#comte cheese

[jacquelinep21]

[vaas]

im such a hater about soft cheeses sorryyyyyyyyyyyy why are you mush. huh. get some chew in there. alternatively i also dont like crazy amounts of tyrosine crystals either. like why are you sharp. ideal cheese for me is in the middle density and i want it to make the salivary glands in the back of my mouth ache

[1tallnerd1]

Made comte chips

[magictroutimaginarium]

Recipe for Pretty Darn Quick Potato Gratin Use your food processor to slice and shred the potatoes for this quick potato gratin with Gruyère cheese and a dash of nutmeg to reduce prep time. 1.5 cups half-and-half, 3/4 teaspoon salt, 1 pinch freshly grated nutmeg, 4 large Yukon Gold potatoes peeled, 1 large garlic clove peeled and very finely minced, 4 ounces Gruyère or Comt cheese

[yanderepuck]

Handing flaming hot cheetos to everyone in the mansion to see who survives

Napoleon: he can have a handful and he's fine. He's eating one of the small .99 cent bags

Mozart: mainly doesn't think it tastes good, but also holding back a cough

Leonardo: he's dowing the entire bag without realizing it. I feel like he'd dip them in something but I have no clue what

Vincent: tearing up a little. He likes some spice but he likes a flavorful spice. Hell eat a few more though just to be sure

Theo: straight up doesn't like them. He wasn't expecting them to actually have a kick either

Arthur: he's holding back a choke and tears as best he can. Please give him milk

Isaac: is choking and crying. Boy is gasping and can't handle it. Stereotypical British boy

Jean: immediately sip it out. Hates it. Don't you dare give him that again. He's now searching for milk

Dazai: also eating the bag shamelessly

Shakespeare: he's so confused by chips to begin with that now making them hot is overwhelming him. British boy number 3 is down. Doesn't like how it stains his fingers

Comte: what do you think? Man is eating so much cheese and bread to get that spice out of his mouth. He's handling it worse than Jean and Isaac.

Sebastian: doesn't mind them but is really only eating a smaller bag not a big family sized bag. But he might if he's distracted enough and that's the bag he had

Vlad: handling it better than you thought. Is also enjoying a small bag of them.

Faust: made a weird face when he first tried them. Not because it was too spicy. But because he thought they tasted bad. Took him a while to get the taste out

Charles: had to eat a few to figure out if he liked them or hated them. He's still not sure so every time you offer him one he will take it and go through all those stages again

Drake: British boy number 4 is actually handling it well. He likes the flavor because well...he's been on a boat for too long and just wants flavor. He's not eating a big bag but he doesn't want the small bag

Galileo: choking. He didn't enjoy that at all. He tells you it's because they taste bad but that tear at the corner of his eye tells you it's the spice

[scummy-writes]

Sure, I'll play! "I’ll go with you, if you don’t want to be alone." with Comte

With dinner served and the residents visy amongst themselves, you retreated to the kitchen for some quiet- away from the clinking of utensils against plates and laughter.

And there, you took out a newspaper clipping from your pocket. The wrinkles it bore were impressive, a sign of just how often you had folded it up, again and again, after each viewing.

You stood by the table, a small sigh escaping your lips as you reread the printed words. At this point, you had memorized them long ago, but each time you looked at the page, you were plagued with worries. Anxiety eating away.

You truly wanted to visit this restaurant, and you knew you could simply ask anyone here to come with you, but the very thought of asking who you truly wanted to accompany you set your heart pumping.

Would he be too busy? Would he rather take you to somewhere much more fancier, too blue for your blood? Not to mention the idea of those women that consistently swoon around him in public- would he rather go with one of them? Or worse, was there one he was already dating?

Admist all the nervous thoughts running amok in your mind, you missed the door opening behind you, the gentle call of your name. It wasn't until there was a breath against your ear, muttering, that you finally snapped to attention.

"I'll go with you, if you don't want to be alone."

Those sweet words, combined with your nerves hitting their peak, caused your heart to jump. You let out a squeal, flinching so hard that you ripped the advert clean in two.

Comte was able to stay polite for about two seconds, until he started laughing. A refined laugh, not at all harsh, but your cheeks blazed all the same.

"My, now I feel as though I should take you just for that scare alone!"

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

Ripperoni and cheese, mc. Gotta getcha head outta the clouds!!

Thank you for sending something in, krys 😔 🙏

[lorei-writes]

Whenever my friends draw something for me or that was inspired by my work, I ask them for a permission to print it. On several occasions I was also able to to support them and purchase postcards with their work instead.

I only wish I could take better photos, because of course, it look so so so much better irl TvT I love it so much. <3

Featured art by: @drewadoodle @rinaririr @cottonfluffballofdoom @cheese-ception @spoopy-fish-writes @cailann @olivermorningstar

If you haven't checked out their art yet... Well, please, do, it's beyond lovely TvT <3 <3 <3

Detailed credits below the cut

Masamune & Shogetsu, Mitsuki with a bat, Yakuza!Mai -- @drewadoodle

Chevalier, reading surrounded by roses -- @rinaririr

Coloured sketch, Masamune, upper right corner -- @cottonfluffballofdoom

Cat!Masamune Chibi, Masamune Chibi, Masamune sketch, Asra sketch, Xiao sketch -- @cheese-ception

Asra x OC (Anna), kiss; Howl's Moving Castle!OC (Esther) x Chevalier -- @spoopy-fish-writes

Masamune, portrait, coloured -- @cailann

Comte de Saint-Germain, masquerade; Chevalier x OC (Esther), reading -- @olivermorningstar

[bloomingdarkgarden]

10 and 13

10. what’s something you’re excited for?

I've spent the last 14 months stationed at a posting I don't particularly love and in 5 weeks I get to move states/ back home to the mountain range that changed my life and dna a few years ago and I'm so excited to reimmurse and work to protect that landscape.

13. what’s your comfort food?

girl cheese. All cheese. Mac and cheese. Hunks of comte or gruyere. Melted brie. Chevre on toast. cheddar ass grilled cheese sammich. Any and all of it at any given moment.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: Gabriela Cruz invests in a Victorian mansion in the middle of America where the rule of Buyer Beware is absolute. When her twin sister goes missing, a couple of federal agents show up. Lucky for Gabi, Dean and Sam Winchester are on the case.

Characters: Gabriela Cruz, Camila Cruz, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ed Zeddmore, Harry Spangler

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, language, mentions death of family members, cursed object, mentions of blood + gore, sarcasm, twin dynamics, explicit sex

Words: 4,600

Author's notes: thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker as always for the pre-reads and support!

CAVEAT EMPTOR

I consider myself a strong, independent woman. I pay my own bills, put a little money away in savings every month, and I just recently took out a loan all by myself to buy an old Victorian mansion cum bed and breakfast in my hometown.

Which brings me to my first point — that most of the time, I think I’m rad as fuck. Then, once in a blue moon (literally, in this case), some guy finds his way into my life, and I personally end up winding back the advancement of women by a century for good dick.

It’s humiliating.

How, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

“When you said Victorian bed and breakfast, I thought it’d be all lace doilies and ornately carved wood. This place is sick!” 

Camila, my little sister by 15 minutes, had driven down from Minneapolis to help me move into my new home. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past year because she was living with a man who considered our twin bond to be “unhealthy” (read: he’s a pissbaby.)

What he couldn’t wrap his tiny brain around was that Cami and I were not only twins, but we’d spent the entirety of our adult lives with only each other to call home. Our older brother was killed by a drunk driver, our mom by breast cancer, and our dad by colon cancer, all before we were old enough to vote.

Anyway, Camila told him he could stay in his glass box of a top-floor condo in the city while she popped down “just for the weekend” to help me unpack. Little did he know, she’d brought with her an obscenely priced bottle of pink Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1973 from his wine cellar. 

“Camila Beatriz!” I cackled as I popped the cork.

She was living with a guy so worried about our “connection” that he never bothered to ask about her predilection to permanently borrow (her phrase, not mine) things from the men she dated.

“He’ll never miss it. Just pour.”

We sipped, kind of unpacked, nibbled on a fruit and cheese platter, and generally basked in each other’s presence. As we squeezed the last drops of pink bubbly from the bottle and the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt a chill. I assumed it was exhaustion, nerves, stress — whatever. 

“I’m tired, sissy,” Cami confessed. “Show me to my room, would ya?”

I did, giving her a long squeeze. “Thanks for coming, sissy,” I whispered in her ear. “Sleep sweet.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she kissed mine before I headed to my room to take a warm shower. Even though the chill never quite left me throughout slathering myself in lotion and wrapping up in my warmest pajamas, it didn’t occur to me that anything was off off.

Then, at midnight, when the third full moon of the season was at its fullest, I was awakened by a blood-curdling sound that seemed to hang in the air for hours after it was released.

“Camila!”

I bolted from the warmth of my bed, flung my heavy door open, and sprinted down the hall to where my sister was supposed to be sleeping. What I found inside that room can never be erased from the darkest corners of my mind.

There was blood everywhere — on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room was frigid and vibrating. I felt a presence that turned me inside out, and I started to sweat and heave, regardless of the temperature of the room.

“Cami!” I called out to her, receiving no reply. “Sister!”

I rushed further into the space as whatever it was that I felt began to recede.

“Camila! Where are you?”

I searched and cried, but my sister was nowhere to be found.

The police arrived within minutes, and neighbors hovered on the edge of the property, haphazardly bundled in robes and coats like vultures at the site of carnage. There were hushed whispers of a ghost, a ghoul, or dark spirits.

An ambulance came.

Once the police had questioned me, I was examined by the EMTs and given a sedative. I was told I was in shock. Someone asked if I had any relatives or friends in the area who could stay with me. 

I shook my head. “Cami’s my only family.”

The sedative dumbed me down more than anything. I wasn’t able to sleep or relax. Before dawn, two FBI agents appeared on the scene. The local police were reluctant to let them speak with me, but they somehow persevered.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I looked up to find a string bean of a dude with puppy-dog eyes and a tentative, soothing voice. He introduced himself as Agent Gass and his partner as Agent Black. He asked how much time I’d spent in the house.

“Not even a day.”

Both men nodded. 

I suppose it should have tipped me off that they were not run-of-the-mill federales since they didn’t seem at all surprised by my answer or the situation the way local law enforcement did.

“You just bought the place, right?” asked the other agent.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I was with fear and grief. The quality of his voice had a visceral effect on my senses, like a deep tissue massage or an epic fucking orgasm. 

This man’s voice, you guys...

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, then found that the face belonging to that voice was so beautiful I could no longer hold the tension in my body, and the tears began to flow.

(I know this sounds very dramatic, but I promise we won’t be spending much more time on the grim details. Also, don’t worry; Cami’s fine. I mean, she’s fucking traumatized, but it wasn’t her blood decorating the walls, is what I’m saying.)

The agents quickly bookended me. Agent Gass tugged a paper towel from the roll I’d left sitting on a side table the night before and handed it to me, muttering something about my nose and tears before Agent Black started talking again. 

“There’ve been reports of strange occurrences in this house for decades, but nothing violent.” He was so close that I could feel the rumble of each syllable like the hum of a lullaby or a stealth percussionist in the wild. “Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the last 12 hours?”

I sniffled. “Besides all the fucking terrifying shit I’ve already told the cops?”

Agent Gass cleared his throat beside me. “We’re sorry, but we need to record our own findings. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

I rolled my eyes and blew my nose. “Fine,” I sighed, tossing the wadded-up snot rag into a nearby trash bag.

“It started when the sun set…” 

I recapped the evening’s events, groggily noticing once again that neither agent seemed nearly as taken aback as the local police.

“‘Blood-curdling sound’ — like a scream?” Agent Black’s question pinged in my brain while other parts of me continued to react to the sound of it. 

“I don’t know why I keep using that phrase... it wasn’t a scream, but... it woke me up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I was chilled to the bone.”

Agent Black nodded. “You said you were cold before, so you took a shower. Was it the same kinda chill you felt when the sound woke you up?”

I shook my head, squinting to try and remember. “No... I- there’s cold chill and scared chill — I felt both at different times. I... I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Agent Black nodded, peeking over my head to his partner, and they exchanged a silent agreement.

I cannot stress enough how aggravated I am that I felt attraction at that moment. My twin sister was missing, and yet I couldn’t stop staring at his stupid mouth. At the time, I didn’t rationalize it at all, probably because of the drugs the EMTs gave me, but suffice it to say that Dean Winchester is a sorcerer. 

He pushed up from beside me, smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “Thank you, Ms. Cruz. Try to get some sleep.” He made a subtle gesture to his partner, spurring him into action, then turned to survey the room with a narrowed gaze.

Agent Gass handed me a card. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

Well into the next day, my new home was under constant guard, filled by local law enforcement and various consultants. I didn’t see Agents Gass and Black again until two weird little guys with video equipment showed up. 

I walked out onto my side porch from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel, wondering what kind of new crew was on the case. By the time I made my way outside, Agent Black was there, hovering over the bearded guy with glasses.

“...I will shoot you, and you know I’m not fucking kidding,” he growled.

“Agent?” I asked, amused beyond reason at his violent threat and casually draping my dish towel over my shoulder. 

At this point, I’d been able to get some sleep and put a bit of time and space between my cognitive processes and the happenings surrounding Cami’s disappearance. So when that cocky little (there’s nothing little about Dean Winchester, OK, I’m being facetious) shit stretched those long, strong legs and climbed up onto my porch, I was fully aware and accepting of just how incredibly attracted to him I was.

He turned, his posture neutralizing and his eyes softening.

“Ms. Cruz. Yeah, hi...” He strode toward the porch. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doin’.”

“Gabi, Agent.”

He grinned wide as he took the last step to stand in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking to his heels and back. 

Such a little shit.

“Gabi… right.” He smirked, then glared over his shoulder at the newcomers. “These two botherin’ you?”

I peeked around him and shook my head before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “This’s the first I’ve seen of them. Coffee, Agent?”

He smirked. “Call me Dean.”

In hindsight, inviting him in for coffee was probably my first mistake. I could’ve offered coffee to him and those two boneheads from Wisconsin outside, but, as previously mentioned, I was busy derailing feminism. 

“How do you take it, Dean?” I asked, swiping one of the clean coffee mugs from an array of disorganized kitchenware yet to be shelved from the move. 

As I took the last two steps to my second-hand Nespresso machine, Dean remained silent, so I glanced over my shoulder before reaching for a coffee pod. He shook his head and blinked up from where he seemed to be mesmerized by something in the neighborhood of my hips.

“Black,” he answered with a lush, lopsided smile.

I nodded, then turned to focus on my task. “What brings you back this way? Is there something new with my case?”

“Uhh, yeah, actually — Agent Gass found some interesting things about the layout of this property on the county assessor’s website. D’you know this was a safe house in the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah.” I turned and handed the agent his coffee. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it and one of the attractions of the bed and breakfast.” 

He thanked me for the cup, eyeing me closely. “So you’re aware of the secret passages in the home? In the room where your sister was sleeping the night she disappeared?”

I shook my head. “What? No. There’s no passageway in my sister’s room, only in the basement and the outbuildings.”

Dean shook his head, holding my gaze. “There’s a full network of passageways in the exterior walls of this house, Gabi,” he continued slowly and pointedly. “Your sister could be trapped. We’d like to take a look at the room again.”

(The next night, over a post-orgasmic cigarette, Dean told me all about another structure he and his brother had cleaned out and sealed off. Someone had erected an apartment building on the execution site of America’s first serial killer. Because Dean Winchester, in addition to being exasperatingly sexy and good with his hands, is a ghost and monster hunter with his brother not-Agent Gass, they come across this kind of thing all the time, I now understand.)

Five minutes after agreeing to let them explore the alleged secret passageways, Agents Black and Gass were sans jackets, rolling up their sleeves, and peering into the mouth of the Rosebud Suite’s small closet. 

“So...” I paused, absorbing the confirmation that all the things I feared went bump in the night and more are real. “What do you think you’re gonna find in there? A ghost? Vampires? My twin sister’s disembodied head?”

For the first time since meeting them, the agents looked at me in alarm. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dean said, crossing the room to clasp a big, warm hand around my wrist and squeeze. “You’re twins?”

I nodded.

“Then if that twin stuff everybody talks about is real, you know she’s gonna be fine.” He smiled down at me with kindness. “All we know is that she’s missing, and we know the blood in the room is animal blood.”

Dean was right; I knew in my heart that Gabi would be fine, but as relieved as I should have been, I was suddenly much more disturbed on an entirely different level.

“Animal blood? No one told me this was animal blood. What the fuck is going on?!”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Agent Gass appeared at Agent Black’s side, and they exchanged looks before Agent Black continued.

“I dunno why the police didn’t tell you about the animal blood. Maybe they didn’t want to alarm you-”

“Alarm me? I’ve been walking around here worried Camila’s guts were all over one of my guest room walls. I’ve taken sooo much Xanax since Friday night. Is there anything else alarming I should know about?”

They looked at each other again for a beat before Dean shrugged.

“Those two little weirdos outside?” 

“Yeah?”

“They picked up readings that indicate the presence of a cursed object as well as confirmation of human life other than those of us in plain sight.”

I sighed, dropping my eyes to where Dean helpfully caressed my wrist.

“I feel like I’m in catechism... what’s a cursed object?”

I didn’t pull away because, like I said, his caress was very helpful.

“Just like it sounds. Somethin’, usually old, that’s been loaded up with black magic. If we can find it, we can cancel out the magic-”

“Black magic?! Who the fuck- wait, old?” 

Dean nodded, and sadly, he released my wrist.

“Oh, my god, the wine!”

The agents perked up at that and exchanged more silent looks.

“Gabi... where’s the bottle?”

When I say that I am unreasonably attracted to Dean Winchester, this is what I mean: watching him and the clean-shaven Ghostfacer pepper and ash an empty champagne bottle in a graveyard after telling me said bottle was “cursed” should have made me worry about their and my eternal soul like any other good Catholic girl, but no — I still took him to bed. 

Once we found Cami, of course.

“Cayenne pepper. Interesting.”

Dean unwedged the shotgun from propping his trunk of many wonders open before dropping it shut. “Not just for cookin’.” 

He shifted and swayed and sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets and fixed his crinkly, sparkling gaze on me with a lick of his smug smirk.

“Sam?” I asked about his gigantic younger brother, who was back at the house with the other Ghostfacer, rescuing my sister. “Does he have Camila?”

Dean’s face lit up, and his eyebrows popped. “Oh, yeah. She’s good. She’s talkin’ to the police.”

I sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

I must’ve looked like a frightened and exhausted child at that moment because Dean’s entire demeanor softened as he reached out to pull me in for a hug. His clothes and skin felt and smelled warm, and I started to cry into his white button-up. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re fine, and so’s Camila.”

This. Man.

This gorgeous, brave, smells-like-you-expect/hope/pray- for-Axe-body-wash-to-smell (but it doesn’t) man, holding me like a fragile doll and calling me sweetheart is the only man I have allowed to witness a sliver of vulnerability since my dad died. So you can imagine the abject horror I felt at the increasing flip-flop from my guts and the heat pulsing even lower. 

I’ve experienced attraction, okay? I’ve had romantic and sexual partners, I self-lubricate at appropriate times. I orgasm.

But the way Dean Winchester made me feel was so alarming that I have since added that feeling to the stack of alarming things happening after Camila and I opened that bottle of wine.

He loosened his embrace but didn’t pull away completely, looking down at me with curiosity in his tender gaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean ushered me to the front passenger door, opened it, and helped me inside. We were quiet as Dean drove back to my bed and breakfast. The silence allowed my thoughts to dance until he pulled into the alley behind my house.

“They’re just wrapping up with the cops,” Harry said, sliding forward with his phone in hand.

The lights were on inside. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, behind Cami, with one hand on the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a blanket, nodding her head at the men on the other side of the table, and Ed was in the corner, pocketing his phone.

It was all so clear, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and inside to hug my sister. 

“Whoa, gotta put the car in park, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, doing just that.

I guess I really couldn’t wait.

And then I was sprinting to the back door.

Like I said before, Cami is fine. She’s shook, but alive and breathing and not bleeding. I’ve never felt so sick and relieved at the same time or cried so hard. That experience didn’t only bag me the sexiest, warmest, most loving man alive, but it also further strengthened Cami and my priorities for each other. 

Dean kicked the cops out, and Sam made coffee for everyone (which Dean spiked). At some point, the little Ghostfacer dudes squirreled away into guest rooms for the night, Sam and Dean lost their ties, and Cami fell asleep draped across my lap where we were huddled in the front parlor.

“Sammy’ll put her to bed,” Dean whispered, gently tugging me to my feet as Sam indeed lifted Camila in a bridal carry. “Which room you want her in?”

“The one adjoining mine, east wing at the end of the hall.”

Sam nodded, and Cami mumbled, burrowing into his massive chest. He turned and swept toward and up the stairs into the quiet darkness.

“Is it really over?” I asked the house itself as much as Dean. Thankfully, only Dean answered.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I turned to face him, heaving a sigh. He watched me with that same inquisitive expression as the one from the graveyard, this time with his hands in pockets, sock-footed, sleeves neatly cuffed to his elbows, crisp white collar open at his throat — and he looked like he belonged there in the center of my parlor.

“Agent Black-”

“Yeah... about that...” He dropped his eyes for a beat before looking me in the eye with a renewed spark. “We’re not really federal agents.”

You might think that another surprise would send a person careening into catatonia, but not me. No. No, no, I laughed. I started laughing because it was fucking absurd — the whole thing was berserk, right? 

Cursed objects? Cayenne pepper as some kind of supernatural DEET? This remarkably handsome man existing? I was being Punk’d, right? Is that show still running? What is Ashton Kutcher doing these days anyway?

The answer to me being Punk’d is no. You might want to Google Ashton Kutcher because I still don’t know what he’s doing these days. 

Do I sometimes still stop feeding my chickens to look up at the clear blue sky and pinch myself in case this is all a dream?

The answer to that is yes.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. Sam’s my brother. We've been hunting ghosts and demons and-”

“Demons?!”

The good Catholic girl inside me stammered over that, and Dean nodded slowly, blinking even more slowly as he took a step and reached for me.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” he said with a tired smile and an easy clasp of my hand. “D’you mind if we get a few hours’ sleep first?”

I didn’t mind.

I led him upstairs. We peeked in on Cami, where Sam was watching over her, stretched out on the chaise in that room. They were both fast asleep. 

Dean followed me to my room, and I didn’t think twice about stripping myself bare as I made my way to my ensuite. Before I could conjure any pesky stranger-danger excuses, his hands were on me under the hot spray of water.

The next day, Cami dumped her boyfriend. I have a feeling she’d have done it even if the deadbeat had been assed to make the trip south during her 36-hour absence, but his ineptitude made it easy.

Turns out, the brothers Winchester are more than okay with Cami and my connection. Turns out, they’re more than familiar with that kind of connection too.

Dean molds himself to my back, pressing kisses to the side of my neck and the parts of my shoulder that are bared by my tank top. 

“Almost done? Sammy’s makin’ breakfast.”

I hum, letting him swallow me up. “Shower first?”

Ever since that very first night, Dean and I have showered together just in case the water’s cursed, and if it isn’t? Conservation. Right?

Plus, we really like giving each other orgasms.

Five minutes later...

“God damn, I love your mouth,” I sigh as water sluices over my shoulders and spirals my arms before filtering into his hair, where he’s burying his face between my thighs.

Dean’s let his hair grow lately, giving me a lot more to grab onto, not that he needs direction. (He has a beard, too, which wouldn’t normally be my thing at all, but because I know what’s under there, I’m good with it.)

He hums and licks and moans and sucks. The pressure’s always just right — never too much or not enough. I’ve never had anyone down there who knew as much about eating pussy as Dean Winchester. He’s good with his hands, his dick, and toys, too, but man, he loves giving head and is a mother fucking pro at it.

“Dean,” I gasp and flail, nearly busting through the shower curtain and toppling over the end of the claw-foot tub to my death.

Dean lunges up and hooks an arm around my hips, gathering me closer, and I explode.

“Mmm, such a good girl, Gabriela.” He licks his lips as he drags me into the tub with him. Water beats down on his back as he notches his hips in the place his face just vacated. 

I toss one calf over the back of the tub and watch Dean grip his hard dick to slip and slide along my slit. 

“Don’t tease me, Dean. Get inside.” I thrust my hips and reach for him. 

He cocks a brow, lifting my other knee to drape over the other side of the tub, punching the curtain, and slopping water onto the floor. “Honey, I ain’t teasin’; I’m goin’ easy on ya.”

“Pfft!” Now I’m panting like a dog with my ass suspended three inches above the base of the tub. “Who asked you to take it easy on me? I sure didn’t.”

Dean smirks, wrapping one big hand around one hip and steadily guiding himself inside. 

“Fuck.” I drop my head to the porcelain under me and clamp my hands around the edges of the vintage bath to take what he gives.

Every time.

Every time, he feels so perfectly hardhotsmooth, so thick, so heavy. 

And I can’t not stare because he is perfectly beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabi,” he whispers as he slides his other hand around my other hip and grinds into me.

“Uhhh!”

We both groan, and my back arches all by itself.

He tells me I’m beautiful, and sometimes it feels like a lie — not because I think he’s dishonest but because Dean Winchester is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.

He drags out slow, and thrusts back in hard and hot, swearing before biting his lip. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, tossing his head back into the fall of water before looking back down at me as he blinks water out of his eyes. Then he smiles wide and bright, almost like he’s laughing. “Hold on tight.”

I never take Dean’s warnings lightly.

He sets a hard rhythm, grunting with each thrust, and I echo.

“You look so good, baby — fuck me so good.” 

Dean’s a tough guy and everything, but he loves praise. I give him pet names and tell him how smart and strong he is. I am always sure to thank him for every little thing he does to help me. And he goes fucking crazy when I praise him for fucking me right.

“Give it to me,” I breathe, clenching around him. “I love your dick... so hard and thick — please, Dean.”

I can’t pretend with him, either. No praise I ever give him is lip service. I really do love his dick.

He pitches forward, bracing his hands on the edge above my head, stretched over me like a telephone wire, and that fucking shift-

“Hooofuck, I- ahh!” 

Dean arches and grinds up against my g-spot, pinning me in place until I burst.

“Yesyesyes!” Dean beats a hand against the side of the tub in time with my pulses and throbs around him. “Fuck, honey, yes.”

And then five minutes after that...

“All I’m saying is, if you want some alone time,” Sam actually uses air quotes. “Just say so, and we won’t wait. At the kitchen table. Directly beneath your bathroom.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cami and I stifle corresponding giggles.

“It’s not like I personally came down here and burned the toast,” Dean pretends to make sense as he folds a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon’s good.”

He looks to me for agreement, and I nod. 

“It is good bacon!” Then I look at Sam. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Cami guffaws. “No, you won’t!”

I playfully backhand her and shrug. “Probably not, but the bacon’s still good, and I love you guys.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, OK, I love you, too, Gab.”

“Hey, don’t be gettin’ my girl mixed up with yours.” Dean mumbles around a mouth full of food as he stabs into his pile of fried potatoes.

I peek over at Camila and catch her looking at me. A memory flashes in my mind of pink bubbly and shivering myself to sleep and that awful fear that my sister was gone forever. Then, Camila blinks, and I’m filled with the warmth of knowing she would return to me and that we would both live happily ever after with the perfectly imperfect Winchester brothers from Lawrence, Kansas.

MJ's Master List

MJ's SPN Master List

MJ's Dean Winchester Master List

What did you think?

[cow-goes-moozart]

Comte, walking into Leonardo's room: Hey Leon-

Leonardo: (throws a slice of cheese onto his wall, which is covered completely by other slices)

Comte:

Leonardo: I can explain.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Ikemen Vampire and Ikemen Prince The Chara Cafe menu

I love looking at collab cafe menus even if I'll never get a chance to go to one

Napoleon & Dazai & Isaac's courtship minestrone

Vincent & Theo's art's gratin plate

Leon & Jin & Sariel's assortment of appetizers surrounded by roses

Chevalier & Gilbert's black and white cheese risotto

Mozart & Jean's cake plate dedicated to you

Shakespeare & Faust & Charles' dangerous temptation parfait

Yves & Licht & Keith's elegant afternoon tea set

Clavis special! A rabbit cake that looks just like you

Leonardo & Comte & Sebastian flower tea set

Arthur bewitching sangria drowned in pleasure

Vlad mad love's strawberry milk with tapioca

Galileo and Drake mysterious lemon float

Nokto temptation's pineapple soda

Clavis pleasure's colorful soda

Luke relaxing honey jasmine tea

Rio & Silvio adoration and favoritism's drink

Which prince are you fond of? Rose hip tea

[alby-rei]

Comte's Ghost Mansion (IkeVamp; Luig's Mansion AU) Part 4

a/n: What do you mean this silly ghost AU has LORE??? What will you do against a playful ghost who can split himself into multiples? Only one way to find out! Happy reading~ ✨

Tags: Humor, Crack treated seriously, Luigi’s Mansion AU, Spooky scary spectral vampires, Ghostbuster MC Word Count: ~1900 words Characters: You, Sebastian, Ghost!Arthur Previous: Part 3 Next: Part 5

~*~

You returned to Sebastian, retelling the events of your incursion. The rain had stopped by now and the clouds parted. He scrawled furiously in his notebook, like your words were made of gold. You expected him to be mad at you for capturing a couple of his esteemed residents.

“While I should be, I’m more impressed that you succeeded at all. They’ll be fine. Keep up the good work.”

He took the Poltergust off your shoulders.

“I suppose an explanation is in order,” he said.

“About time, yeah.”

“Follow me.”

Sebastian ushered you into the garden shed. It was a lot bigger than its exterior suggested. Sebastian unlocked a compartment at the bottom of the machine. Two portrait paintings emerged, one for each captured resident. The musician maintained the scowl he wore upon capture while the trapeze artist smiled ear to ear with his eyes closed.

“He’s a writer actually,” Sebastian corrected you regarding the latter.

“A clown-ish one,” you added.

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s part of his charm. Come, I made you some food. You must be starving.”

“Yes, please!”

He asked for your choice of beverage, impressing you with the variety he listed. Alongside it, he brought you some bread, cheese, and a handful of washed grapes.

“I grew them myself in this garden,” said Sebastian, referring to the grapes.

You thanked him for the food. While nowhere near a full meal, it regained some of your energy.

“How long till the sunrise?” You asked.

“Not for another six hours or so.”

This was going to be a long night.

A yawn escaped past your lips, but you had no desire to sleep. You returned the conversation to the portrait paintings. Sebastian explained that the residents weren’t originally ghosts, but some mysterious event caused their spirits to roam at night.

One of the residents, a bright-minded inventor, built the Poltergust 1899 to take care of that. As the only unaffected human, it was Sebastian’s job to capture them, lest they escaped the mansion and never returned.

Every night, Sebastian patrolled the halls. And every morning, he placed the portrait painting above their bed to return the spirit to its vessel. When the residents woke up, they retained no memory of their ghostly wandering.

“And what made you think it was okay to put me in harm’s way?” You said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Harm? They won’t hurt you. Unless you disturbed them in some way, like I had specifically instructed you not to.”

You mumbled some excuse, but Sebastian was not convinced. What you had not noticed before were the dark circles under his eyes. Fighting off those ghosts was not so terrible, you persuaded yourself, and you had nothing else to do for the next six sleepless hours. It was kind of fun, in a strange way. A far departure from your regular life. And if it all turned out to be a dream, you wanted to see it through till the end.

After a good while of rest, you asked Sebastian to hand over the refueled Poltergust.

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re willing to go back in?”

“You, sir, still need to find me a way home. But until then, I’ll take care of it.”

He thanked you profusely and became quite animated. Upon seeing your shocked face, he pardoned his excitement and returned to his stoic self.

To ease your journey, he replaced the residents’ belongings in your pouch with a master key and a map.

You decided to explore the west wing this time. The first unlocked door revealed a massive library with aisles of bookshelves on two floors.

You’ve come to realize that everything in this mansion was so…grand. No wonder the butler looked tired. If he held sole responsibility for the whole manor’s upkeep, of course he would jump at the opportunity to enlist your help.

Walking by the bookshelves, your bookworm heart could not help but inspect the titles of each aisle. Most of them were written in French, some were in English, and the rest were new to you.

Something skittered down from the ceiling. It was a colony of cotton-like creatures with little bat wings and dotted black eyes. You waved the tube of the Poltergust at them, but they weren't affected by your presence. They seemed harmless. Cute, even.

"There you are, Sebas!" A voice called out behind you.

You tried to turn around, but you could not move, as though you were tied up. "Oh dear, you're not Sebastian at all." The voice lilted, sounding amused rather than disappointed.

"Let me go!" You wiggled as hard as you could. As you did, the invisible rope around you took shape as two tweed-covered arms.

"Easy there, dove. It wouldn't do for a pretty bird to injure itself in its haste."

You pushed your elbows as far back as you could; you just needed to reach the switch on the machine.

"Where are my manners? The name's Arthur, mystery writer at your service, but you can call me anytime." He winked.

Another writer, another clown. But some things were better left unsaid, you reminded yourself. You implored him again to release you.

“Humor me, why don’t you? I’ve been deprived of good company for so long.” You could practically see his pouty lips and puppy-dog eyes matching his tone. “Oh, I’ve got it! Let’s play a game, shall we?”

He let you go. Just as before, when you reached for the doorknob, it was locked. You readied your Poltergust 1899, bracing yourself for whatever he may throw at you.

When you turned back around, there were three of him. Three separate, identical copies of him. They all wore the same blue three-piece suit with a loose tie, just as they all wore the same cheeky grin.

“Turning your back in a duel may prove a fatal mistake, my dear,” said one of them. “But I am nothing if not a gentle-ghost. Here’s how this game works: Only one of us is the real Arthur. If you can catch the real me, you win. If you catch one of my clones, we get to play again.”

A one-in-three shot at nabbing the right one. Not the worst odds, you reckon, but choose incorrectly and you may find yourself stuck here way longer than your patience would allow. You had no negotiation power in the matter.

“Fine, I’ll play your little game.”

The three ghosts beamed excitedly, zipping around with incredible speed. They roamed freely in and out of the bookshelves. Every now and then, they would look back at you, like puppies making sure their master was still playing along.

It was one thing to play spot-the-difference when hovered side-by-side, it was another thing entirely when they were zooming around like children riding out a sugar rush. There must be some way to slow them down, you thought.

Your first attempt was to brute force it—aim at the nearest one and see what happens. You caught one on his path out of a bookshelf, but a well-timed levitating book took the hit and blocked the vacuum tube, allowing him to escape. It was a copy of ‘A Study in Scarlet’.

“Cheeky,” he lilted. “But I won’t go easy on you. Unless you could offer me something enticing in return.”

With every word he uttered, your desire to put him in his place only rose.

More books were pulled out of their stations to shield the frivolous phantoms. You tried to move them out of the way, similar to how you did with the violins, but these books were too light and stuck to your tube instantly. There was not enough resistance to redirect their course.

You needed a way to shoot them far enough to secure a capture.

You leaned against a bookshelf between the aisles to catch your breath. You had been running around with little success. Seeing you dispirited, the flirtatious triplets hovered around you, leaning out of the bookshelves with arms crossed.

“Well, this is no fun,” said the first in front of you.

“How about a hint?” said the second to your right.

“And a prize for your efforts!” said the third to your left.

While they chatted over ‘prize’ ideas, you look at each one properly. There actually were some differences between them. One of them, floating in front of you, pushed up his square-frame glasses, and you wondered if it had always been there. The one to your left wore a golden earring at the top of his right ear. It did not seem incorporeal like the rest of him. Like he wore it specifically for the occasion. The last one wore gloves of midnight black.

The earring bearer spoke next, “I can confidently tell you that I’m not the real Arthur.”

The one wearing gloves added, “In fact, he’s the real Arthur.” He pointed at the glasses-wearing ghost.

“Me?!” The accused shot back. “I say that’s a bold-faced lie!”

“And the best part,” said the third. “Only one of us is telling the truth. Good luck!”

And they were back to their zooming selves. The machine weighed you down the longer it remained on your back. It’s low rumble went from soothing to distracting as you tried to think.

If the second one is telling the truth…then the first one is lying. 

There was also the issue of the troublesome books that each one kept near and dear. You kept trying anyway. Each book that you caught was replaced by another. Half of the bookshelves were emptied by now. You wondered if there was a limit to their range. All the while, the frivolous phantoms observed your strategy with intrigue.

But if the first is lying, then there would be two real Arthurs. A contradiction.

The glasses-wearing one had a tendency to loop like an infinite symbol, like his course was predefined. The earring bearer always stayed in your vision, but just out of reach.

On the other hand, if the second is lying… then the glasses-wearer was telling the truth.

Another book obscured your aim. A copy of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. In your frustration, you reversed the strength dial a little too far, and it shot the book up onto the second floor of the library.

And if that’s the case, then the first is lying, too. It’s worth a shot.

“Hey! That was one of my favorites,” said the earring-bearing ghost. He turned to fly after it, and that’s when your opportunity arose.  

It must be you!

With a strong conviction, you cranked up the strength of the Poltergust and aimed at the retreating ghost.

“Looks like turning your back was your fatal mistake, sir.”

As soon as his tail was caught in the machine, the other two phantoms vanished in a show of smoke.

You heard something clank against the floor. It was the golden earring, and beside it was a little treasure chest. Inside it was a brilliant blue gem, and a message saying, ‘Best two out of three?’

You rolled your eyes, trying your best to push down the smile that made your cheeks hurt. The click of the library door signaled that it was unlocked again. You sighed with relief and made your way down the hall to the next target with Sebastian’s map as your guide.   

~*~

Tagging: @starlitmanor-network

Back to Masterlist

[clavissionary-position]

☀

It's a rare day when all the residents find time in their hectic schedules and individual dispositions to gather for a shared meal.

Though Vincent is the one who has your undivided attention this morning. As ever, your boyfriend fills the secret spaces between the seconds of every day with his buoyant, blooming presence.

I K E M E N V A M P I R E

theo vs. the world

☼. CONTENT WARNING : fluff . mentions of sex female reader . mansion bros being bros FEATURED CHARAS : All 12 residents WORD COUNT : 636

18+ blog . minors/ageless blogs DNI

"I've never been, but I would really like to!" Vincent normally has an ability to light up an entire room with his everyday smile, but when he gets excited, the effect is near-blinding. He is all but jumping out of his shoes, and if he shakes your hands any harder they will fall right off.

Comte gives a thoughtful hum from the head of the dining table. "The Moulin de la Galette tends to run cheaper than other establishments. If that's what's stopping you from staying within city-limits, then—"

Leonardo cuts him off with a sigh that’s somewhere between annoyed and playful. "It's not always about money, Comte. Maybe he just wants a night out with a couple of drinks under open stars. With his special lady of course."

“Indeed!” Dazai says as he finishes the last of his Dazai-made tofu. “There is a right way and there is a very right way to make love for an audience of—”

Theo interjects: "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't speak of Broer’s extracurricular activities."

“‘Extracurricular’, he says.” Arthur snorts. "Is there any time when you appreciate others speaking about Vincent?"

"If it's positive things," Theo begins swirling his pancakes around on his freshly-syrupped plate, "they can speak about him to their heart's content."

"And you wouldn't get jealous?" Napo asks as he steals a cube of cheese off Jean's plate.

"Why would he be jealous?" Mozart answers before Theo can. 

Theo turns back to Napoleon. "Exactly. Why would I be—"

"I follow what you are saying, Mozart," Jean cuts in. "If Theo carefully hides himself in the shrubbery as he usually does, he will be able to moderate any discussion of Vincent and step in as necessary. Napoleon. Please stop touching my cheese."

"What do you mean 'as usual'!?" Theo angrily stuffs a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, though even he isn’t above expressing awe at how deftly Napoleon parries Jean’s swatting fork.

Mozart shakes his head. "That's not exactly what I meant, Jean." But his words are lost to the backdrop of Theo's furious chewing.

"I don't" —Theo gulps before reaching for another forkful— “stalk Broer as he goes about his day. And that bush thing only happened once!"

"Twice," Isaac says, retrieving a plate of sandwiches from Sebastian and leaving the dining room with no further comment. 

Dazai stands up,checks his kimono sleeves for spare apples, then scuttles after Isaac.

Sebastian nods thoughtfully in the wake of Isaac's departure. "I would have to check my records, but I am fairly certain it has happened on at least four occasions."

"Records?" At least three people ask.

Shakespeare produces an elegant laugh over the rim of his morning alcohol. "I sometimes forget how humorous you all can be whilst distracted from your inner troubles."

Theo sets his fork down. He slowly slides his chair back, stands up, fixes his scarf, takes a deep breath—

The entire time that this conversation has been going on in the background, and even while Theo chases Shakespeare from table to window, and even after Shakespeare picks up Lumiere and chases Theo from window to door, Vincent explains to you about the unique amenities at the Moulin de la Galette.

"I'm really interested in painting that kind of lively atmosphere," he finishes. "Oh, you have some food—" He thumbs something off your cheek before sticking it in his mouth and continuing without missing a beat. "And I'd really like it if you would come with me."

~ fin

🥐 m a s t e r l i s t . txt

[nuttytani]

Free games that the ikevamp characters would play on their phone in the 21st century

a/n- no I am not reliving my childhood games through them nor am I being biased to certain characters laughs nervously

Theo secretly loves playing pancake tower on his phone. The excitement that he feels when he is able to break his highest current record is something else.

Jean enjoys playing once upon a tower. All you need to do is hit some goblins and stay away from a dragon, stress free game, wouldn't you agree?

Of course, Piano Tiles is most loved by our dear Mozart. Yes, he started playing it just to make fun of it but is now ironically... playing it like his music career depends on it. Later on he discovered project sekai, which he has to say, is close to becoming his most favourite game overall.

Do you remember Fruit Ninja? Yeah that game, guess who loves playing it? Our poster boy, Napoleon. Slicing these bad ass fruits with swords that have different effects is just chef kiss for him

Arthur LOVES LOVES LOVES playing dangerous fellows. No I am not taking any criticism on this, he just loves it, okay? Oh his close second is Mystic Messenger. The weird chat timing doesn't bother him because he barely sleeps on time, and it's always a nice break in the middle of 3 am.

Candy crush is Comte's favourite. No one knows why. He just enjoys it.

Vincent doesn't like playing much, but when he's in the mood, he adores my little terrarium, it's super relaxing for him.

Dots and Co., is Leonardo's jam. He installed the app on a whim but ended up getting addicted to it. Plays it whenever he's not sleeping or is free.

Dazai is also not really a fan of playing games, but tap tap fish is close to his heart. No stress, just cute little aquatic animals.

Does anyone remember unholyc? It was quite the hype like some time ago, Shakespeare got curious and installed it to see what it was about. He doesn't regret getting it

Sometimes, the mansion residents and shakespeare have game nights. They all play among us while voice chatting through discord.

(hit the image limit, so....no line break RIP)

taglist: @spoopy-fish-writes @ahanenohi @cheese-ception @tsubaki3192 join my taglist if you wish to be notified of my posts! (also pinned on blog)

[yanderepuck]

6 more days~

Prompt: Wedding Planning (fluff)

You have been planning this for months now. You finally have the colors picked out, the theme, the food you're going to have. Everything needs to be perfect.

Faust keeps saying to just have your wedding at the church but you don't want that. Nor do you want Faust to marry the two of you. Plus you think Charles would rather have him as his best man.

When you announced your engagement, Vlad and Comte started arguing about who would give you away.

All of the guys at the mansion are trying to help you with planning, either it's making the food, or making the cake. You don't want them to be a part of the wedding, you just want them to enjoy and not stress about it, which would be easier if you weren't so stressed.

You and Charles picked the date a few months back, and you only have a few months to get everything together, which is why you both are going to go test cake today.

You walk through town holding hands, walking to one of your favorite bakeries. Charles talked to them a few days ago asking if they would do your wedding cake and they said they would make a few samples for you two to try.

"What kind of cake were you thinking of having?"

"Whatever kind you like," he smiles

You playfully give him a push. "Noo. Really. Did you want a normal cake or something flavored. I don't want you to say you like it just because I do."

He gives it a thought. "I don't want chocolate. It's very dry to me."

You nod and think. "I don't want pistachio."

"Pistachio? Like the nut? I wouldn't want that either," he makes a sour face, making you laugh.

"Having a bunch of flowers on it would be so pretty, don't you think?" You were thinking about having a bunch of flowers made of icing all over the cake, all in the colors you two chose.

"Flowers? How would- oh! You mean made of icing."

"Yes, silly," you kiss his cheek and in a few minutes you are at the bakery.

The owner brings out a tray of small sample sizes of cake along with different kinds of icings and fillings.

Charles picks up a fork and goes to try one of the pieces while you do the same, but he redirects his hand and the fork goes into your mouth.

You were surprised but ate it anyway, and fed him with your fork.

After trying them all you move to the fillings and the icings.

"What if we do a lemon cake with a raspberry filling," Charles offers.

You both really liked the idea of fruit filling between a buttercream.

"I don't know about lemon. I liked the red velvet but I don't want a cream cheese icing," you pout and lick the rest of the icing off your fork. "What if everyone else doesn't like lemon?"

Charles chuckles, he had a feeling that's why you didn't want to go with it. "But it's our cake. That just means there's more for us."

He uses his thumb to wipe a crumb off the side of your mouth.

You look back at what your options were. No chocolate. Vanilla is too plain. You don't want raspberry or strawberry since your filling is already raspberry.

"Lemon it is!" You face lights up, excited to already get the cake you have imagined in your head.

You talk with the baker explaining what you want it to look like. This is definitely a lot of cake for the small guest list that you have, but it's going to look so beautiful.

After being in there for an hour you two finally leave.

"Where to now mon amour?"

"I don't know about you, but I get to go try on dresses," you smile. You know Comte is willing to spend any amount of money for your wedding dress.

He gives you his puppy dog pout. "Does that mean I can't come?"

"You don't get to see it until our wedding day," you poke his nose and smile. "Why don't we meet up later for dinner. I'll meet you at the park in a few hours?"

"If I must go a few hours without your beautiful face then I guess I must," he kisses your lips. "Whatever you pick I'm sure it will be beautiful."

You kiss him back. "I love you," you finally let go of.his hands and start walking.

"I love you more~"

"I love you the most," you giggle and rush off to the bridal shop.

[a-night-at-the-masquerade]

Hands you a basket of Gouda, Brie, American Cheese, Pecorino Romano, Cheddar, Manchego, Camembert, Smoked Gouda, Provolone, Babybel, Parmesan, Mascarpone, Mozzarella, Asiago, Feta, Le Gruyere AOP, Gorgonzola, Monterey Jack, Stilton, Abbaye de Belloc, Taleggio, Grana Padano, Swiss, Boursin, Cotija, Fontina Val d’Aosta, Roquefort, Blue Vein Cheese, Emmental, Grana, Jarlsberg, Mozzarella di Bufala, Pepper Jack, Munster, Bocconcini, Fromage Frais, Ricotta Salata, Cream Havarti, Scamorza, Fromage a Raclette, Chevre, Pecorino, Burrata, Halloumi, Aged Gouda, Fresh Mozzarella, Colby, Limburger, Paneer, Queso Blanco, Port-Salut, Adelost, Abondance, Butterkase, Brillat-Savarin, Comte, Camembert de Normandie, Reblochon, Longhorn, Oaxaca, Airag, Abbaye du Mont des Cats, Saint Agur, Cottage Cheese, Panela, Acapella, Fresh Truffles, Romano, Wensleydale, Double Gloucester, Red Leicester, Abbaye de Citeaux, Colby-Jack, Caciocavallo, Crottin de Chavignol, Cream Cheese, Zanetti Parmigiano Reggiano, Juustoleipa, Baby Swiss, Le Roule, Brie de Meaux, Berkswell, Fresh Ricotta, Maasdam, Canadian Cheddar, Ambert, Tommes, Cantal, Menonita, Crescenza, Queso Ibérico, Crema Mexicana, Sage Derby, Geitost, Brick, Kasseri, Bel Paese, Affidelice au Chablis, Pave d’Affinois, Muenster, Danablu, Acorn, Afuega’l Pitu, Abbot’s Gold, La Vache Qui Rit, Buffalo, Caerphilly, Tomme de Chevre, Bath Cheese,Epoisses de Bourgogne, Cheshire, Neufchatel, Blue Castello, Basket Cheese, Saint-Nectaire, Cabrales, Stinking Bishop, Cotswold, Sainte Maure, Applewood, Fiore Sardo, Dolcelatte, Pont l’Eveque, Cahill’s Irish Porter Cheddar, Zanetti Grana Padano, Langres, Seriously Strong Cheddar, Il Boschetto al Tartufo, Appenzeller, Montasio, Ossua-Iraty, Ami du Chambertin, Vignotte, Wigmore, Humboldt Fog, Saint-Paulin, Brie de Melun, Maytag blue, Armenian String Cheese, Délice de Bourgogne, Kashkaval, Bra, Abbaye de Belval, Quark, Valencay, Provel, Pule, Etorki, Banon, Morbier, Boulette d’Avesnes, Breakfast Cheese, Caciotta, Idiazabal, Bavarian Bergkase, Allgauer Emmentaler, Bresse Bleu, Airedale, Livarot, Mimolette, Tomme de Savoie, Toma, Burgos, Ardrahan, Danbo, Requeson, Aisy Cendre, Ragusano, Castelmagno, Saint-André, Aged Chelsea, Caravane, String, Chaource, Bleu des Causses, Huntsman, Yorkshire Blue, Cougar Gold, Coulommiers, Tillamook cheddar, Beenleigh Blue, Danish Feta, Brin d’Amour, Somerset Brie, Ardi Gasna, Zamorano, Dry Jack, Vacherin Fribourgeois, Lincolnshire Poacher, Caprice des Dieux, Bandal, Creamy Lancashire, Queso Fresco, Petit-Suisse, Aragon, Oxford Blue, Manouri, Grève, Maroilles, Derby, Bierkase, Crowdie, Vacherin, Marbled Cheeses, Queso Para Frier, Chabichou du Poitou, Marble Cheddar, Soumaintrain, Esrom, Boursault, Bosworth, Leyden, Chaumes, Cotherstone, Explorateur, Tyning, Anneau du Vic-Bilh, White Stilton with Mango & Ginger, Perail de Brebis, Cabécou, Anthotyro, Hereford Hop, Saint-Marcellin, Alverca, Fleur du Maquis, Baladi, Quartirolo Lombardo, Waterloo, Brocciu, Bleu de Laqueuille, Brie au Poivre, Sonoma Jack, Cold Pack, Beyaz PeynirMamirolle, Tomme Brulee, Tetilla, Spenwood, Autun, Coeur de Camembert au Calvados, Beemster Extra Aged, Kapiti Kikorangi, Rocamadour, Dauphin, Baguette Laonnaise, Fougerus, Leerdammer, Aromes au Gene de Marc, Piave Vecchio, Mascarpone Torta, Cashel Blue, Wensleydale w/ Cranberries, Golden Cross, Picos de Europa, Finn, Vasterbottenost, Bryndza, Parrano, Canestrato, Flower Marie, Sap Sago, Myzithra, Mothais a la Feuille, Mycella, Salers, Gammelost, Shropshire blue, Kadchgall, Raschera, Harbourne Blue, Wellington, Gloucester, Vulscombe, Basing, Capricorn Somerset Goats Cheese, Cuajada, Graviera, Filetta, Olde York, Brebis de Lavort, Australian Blue Vein, Roncal, Exmoor Blue, Australian Washed Rind Cheese, Carre de l’Est, Mun-chee, Rigotte, Hushållsost, Cornish Yarg, Brin, Devon Blue, Buchette d’Anjou, Bishop Kennedy, Murol, Laguiole, Toscanello, Royalp Tilsit, Double Worcester, Bougon, Torta del Casar, Tete de Moine, Sancerre, Danish Fontina, Bergader, Pavé d’Auge, Pinconning, Stinky Cum, and Saint Albray.

NOT AGAIN