you were his entire universe. A soft whimper escaped his throat as you shifted your hips, his oversensitive length still buried deep inside you.

"Please..." he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, understanding what he needed without words. This time, you allowed him to worship you properly—not as a mistress punishing her disobedient pet, but as a queen accepting the devoted adoration of her most loyal subject.

His trembling hands found your waist, holding you with reverence as you began to rock against him, slow and sensual. The harsh dominance from before melted away, replaced by something equally powerful but infinitely more tender.

[songbirdsanctuary]

In the Quiet Moments

Short fic.

Word count: 1,922

Warnings: none

Tango trudged slowly across his base, shoulders slumped and eyes half-lidded as he glared at the malfunctioning crafters scattered around his setup. It was maddening how no matter what he tried, the machines kept jamming, stalling, or worse, breaking entirely. He'd spent countless hours building and fine-tuning the redstone, so why wasn't it working?

Was it because he didn’t know how it worked? No, he knew exactly how it worked, every wire, every piston, every tiny tick of delay. He'd planned it meticulously, visualized the circuits even with his eyes closed. So what was he missing?

Maybe it was the redstone. Maybe he’d crossed a connection somewhere, or added an extra repeater, or—no, he knew better than that. The circuits were fine; he’d checked them twice already. Still, the machines refused to cooperate. His jaw clenched as he ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted, more than a bit. When had he last taken a real break?

“Maybe I need sleep,” he muttered under his breath, dismissing the thought as soon as it formed. There was no time for that. Four, maybe five hours a night was enough. He’d pushed through worse, right? He was fine. He was always fine.

But his vision blurred, and for a second, he felt unsteady on his feet. Just a flicker, he thought. He could manage that. The ache at the back of his eyes felt like it was boring straight into his skull, his head pounding softly with each step. He shook it off, trying to blink the exhaustion away. He’d get through it, as always; he just needed something to keep him going.

Coffee. He needed coffee.

Dragging himself to the kitchen, he fumbled for the coffee beans, grinding them up and setting a pot to brew, the comforting sound of the percolator filling the silence around him. When it was done, he poured himself a cup, hot and black, and didn’t bother with sugar or cream. He downed it, the bitterness biting through his tired haze.

It didn’t help much, but at least it was something. The caffeine buzz was barely there, drowned under the weight of his exhaustion. But he was used to it. He’d push through; he always did.

Impulse had told him more than once that if he was pushing himself too far, he needed to reach out. Ask for help. But he wasn’t pushing himself, he was just tired, just...a little overworked. He could handle it. It wasn’t like the last time, when he’d physically hurt himself. Back then, Impulse had all but dragged him off the floor, patched him up, and made him promise he’d rest. But he wasn’t hurt this time; he was fine. Sure, he was tired, but that was different, wasn’t it?

A nagging voice reminded him of what Impulse always said, about how it was okay to be weak sometimes, that no one would think less of him for it. But the thought made him cringe. Weak. The word itself felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, tightening around his ribs. He wasn’t weak, and he didn’t need anyone to tell him he was. He was handling it.

But…what if he did reach out, just to let someone know? He tried to picture Impulse’s reaction, the way he’d probably give him that soft look, the kind of look that made it clear he cared but also left Tango feeling exposed, like he was admitting defeat. The idea of being seen like that, of admitting even a hint of weakness, made his chest tighten further. It was easier to keep pushing through, keep all of it to himself.

Maybe he just needed to clear his head. A walk—yeah, a walk might help. Something to get his mind off the crafters, the redstone, the constant drone of exhaustion. He grabbed his coat, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled it on, feeling the cold bite of the metal zipper against his skin. Stepping outside, the crisp air hit him, and he let out a slow breath, watching it puff out in front of him.

The world around him was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of distant birds. He walked, letting his feet guide him aimlessly across the paths he’d built, through familiar spots he’d hardly seen in daylight lately. The cold air made his head feel clearer, even if only for a moment, and he let himself relax, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a little.

Each step echoed in the silence, a steady rhythm that grounded him, that reminded him he was still here, still moving forward, even if his body felt like it was dragging a thousand pounds of weight. The thought of reaching out flickered in his mind again, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on the sounds around him, on the empty space where he could just be without anyone watching.

He wandered further down the trail, his feet moving on instinct, his mind drifting. Eventually, he reached the riverbank, its water a glistening ribbon under the fading light. He could feel the dampness from where he stood, the scent of moss and wet stone filling the air. As a blazeborn, he didn’t swim, the water too risky to touch, but he enjoyed the quiet of it, the way the current rolled and dipped over rocks, endless and calm.

He paused, though, when he spotted someone sitting there by the water’s edge—a familiar figure with sandy blond hair and wings folded tight against his back. Tango squinted, his tired eyes adjusting as he took a step closer.

“Grian?” he called out, his voice cutting through the silence.

Grian’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and startled. He looked exhausted, and for a moment, Tango noticed a faint glint of something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded that made Tango’s chest twist. “T-Tango…?” Grian stammered, his voice carrying a heaviness Tango recognized all too well.

Tango frowned, stepping closer until he could see the dark circles under Grian’s eyes, the way his feathers drooped, their usual gleam dulled. It was obvious something was weighing on him, something more than just the late hour.

Tango lowered himself to sit next to him, careful to keep his distance from the water’s edge. The ground was cold beneath him, but he ignored it, leaning forward to look at Grian with a gentle concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Grian’s gaze flickered to him, studying him for a moment, as if deciding how to answer. He gave a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are y-you?” he replied, his tone mirroring Tango’s, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Tango’s tail flicked anxiously, brushing against the ground. He knew Grian was deflecting, that he was avoiding the question, but he didn’t press. He understood that urge to keep things to yourself, to pretend like you’re fine when everything feels anything but fine.

He should reach out. He knew that. Impulse’s words echoed in his mind again, a gentle reminder that he didn’t have to keep it all to himself. His own exhaustion felt heavier as he considered it, the weight of days of sleep deprivation pulling on him.

Finally, he took a slow breath, letting the honesty fall from his lips before he could second-guess it. “No…” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Not really…”

The admission felt strangely freeing, but it also made him feel exposed. His gaze dropped to the ground, embarrassed to have said it aloud, especially here, with Grian looking just as weary as he felt. For a second, he thought Grian might respond, maybe offer a small piece of reassurance or a quiet understanding.

Instead, Grian nodded, swallowing hard as he looked back out over the water. “Me neither,” he whispered, the words carrying a vulnerability Tango hadn’t heard from him before.

The silence between them felt different now, a shared understanding hanging there. They didn’t need to fill it with explanations or justifications. It was enough to sit there, side by side, both of them wrapped in their own quiet struggles but somehow feeling a little less alone in it.

After a few long minutes of silence, Grian finally broke it, his voice quiet, barely rising above the soft sounds of the river. “You look tired… have you been sleeping well?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the water as if the answer might change things if he didn’t look at Tango.

Tango swallowed, feeling the weight of the question. “I mean… I’ve been getting four, maybe five hours every night,” he replied, trying to sound casual, as if those hours were enough to keep him going. He knew better, and something in Grian’s tone told him Grian did too.

Grian hummed, the sound barely audible, but there was a trace of disapproval in it. “Yo-you should sleep more…” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with the kind of concern that came from experience. He didn’t say more, and Tango felt the words settle, heavier than he wanted to admit.

Tango shook his head, turning his gaze from the water to Grian, whose tired appearance seemed to mirror his own. “What about you?” he asked gently. “How have you been sleeping?”

Grian’s wings shifted, his shoulders hunching slightly. He looked even more worn out up close, his usually bright eyes dim and hollow. His feathers were ruffled, uncharacteristically unkempt, and Tango couldn’t shake the worry tugging at his chest.

Grian took several deep, deliberate breaths, his talons digging into his arms and then releasing, repeating the motion as if trying to ground himself. “Just… just some nightmares,” he admitted after a pause, his voice tense, each word pulled reluctantly from somewhere deep within him.

Tango tilted his head, leaning in slightly. “What about?” he asked, his voice soft and patient, trying to make it easy for Grian to answer.

Grian shook his head almost immediately, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “It’s… it’s nothing. Just dreams,” he said, but his voice cracked, giving away more than his words did. Tango could sense there was more to it, something heavier Grian wasn’t ready to share. But he wasn’t going to push; he understood that need to hold things close, even when they weighed you down.

So instead, he simply shifted closer, moving to sit right beside Grian, close enough that their shoulders touched. Gently, Tango wrapped his tail around Grian’s waist, letting it rest there as a quiet offering, a small comfort. He felt Grian’s body relax, if only slightly, leaning into the contact as though drawing warmth from Tango’s presence. Neither of them said anything, but the silence felt warmer now, less heavy.

Grian’s breathing steadied a little, and Tango could feel the tension easing from his friend’s posture. The quiet embrace of his tail around Grian was small, but it felt like enough. Just sitting here, sharing the space, was a reminder that they didn’t have to carry everything alone.

After a while, Grian’s hand moved, brushing over Tango’s tail as if acknowledging the gesture, and he sighed softly. “Thank you,” he whispered, so quiet it was almost swallowed by the sounds of the river. But Tango heard it, and it made something inside him soften, the tension easing from his own shoulders.

“Anytime,” Tango murmured back, and he meant it. For now, they didn’t need words. The quiet comfort of each other’s presence was enough.

[youngchronicpain]

hello friends as you know I really struggle with um

Tasks

but I really love a little coffee drink in the morning

I have recently discovered homemade cold brew and I am so absolutely in love with the process.

I never used to be much of a cold coffee drinker, unless it was boiling hot outside, but I may be a convert.

All I have to do is coarsely grind whole coffee beans (around 7 seconds works well for me) put it into a jar with filtered water (we have a well so we are fine) cover it and put it in a dark spot for a day or two.

Then, I filter it with my regular drip coffee setup. (A little funnel from Amazon for 10 bucks with a filter over my coffee cup). It takes a minute or so for the coffee to drip through on its own, and boom!!! Coffee!!!

(I put it over ice with milk that I froth on top and maple syrup. So freaking good. If I want it to be a little sweet treat I make whipped cream and add my homemade fudge syrup. Mmmmm).

I've been making a new batch every couple of days because I've been experimenting with water amounts and time. But I believe it is 4 parts water to 1 part coffee. You can make a large batch, filter it, and keep it in the fridge for future use.

It is so good! And has cut down a lot on my morning stress since I make my partner and I coffee every morning.

Try it and let me know what you think!

[archonofthestars]

Congratulations

In which Navia snatches victory from Clorinde most unexpectedly.

Characters: Navia, Clorinde, Lyney, Chevreuse, Emilie Tags: D&D shenanigans

A/N: Let’s all pretend that Clorinde didn’t have a lapse in judgement in allowing Navia to somehow get her hands on a Deck of Many Things when she knows Navia is a Chaos Player. That’s all, thank you. And this is a gift ficlet for my youngest brother <3

Want to see me write something? Submit an ask!

✧. ┊    

✧. ┊    

They had been preparing for this for weeks, and finally, it was time.

This would be their toughest battle, one that would test all of their skills and determine the fate of the world. Failure was not an option.

Clorinde sat at the head of the table, her game master screen keeping the details secret from those gathered at the table. For this adventure, Navia and Clorinde had managed to get Lyney to rejoin them and also pull in Emilie and Chevreuse as new players. It took a few sessions for the latter two to get their feet under them, but they both proved to be clever companions in this imaginary journey.

Now it was time to put this all to the test with Clorinde’s final boss. If Navia had to guess, Clorinde had spent weeks putting this boss together and thinking of the best way to challenge her players. 

As Clorinde prepared to start the session, the rest of the table were looking over their character sheets and items one last time. Next to Navia, Emilie was preparing her character’s various healing abilities for the coming fight. She had an impressive arsenal of potions and healing spells, but the Iniquitous Baptist they were facing was notorious for its ability to shred through player characters easily. They would need every advantage to stay alive.

Chevreuse, across from Navia, was munching quietly on the snack food as she reviewed her setup. Her character was a fighter armed with powerful weapons gained in their travels; currently, her best weapons were prepped and ready to go against an Abyssal entity. The patroller seemed fairly calm about the upcoming fight; Navia supposed that an intense fight, even an imaginary one, was business as usual for Chevreuse.

Next to her, Lyney was looking through his rogue’s various abilities and skills, mumbling quietly to himself. While he was not as much of a damage dealer as Chevreuse and Navia’s character (a paladin warrior dedicated to fighting the scourge of the Abyss), his debuffing abilities would be crucial in hindering the Abyssal leader’s insane damage output.

And Navia? Well…

She had an idea that had been brewing for some time, something that could completely turn Clorinde’s encounter around. But if she revealed her hands too early, Clorinde could stop her. Careful not to make her suspicious, Navia casually glanced over her sheets but mostly fought to keep a grin off of her face.

Clearing her throat, Clorinde looked over the group. “Is everyone ready?”

Various affirmations met the GM, and with that settled, Clorinde launched into the narrative.

“The Abyss had been tormenting this region for years, poisoning the land and making the citizens suffer. Their monsters ran free, tormenting weary travelers and killing the unfortunate who could not fight back.

After weeks of chasing down clues and talking to dozens of NPCs, you had finally found the location of the Iniquitous Baptist location. This individual is the leader of the Abyss in the area and if you can take him out, this will protect the region for years to come and save hundreds of innocent lives.

The hideout is inconspicuous, but you can sense the evil emanating from within. As you descend into the darkness, the air is stale and old; very few living beings set foot in here. The Abyssal energy swirls around you and leaves you cold down to your very bones.

After wandering the long corridors carefully, you finally find the center of this hideout. There stands your enemy; tall and imposing, you can feel the Abyssal aura pouring off of him. Two long, dark blades rest in his hands and his head turns in your direction.

“Adventurers,” a dark voice speaks out. You can hear the malevolence, the sheer darkness in that single word. “I see you have come to your doom. Prepare to face your end, here and now!”

The Iniquitous Baptist raises his swords towards you and—”

“GM, if I may?” Navia spoke up sweetly, cutting through Clorinde’s description and grinning at her. Immediately, Clorinde was tense; she knew Navia had a penchant for…chaos when she used that tone.

(In Navia’s defense, chaos made the game way more fun. She also enjoyed keeping Clorinde on her toes and seeing what the duelist could come up with on the fly.)

“I would like to talk to the Iniquitous Baptist,” Navia said, making sure to keep eye contact with the GM as she spoke. “....what for?” Clorinde asked. Her tone made it plenty clear she didn’t really have an idea of what Navia was doing and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I want to see if he’s willing to play a game with me before we get into a fight,” Navia said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A game,” Clorinde repeated, her voice somewhat flat and disbelieving. “With the Iniquitous Baptist.”

“Of course!” Navia smiled at the duelist. After a long moment of consideration (and the rest of the team glancing at each other and Navia in confusion), Clorinde finally spoke.

“...pull a card for persuasion.” Her tone practically screamed, ‘I don’t know why I’m even allowing this’ but like any good GM, she would at least let her players try a crazy course of action.

Reaching for a card, Navia quickly pulled it out and flipped it over. Her grin grew even larger as she turned the card to Clorinde; a golden 20 stared back at the woman.

“No way!” Lyney burst into laughter upon seeing the 20. “Isn’t your persuasion score maxed out too??”

“It is,” Navia confirmed. Against all odds, she had pulled off the perfect persuasion against the Iniquitous Baptist of all beings and won.

Clorinde sighed heavily, looking like she was about to start rubbing her forehead. “The Abyssal leader pauses and looks at you for a long moment. He finally says he’ll agree to this game of yours, if only to get some amusement before he kills you.”

Oh yeah, Clorinde was for sure going to destroy Navia’s character first for this.

Leaning on her hands, Navia stares down the Champion duelist and tells her, “I pull out the Deck of Many Things and tell him to draw a card.”

“Oh my Archons,” Chevreuse sighs as Lyney’s laughter redoubles. Emilie is trying and failing badly to keep her smile hidden. “This is going to go so badly.”

“So little faith, Chevreuse!” Navia chided as she grabbed a deck from her supplies. Carefully shuffling the cards and fanning them out facedown, she presents them to Clorinde. 

Violet eyes assess the cards carefully before a white gloved hand reaches over and grabs a single card. There’s a long pause before Clorinde flips the card around for all to see: Two of Spades.

“The Two of Spades card represents Balance,” Clorinde reads from the list of what each card does. “Your mind suffers a wrenching alteration, causing your alignment to change. Lawful becomes chaotic, good becomes evil, and vice versa.” As she speaks, each word sounds more and more disbelieving.

“...does that mean…?” Emilie asked, eyes wide as she stared at the card.

“The Abyssal Leader is now good??” Lyney finished, sounding incredulous. Navia watches as Clorinde’s mind frantically spins through the information and how it applies to their enemy; she knows the duelist well enough to see that Clorinde is quickly realizing there’s no way out of this one.

“I do believe so!” She chirps, her cheeks aching from how widely she’s smiling. 

“...congratulations,” Clorinde finally says, sighing heavily as she drops the card to the table. "You defeated the Abyssal leader and saved the land from the great evil."

[flutterbysnowflakes]

Vipers And Dragons

PART III

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

Chapter III

The air in the nightclub hung thick with a cocktail of expensive perfume and desperation. Y/n, disguised in a shimmering crimson dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, glided through the crowd. Every movement was calculated, a performance designed to attract the very predators she planned to trap. The Falcone brothers, notorious for their ruthlessness and insatiable appetites, were her target.

The spotlight fell on her as she reached the stage. Music throbbed, a pulse that mimicked the dangerous rhythm of her mission. As she danced, she kept a watchful eye on the VIP section, their designated hunting ground. There, amidst the gaudy displays of wealth, sat the Falcone brothers, their gazes fixated on her.

A predatory satisfaction danced in Y/n's eyes. They were hooked, just as she'd planned. But the thrill of the performance was overshadowed by the ever-present awareness of Jimin's absence. Their agreement was a precarious tightrope walk, and trust was a scarce commodity in their world. Where were his men? Were they waiting in the shadows, or was this all some elaborate setup, a twisted game where she was the unsuspecting pawn?

Doubt gnawed at her, a cold serpent tightening its coils around her heart. One wrong move, one missed cue, and this carefully crafted plan would crumble. Just then, a figure weaved through the throng, brushing against her backstage. A hand slipped a hidden earpiece into her grasp.

"Viper," Jimin's voice, a low growl in her ear, sent a jolt through her. "We're in position. Stick to the plan, and get those brothers to follow you." Relief washed over her, laced with a spark of something else - a dangerous thrill at being so intimately connected to her enemy.

The music swelled, and Y/n poured every ounce of her defiance and allure into the dance. She knew the cameras were on her, broadcasting the show to Jimin's men waiting outside. Her plan hinged on a performance worthy of an Oscar and the Falcones' insatiable greed.

As the song ended, the Falcone brothers rose, their faces masks of predatory hunger. They beckoned her over, a smirk playing on their lips. Y/n met their gaze, a flicker of fear in her eyes expertly crafted.

"Gentlemen," she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed deceit. "Perhaps a private conversation? I have something you might be interested in."

The Falcones exchanged a glance, a silent agreement. Following their greedy smiles, they led her out of the back entrance, into the waiting jaws of Jimin's trap.

A tense silence followed as they disappeared into the night. Y/n, heart pounding in her chest, waited backstage, the spotlight suddenly feeling suffocating. Then, the earpiece crackled to life.

"Target acquired," Jimin's voice, devoid of emotion, sent a shiver down her spine. "Get out of there. We regroup at the docks."

Relief and a strange sense of disappointment battled within her. The mission was half-complete, but a part of her craved a different kind of victory, one settled not on the battlefield but between them.

Slipping away from the throbbing nightclub, Y/n navigated the city streets, her mind replaying the dance, the shared deception. This alliance with Jimin was a tangled web, a game where the lines between enemy and something more were blurring with every encounter. Reaching the docks, she found him waiting, a lone figure bathed in the moonlight.

"Well done, Viper," he said, his voice a low rumble. He stood close, their bodies a hairsbreadth apart. "You played the part flawlessly."

Y/n met his gaze, the air crackling with unspoken electricity. "And your men?"

"Efficient," he replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air. "Just like you."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills unfolding. The tension was a living thing, a storm brewing beneath the surface. Before she could speak, Jimin's hand reached out, a single finger tracing the curve of her neck, sending a jolt through her.

"But this isn't over, Viper," he murmured, his voice husky with unspoken desires. "The game continues."

He pulled away, leaving her breathless and confused. The mission was a success, but the war with the Falcones was far from over. And somewhere, deep within the dangerous dance they were locked in, a new game had begun. As she watched him disappear into the shadows, Y/n knew that the line between enemy and something more was beginning to blur.

[anime-scarves]

Got a whipped cream dispenser that is actually being used as a nitro cold brew maker. It worked surprisingly well for this given that it is not the intended use. Made some decent foam as well as filling the cold brew with micro bubbles for a smooth and creamy mouth feel. Not quite as good as a proper setup with a keg and n2 canister but not half bad for a "hack."

[boundlss]

IMIRAY: PART I

Part 1 of a hopefully pretty extensive series of posts detailing the world in which my homebrew DND campaign is set! This one will probably just be the basics and listing important locations / setup things ... Anyway, I know people don't often read longer posts about things that aren't relevant to them, but I like talking about things!

Imiray is an isolated planar world that was originally created as a "gift" for the Old Gods who won their way out of the infinite layers of the Abyss. Steeped intrinsically in magic of Celestial and Abyssal influence, Imiray exists as one of many interconnected planar spheres in the complicated web of worlds given to Abyssal creatures powerful enough to become Gods.

It is, however, unique in that the Gods who won the world no longer rule over it---instead, Imiray boasts a much less stronger pantheon of twelve deities who preside over the land and the people in it.

The world, largely run by humanoids, is divided into six major geopolitical players. Each of these nations has their identity represented in the form of a dragon or dragon-like creature, though the identity of any people can manifest itself physically like this.

BASIC INFORMATION - LOCATIONS.

AIVA. Once a large and sprawling nation with beautiful land and prosperous people. Because of a calamity that happened a century ago, though, most of the land was rendered untreadable, and infected with a vicious disease known only as The Fading, which rendered people both physical and mental ghosts of themselves at its worst. Shaken by the calamity, most of the remaining population of Aiva crammed southward into its capital city of Aerath, securing the help and support of the nearby Avariel Elves on their floating islands and the Tritons and Sea Elves who lived just off its coast.

EPHELION. A cold dictatorship where research and progress are valued above all else. In the past, they tended to favor those with innate or learned arcane prowess, but recent developments in technological advancements have changed the focus of their culture at large to be focused on "improving the ordinary human"---though there are large swathes of the common people who disagree with this. Their calamity-causing attack on Aiva in the past has taught others not to mess with them, but they continue to relentlessly pursue advancements in competition with their tense political ally, Oskolda.

OSKOLDA. A sprawling desert whose civilizations have largely migrated underground, mutating due to the influence of the sprawling underdark. Only its capital city remains on the surface, a strange and vibrant cacophony of light and noise from the surface-dwellers who consider themselves the last true Oskoldans and sell their souls for a chance to stay on top even despite the strange and unnatural heat. Their charming and benevolent God offers protection to the surface's residents if they can only pay the right price---and if not, hopeful survivors will always have a chance to try their luck.

VASKAL. The most newly formed nation from a revolution against Oskolda. The residents of Vaskal are secretive, owing in part to the strange crystal relics that were erected there in a past conflict between gods that seem to ward off every school of magic. The hierarchy of Vaskal is slow to trust, and its still-reigning Queen forbids the use or word of these anti-magic crystals to reach further than the borders of Vaskal. Most passing through would be forgiven for mistaking Vaskal as entirely empty, but the people who walk through the shadows have their own clandestine technological empire brewing under the surface.

MIRI. A nation very few enter and even fewer leave. No one outside knows what goes on in Miri, only that control of its government was seized five hundred years ago by a laughing God who bent the nation to its whims. Rather than the semi-tropical paradise it once was, Miri is a microcosm of the Feywild contained neatly within the country's borders, owing to the Archfey on the throne. Those born there are unable to leave, and the Mischief-Maker who calls himself Queen sees to the personal extermination of nonbelievers.

HANAZIRA. Formally known as the Free People of Hanazira, they are a collection of nations who formed an alliance to better stand up against global powers such as Ephelion. Outsiders criticize Hanazira for its roots sunk deep into traditional ways of living, but Hanazirans adapt what the rest of the world creates to suit their own needs. However, their way of life has been steadily more endangered by a strange chasm in the ground housing what they refer to as The Beast, which haunts the minds and torments the souls of anyone who steps near---and its influence is beginning to spread.

[thetravellerssnotebook]

Sketch - vibes

(this is just a splurge I made to get a feel for the current plot setup and settings for my characters; not completely proofread or edited)

Near the dungeons on the first floor, in the very back, there was an old, unused classroom. Hardly anyone knew of its whereabouts, except for two.

Two students had found the classroom by chance, and decided it was theirs. They had pushed tables, dragged armchairs and scooted bookshelves until everything was perfect.

Then they added as many cushions as possible, wherever possible. Lanterns had been hung and candles on every table, papers scattered everywhere and so many stacks of books that it made the already quaint classroom seem twice as small.

When you first walk in, to the right you could see a large, incredibly sturdy oak table stood pressed against the wall, and on top of it was an entire brewing station. Vial stands, a pewter cauldron, a pile of potion books, tubes and everything else possibly needed. There were also drawings littering what little space was left, despite having no relevance to potionmaking. Sketches of animals and plants and people and even the Hogwarts castle itself. Recipes and notes had been stuck to the wall, as well as a yellowed newspaper.

Next to the table, taking up what little space was left between the table and the corner of the wall, was a tall shelf. On this shelf were bottles of every size and shape and color, containing liquids and oils of all odd shades and smells. Glass jars of dried herbs, bugs and fungi occupied the middle shelf. The next shelf also held glass bottles, but these were considerably smaller and a dark amber color. These bottles contained the essential oil of countless herbs and plants. The last several shelves were full of spellbooks and potion recipes.

On the other side of the room sat a large, overstuffed red armchair, with a blanket thrown over the side. Most of the books had been condensed into piles around this one chair. Cushions and pillows were scattered round the floor near it, giving the room an even cozier feel. Against the wall, the wall opposite of the potion shelf, was another desk. This one was smaller in size, and was currently being purposed as a writing desk. A jar of quills, bottles of ink on a little tabletop shelf, and parchment littered with notes and equations and all other manner of writing. A wooden crate full of unused parchment sat on the floor next to it, and next to that a small waste bin.

Small rectangle windows had been built high into the wall directly opposite of the door, and beneath them was a long, thin counter. On this counter sat all sorts of oddities, from globes and small wooden boxes to a gnome skeleton and taper candles shaped like the tentacles of an octopus. above it was a large sheet of parchment presenting the roman numerals.

This forgotten space had become the beloved hideaway of the loners Bird Whitlock and Wynward Fidelis. These two were inseperable, and had been ever since they met in the train, on their very first year.

Bird, the merrier of the two, was a curious and optimistic girl, although she wasn't very accepted among the other students. They thought she was strange, always singing to herself and sitting in the corner and never talking to anyone. She didn't seem to even notice the people around her. It was much the opposite though. She found people quite interesting, their carnal behaviors and diverse personalities and physical features fascinated her.

She just preffered them from a distance, that's all.

Wynward, however, wanted absolutely nothing to do with people, he saw them as obnoxious and loud and generally unnecessary. He was stoic and stony, keeping to himself and scowling at anyone who got close or tried to commune with him. He often came off as cold or indifferent.

But he wasn't.

He loved Bird dearly, like a sister, as she was the only one he could really trust. She understood him, and he understood her. They sat next to each other, read together in secluded corners of the library, ate together at the far end of the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall together, and talked quietly amongst the branches of the willows in the forbidden forest . They did everything together, and that was jsut how they like it

[searchinghero]

How to Brew the Perfect Cup of Coffee at Home

Coffee is more than a beverage—it’s a ritual, a moment of comfort, and for many, the fuel that starts the day. Brewing the perfect cup of coffee at home doesn’t require a barista’s expertise or a fancy coffee shop setup. With the right tools, techniques, and a bit of know-how, you can elevate your coffee game and enjoy café-quality brews in your kitchen. In this comprehensive home coffee brewing guide, we’ll walk you through everything you need to know about how to brew the perfect cup of coffee at home, from choosing the best coffee beans to mastering various brewing methods like pour-over, French press, and cold brew.

Whether you’re a coffee novice or a seasoned sipper looking to refine your skills, this guide covers the best coffee brewing tips, step-by-step instructions, and expert advice to help you make coffee like a barista. Let’s dive into the art and science of brewing the perfect cup!

[dikhshakumari]

How to Make Coffee Without Milk?

Love coffee but skipping milk? Let’s brew magic! Start with quality beans—coarse for cold brew, fine for espresso. Boil water, cool slightly, then pour over grounds in a pour-over setup. Try adding a pinch of salt to cut bitterness or a dash of maple syrup for sweetness. There is no need for milk when the rich, strong flavors shine through. Experiment with different brew times to find your optimal strength. This dairy-free masterpiece is all about powerful flavors and easy pleasures. Grab your favorite cup and indulge in a warm, soul-satisfying coffee experience!

[prodebbreweryy]

Everything You Need to Start a Beer Company and Get Licensed in India

The Rise of India’s Beer Industry: Your Opportunity Awaits

India’s craft beer scene is expanding fast. Entrepreneurs with a passion for brewing and business are seizing the chance to enter this high-growth market. If you’re looking to launch your own label, understanding how to start a beer company and navigate the beer manufacturing license in India is crucial. This detailed guide walks you through every stage, from legal requirements to technical setup.

Begin With Business Registration

Before you produce your first batch, formalize your business. Choose a structure — Private Limited Company, Partnership, LLP, or Proprietorship. Among these, a Private Limited Company remains the most scalable and investor-friendly.

You’ll need to acquire a PAN, TAN, and GST registration, along with a current account under your company’s name. This paperwork lays the foundation for applying for the brewing and excise permits later.

Secure the Right Licenses to Manufacture Beer in India

India’s alcohol industry is regulated at the state level. That means the licensing process varies by region. However, most breweries require the following:

State Excise License: Issued by the Excise Department of your respective state; this is mandatory to legally manufacture alcohol.

FSSAI Certification: To ensure your product meets food safety and hygiene regulations.

Environmental Consent: Obtain No Objection Certificates (NOCs) from Pollution Control Boards for effluent discharge and air emissions.

Factory License: Required for operations involving machinery and labor.

Local Trade License: Necessary for carrying out commercial activities at a fixed premises.

BIS Approval (Optional): Adds quality credibility, especially if you aim for export.

Navigating this legal maze can be overwhelming. That’s where Prodeb Brewery becomes a reliable partner — offering complete support in compliance, documentation, and licensing assistance.

Choose the Right Brewing Model

You have several pathways to enter the market, depending on your vision and budget:

Microbrewery: Ideal for restaurants, brewpubs, or taprooms. This model is trending in cities like Bengaluru, Gurugram, and Pune.

Commercial-Scale Brewery: Best suited for mass production and distribution through retailers and wholesalers.

Contract Brewing: Rent production space in an existing brewery to test your brand before setting up your own plant.

Each approach has different capital needs and legal implications. Plan wisely before committing.

Budgeting and Equipment Investment

Setting up a brewery involves considerable investment. A microbrewery may need around ₹1.5–₹2 crore, while a full-fledged beer manufacturing plant could go up to ₹10 crore or more.

Key expenses include:

Brewery equipment (fermenters, brewhouses, and mash tuns)

Bright beer tanks and filtration systems

Packaging lines (bottles, cans, or kegs)

Cold storage and utilities like steam boilers and chillers

Prodeb Brewery offers end-to-end brewing equipment solutions customized for both microbreweries and large-scale beer manufacturing units. Their high-efficiency systems are built for consistency, hygiene, and scalability — giving your brand a professional edge from day one.

Find the Right Location

Location plays a big role in licensing and logistics. While metro cities offer brand exposure and demand, they also come with higher taxes and property costs. On the other hand, Tier-2 cities or industrial zones may offer subsidies and easier permit processes.

States such as Maharashtra, Karnataka, Haryana, and Punjab are known for being brewery-friendly with supportive excise policies.

Design Your Product and Build Distribution

Once your plant is ready, create a product that reflects your brand story. This includes:

Choosing your beer styles — lager, IPA, wheat, or stout

Creating a unique label and packaging design

Developing a marketing strategy within the legal limits (alcohol advertising is restricted in India)

Partnering with distributors, pubs, and restaurants to reach customers

Product quality and branding will set your beer apart in a competitive landscape. Keep innovating and listening to your target audience.

Smart Tips Before You Launch

Prepare a detailed project report to avoid funding issues

Hire a trained brewmaster or undergo professional training

Make licensing a priority from day one

Keep monthly compliance reports updated

Start small, validate demand, and scale strategically

Conclusion: Brew Bold, Brew Smart

Starting a beer company in India requires more than passion — it needs planning, licenses, capital, and industry know-how. But the rewards are worth it. With beer consumption increasing and a shift toward craft experiences, this is your chance to lead the next wave.

Prodeb Brewery makes it easier by offering turnkey solutions — from equipment manufacturing to setup guidance and even help with state-specific licensing. Whether you’re opening a taproom or launching a production brewery, Prodeb’s expertise ensures your vision becomes reality.

Now is the time to tap into this potential business. Build your brand, craft your story, and pour your legacy — one beer at a time.