#the price of salt fanfic

[blackacre13]

Can we have some top!carol & bottom!therese smut where Therese is playing a song for Carol on the piano and Carol comes up behind her and fucks her right on the piano bench?

“That’s beautiful,” Carol murmured, her hands settling on Therese’s shoulders as she closed her eyes listening to the soft piano melody flowing through the room.

“That’s familiar,” the brunette smiled, proud of herself that Carol’s hands on her shoulders now seemed comfortable and loving, no bolt of sudden shock rippling through her arms and neck like they once had. Now this was a combo occurrence as Therese liked to play for at least a half an hour every day. Carol often liked to watch, leaning against the wall, admiring the younger woman from afar or sitting on the bench beside her, watching the motion of Therese’s fingers. Sometimes, she merely listened. Curling up on the couch with a book or merely sitting in a state of almost-meditation as she let the notes waft through the air, her shoulders gently swaying.

“You’re beautiful,” the blonde whispered, her hands continuing to trail down There’s shoulders and towards her chest, fingers softly dipping behind the fabric of Therese’s sweater.

“I’m nothing compared to you,” Therese chuckled, shaking her head, the notes continuing but growing softer and lighter.

Carol’s hands slid out of her sweater and snaked down her arms, stopping on top of the brunette’s hands, holding them still against the keys, the final notes vibrating in the air, Therese’s body vibrating against her.

“Am I allowed to distract you, dearest?” Carol asked, her lips trailing down down the brunette’s neck, to her shoulder as Therese let out a soft sigh. “You’re being too hard on yourself with this piece. There’s no concerto to prepare for, love. Just your sweet music in the air and you know I already think you are perfection.”

“Carol,” Therese chuckled lightly. “I’ve still got ten more minutes.”

“Who’s keeping tabs?” 

“Me,” Therese grinned.

“Let me finger you now and you can finger those keys all you want while I make dinner.”

“Carol!” Therese, hissed, her hands fumbling as the keys made an awkward, rippled sound as they fell messily across the keys.

“You don’t even have to move,” Carol murmured, one hand slipping from Therese’s own and falling to the brunette’s thigh before sliding up and under her skirt, ghosting towards the cotton of her underwear. She started to rub slow circles against the fabric of the panties, Therese closing her eyes as her head fell back against Carol’s chest. “Doesn’t this feel nice, darling? Don’t you want more of this?”

“I—Carol I—“

“Mm?”

“I’m out of excuses,” Therese squeaked, letting her own hands fall, trying to reach behind her to touch any part of Carol she could grab without seeing her. Hips. Thighs. Belly.

“So wet for me already,” Carol purred, Therese starting to teeter on the piano bench trying to seek more friction, the fabric still in the way of what she really wanted from Carol. “Tell me, dearest. What would you have me do?”

“I—I want you.”

“You have me.”

“I want you,” Therese swallowed. “Inside me.”

“Like this?” Carol hissed, her fingers disappearing behind the fabric of Therese’s underwear completely, dragging along her slit as Therese whined, up and down and up and down, Therese starting to get visibly agitated as she let out a grumble only for Carol to plunge her fingers deep, Therese letting out a moan as Carol pushed inside, starting to pump in and out.

“Oh god, Carol,” Therese exhaled, her hands balling into fists against the bench. “Please, baby. Please. Let me.”

“You’ll be good for me if I let you?” Carol smirked against Therese’s cheek. “You’ll do whatever I ask?”

“Anything, Carol,” Therese gasped. “Please—please let me—Fuck!” Therese gasped, falling over the edge suddenly, Carol’s fingers still inside her as she pulsed around her, her chest falling forward towards the keys.

“You’re so good for me, dearest,” Carol purred. “So beautiful. And as much as I love how you play—this is what’s music to my ears. Those pretty sounds you make for me.”

[boldstarks]

Ysabel Lantell

name: Ysabel Lantell

born: 112 AC at Lannisport (Age 20 in "The Black Queen")

alias(es): Lady Ysabel, Her Lannister Highness, Blonde Bitch, Lannister Bitch, Ysabel Greyjoy

title(s): Lady, Salt Wife

religion: Faith of the Seven

culture: Westerman

significant other(s): Dalton Greyjoy (husband/captor)

family: Tybalt Lantell (father), Ysilla Lannister (mother), Jace Lantell (older brother), Jason Lantell (older brother)

issue(s): Hake Greyjoy (son), Rogar Greyjoy (twin son), Ysilla Greyjoy (twin daughter)

status: Alive

allegiance(s): House Lannister, House Lantell, House Greyjoy (by force)

appearance(s): Salt Water, My Tumblr Profile

notable feature(s): Lannister Blonde Hair, Hazel Eyes

portrayed by: Jodie Comer in The Last Duel and The White Princess

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[lilliumrorum]

What does he have that I don't? (Pilot)

<<Previous | Masterlist | Next>>

Synopsis: After a long and very much tiring solo mission, you head back to the base and report to your Captain. When you finally got home, you found your boyfriend of 2 years in another's mouth.

WC: 0.8k

Content/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Angst, Cheating.

Notes: This is my first time writing a fanfic, so please don't attack my ass too bad if it's shit.

Going weeks (sometimes even months) without seeing your lover was normal in your shared line of work. Simon had seemed accustomed to it, almost content with you not being around. Being Simon Riley, however, he could barely handle your relationship. Many nights would end with the lights shutting off, Simon shutting down as well. If you tried to even curl up next to him, he would shove you away forcefully. You knew he didn't love you anymore, but you kept denying it. You knew that very night when he left you in bed with no aftercare, with no second glance, and departed to "do some work," he really just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want you anymore, but like a persistent pebble in a shoe, you stubbornly stayed with him.

In your heart, you felt a deep loneliness, the person you thought was your anchor now seems distant and uninterested. Neglect has crept into your relationship, leaving you longing for the love and attention that used to be there. Each day seems like a quiet plea for connection, as his actions show a noticeable change in emotions. The small, affectionate gestures that defined your love story are replaced by an unsettling emptiness. In silence, you face the painful truth that the love you once cherished might be slipping away, and you went through the emotions that come with the fading passion you once shared.

You've been facing the painful realization that Simon's lost interest in your relationship. The passion and desire you once shared had faded, replaced by distance and disinterest. Simon's actions, or lack thereof, show a decline in physical intimacy and affection. Longing for the connection you had left you feeling unfulfilled and undesirable. Dealing with the emotional strain of this shift in attraction became a source of heartache as you navigated the complex emotions of a fading intimate connection with him.

"Sergeant?"

Your Captain's questioning voice quickly brought you back to reality. His salt-and-pepper hair and subtle crow's feet added character to his face, and his inquisitive look was accentuated by the movement of his mustache along with his lips.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you alright? you seem on edge still."

The Captain's concern for you was evident in the genuine worry etched across his face. His questioning voice took on a tone of care, reflecting his kind yet impatient personality. As he looked at you with genuine concern, the words he spoke mirrored the sincerity in his eyes, emphasizing the depth of his worry and the genuine connection between Captain and Sergeant. He knew what was wrong. He could instantly tell what was bothering you. Price was aware of how you were discarded, as if you were nothing. He had seen that sullen, tired, lifeless look in your eyes every time his lieutenant was mentioned. Though he had knowledge of your situation, he would never pry into your affairs, despite his great concern.

"Of course, just a smidge tired. That's all." You shot him a lazy grin.

"Take care of yourself, Sergeant."

He motioned toward the door, indicating that you could be dismissed.

"And {name}, Great work. I'm proud of how much effort you put into your assignments." He smiled.

"Thank you, Captain," you quickly saluted and left the office.

Beginning the long and unpleasant walk back to your shared Room on base, many thoughts began to run through your mind. Usually, Simon would ask when you were coming home. However, that stopped months ago. Simon would buy you a large bouquet of flowers and hand them to you as soon as you entered the door. After a night of lovemaking, he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear. But one cannot change time. Oh, how you wish you could. You've tried to talk to him, but he would just respond with the clicking of his teeth or even wave you off.

You missed the moments that once filled your heart with tenderness. The wish to turn back time and revive the warmth is a constant thought. Trying to talk to Simon only results in indifferent grunts or dismissive gestures, highlighting the growing divide. The once vibrant thrumming of your heart is now silent, and the journey back to your room becomes an exploration of a changing relationship, where communication is elusive, leaving you to chart the emotional terrain alone.

You haven't the slightest clue why you stayed, why your heart still melted at the sight of him. You still loved him. You told yourself over and over that this wasn't the Simon you knew and that this was Ghost. Your stubborn heart wouldn't listen.

"Shit, that walk was fast." You murmured to yourself, the room coming into view.

You don't even bother to knock, too worn out to even care if you were shouted at. The anticipation of reprimand looms, and the weariness you carry is met with the potential for Simon's raised voice, making every move a delicate dance around his disapproval.

You could not believe what was taking place right before your eyes.

More notes: Sorry this is so short, remember that this is my first time writing!! This will be a series!:) I am planning on starting part one tonight and posting it tomorrow!!

[la-imp]

AVATAR RECOM HEADCANONS - INTRO

Recoms!Deja Blu Unit - Science"Puke"! Reader

This is my first headcanon series and I am incredibly nervous because there are so many good ones out there already. I have read quite a few amazing headcanon series by various blogs who practically carry the whole Avatar Fanfic scene, which I am really grateful for! I know these sorts of scenarios have been done a lot by now, but I wanted to get one out and put my own spin on it. I hope to write more and update this series as well as take in requests, one-shots, etc, expanding on the characters as much as I can. I hope you enjoy! Avatar has consumed my life, lol...

Disclaimer: I do not own AVATAR, nor do I own its creative properties and original characters. I do, however, own the 'reader' character as well as other created figures that do not appear in the Avatar films, video games, or comic books. Characters involved: Miles Quaritch, Lyle Wainfleet, Alexander Ja, Mansk, Zdindarsk aka Z-Dog, Zhang, Lopez, Fike, Warren, Walker, Prager, Brown - mentions of Jake Sully

Plot Summary: The story takes place during the events of TWOW, right before the great reef battle. I won't spoil any crucial plot details (for those who haven't watched the movie yet), so I'll end it there. The reader is a militant medic with a biochemistry background, now assigned special care to ensure Project Phoenix's success. As their body chemistry is quite different and unique from that of humans, they require some help getting used to their new vessel. This is where you come in... and boy... you were not prepared for this. A bunch of Na'vi Human hybrids at the peak of their prime, fuelled by hormonal rage, primal instincts, and a knack for vengeance, they sure as hell turned your daily life topsy turvy. To them, you were nothing more than another science puke here to bore them out of their minds,  even though you had some military training as well. It is up to you to show them otherwise. To earn a place in their ranks.

Will (y/n) be able to handle this task or eventually fold like the others?

Warning(s): Cursing - Mild bullying - Negging - Foul language - Playful flirting

Content: SFW (Minors DNI) The reader is human and female. I plan to write specific headcanons for each individual character, but this was just a very long and detailed starter in order to get the ball rolling. Also this is not proof-read, so take this with a grain of salt. Happy reading! (also English is not my first language, so please bear with me) ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hailing from a gentle background of academics and artists, you've decided to take a completely different route from what your family had destined for you. Going against their wishes and dissapointing a few members here and there was a price you were willing to pay in order to fulfill a lifelong dream. The prize of independence. Or perhaps you were tired of people telling you what you could and couldn't do. The idea of an adventure, exploring new worlds and galaxies, far far away from home was far more attractive than spending your years trying to fix a dying planet. But you also had a knack for helping and aiding those in need. Being a healer with a vast background of medicine and herbs only came natural to you. And as you graduated top of your class, you sought a new challenge. So you joined the space force. Military training was hard but you managed adquedately.  And as you finally becamea full-fledged medic, you signed a contract with the RDA to be shipped off to Pandora.

Save to say, the six years of light-year travel did take a toll on your body. It was often emphasized that dreams do not occur during cryo sleep. Yet, your case was the opposite. Over and over you saw visions of a lush, prehistoric forest that almost looked magical and foreign. Due to overpopulation and pollution, nature seized to exist altogether back on earth, so thinking of what this mythical Pandora may look like, sparked a fire in the pits of your stomach. You began to wonder if these dreams held any meaning to them... or if it was just your brain chemistry running haywire during the cryogenic sleep. The closer you got, the giddier you grew - excited and electrified at the idea of setting foot on one of the most precious planet known to man. Perhaps in the entire universe.

After your space shuttle finally docked at the RDA's space station, you were quickly briefed on your assignment by the announcers, guiding you to the nearest secretary. The secretary looked over her glasses and tossed you an illegible glare before sighing with a shake of her head, handing you your paperwork. "May God have mercy on you," she mumbled before calling for the next candidate. You took the papers hesitantly, brows furrowing in confusion before your eyes cast down on  on these said documents. Your eyes widened as your heart nearly sank. You were assigned to assist military Avatar personnel? You looked back up at the lady who was now grinning at you, a glint playing in her gaze. "Fresh meat for the grinder. It's a bit crass they decided to assign a small girl such as yourself to help these beasts," You slowly nodded, an awkward semi-smile forming on your lips, "I guess I like a challenge," you said, tone matching her sarcastic one. You have studied them for three years now, after all. You were prepared.

A few labcoats accompanied by a good portion of cleanroom suits were helping you find your way before passing you your exopack mask. It was the first time you'd ever seen one of those from up close. The concept of not being able to breathe the atmosphere was somewhat daunting. But it was something you had to get used to if you wanted to survive Pandora's 'Adapt or Die' rules. Wasting no time, you quickly strapped them on and secured the clasps, allowing the small piece of machinery to flood your nostrils with fresh oxygen. Impressed, you found it was much clearer and cleaner than that of Earth's... sadly enough.  You then remembered the comment from the secretary earlier on, echoing in your mind over and over again until it festered in the back of your subconscious. Anxiety began to take a hold of you, shaking your confidence ever so slightly.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you then issued a curt nod to your superiors who lastly gave you a clipboard, detailing all of your duties and rank among the Recom unit members. "Ready, greenhorn?" Dr. Vasquez piped up, drawing you from your trance. You blinked at him with a wide-eyed deer-caught-in-headlights look, lips parting, "Y-yeah." he chuckled in response to your nervousness before slapping a hand on your shoulder in confidence. "Don' worry, they may look very scary at first glance, but you will soon realize they are professionals just like us, alright?" You nodded, swallowing the lump down your throat before clamping the board beneath your armpit. "Alright then kiddo, let's rock'n'roll," he said with a smirk before punching in a security code to unlock the doors to the decompressors.

The air was filtered to fit the atmosphere of the recoms. Which was in turn, extremely toxic to humans. Unconscious in twenty seconds - dead in four minutes. The prospect didn't sound like very glamorous death. As the door opened, a hiss emitted from the pressure, giving way to the bright light of the sun peaking through the glass windows. Vasquez marched forward before beckoning you to join him. Upon entering, the energy of the room immediately shifted. It was almost palpable to the touch.

A good part of your confidence was chipped away once you laid your eyes on your future teammates. Breath nearly caught in your throat. To say they were tall was a big understatement. They were huge - as a matter of fact - larger than life! Nothing could've prepared you for this. Most of them stood at around ten feet and nearly scraped the ceilings if they hadn't been adjusted to meet their physiology. You continued to saunter forward, one tentative step at a time, eyes still glued to their physiques without so blinking an eye. Their bodies were even more strange, striking you with awe. Slender, graceful, svelte, yet powerful. The complexion was a deep cyan or darker powder blue, decorated in interesting patterns and luminescent dots, all accompanied by a long prehensile tail that idly swung from side to side, giving them a more animalistic edge. They were all broad-shouldered, even the women, as you scanned the room with all the blue-skinned individuals lurking about, their poise signifying a certain strength and fortitude that of a warrior. They could easily toss a person across the room and break every single bone in their body with one blow if they wished.

Eyes were striking like molten gold peering from the shadows, intensely following your every move. Their previous chatter immediately died down as their eyes glued to you and the other scientists. Vasquez took his position next to someone who seemed much more commanding and authoritive compared to the rest. He stood slightly taller and wore a khaki tanktop, exhibiting a set of toned, muscular arms placated on his hips. You caught a glimpse of his tattoo on his left arm. A black eagle. A remnant of his previous life? Or something to distinguish himself from the others, perhaps?

The way he walked with a certain swagger, taking a stance next to Vasquez, sharp yellow eyes peering into the hall, had you nearly choke on your own saliva. He was an intimidating man,  "As you all know, we are sent here to accomplish a mission that we couldn't last time. To hunt down and terminate the leader of the Na'vi insurgency, Jake Sully.  And in order to ensure our success, we have been assigned our personal medical officers who specialize in Na'vi physiology. They make sure none of us step out of line and patch us up during missions. Treat 'em with respect, ya hear? They are as much our responsbilities as we are theirs," his tone was a low, commanding drawl, hinting at his possible origin back from Earth. He also sounded a tad older than his bio stats suggested.

"Wait, we're going to have these science pukes tag along?" Someone groaned in the background.

Doctor Vasquez nudged you with his elbow before whispering something into your ear. So he was the colonel. Colonel Miles Quaritch. The leader of the first recombinant unit Deja Blu, the first Avatar squad produced by Project Phoenix. Vasquez then nodded and brought you and another male medical officer. Thankfully you weren't alone. And as you peeked into the crowd, practically feeling their eyes rake over your forms in a very scrutinizing manner, you wished there were more human scientists to accompany you. "Listen up Recoms," Vasquez announced, matching Quaritch's energy. Which you had noticed, was now glancing at you over his shoulder with a lazed stare. You quickly turned away, hating that all of their attention was on you now. Just great. "Those are your new medical officers," he gestured to both you and your counterpart, earning him a few whispers and hushed conversations between the Na'vi hybrids. The heavily tattooed individual grunted loudly, expressing a clear distaste at the fact.

You watched as the one with the camo cap began to chuckle before leaning over to the tattooed female with the mohawk, gossiping something into her ear. Your eyes narrowed at her, hoping to God they weren't talking shit about you. The male medic next to you semed quite nervous himself, almost glistening with a faint sheen of sweat whenever the light hit his complexion. Oh man... what a great start. "This here is Mr. Ryan," Vasquez said confidently and clamped a hand on his shoulder before pulling you to his side with a toothy grin, "And this is Miss (y/n). They're going to do a quick checkup on your vitals before we make land on Pandora. Their status reports will affect your mission. If you have any further questions regarding any of that, feel free to ask them. Good luck and have fun," he said before departing, giving you a two-finger salute before vanishing out the door.

For a moment, you wished he hadn't abandoned you so soon, but as you stood there, again with the hundred yard stare, you instantly began pulling out your clipboard, training your eyes on the papers rather than the giant soldiers around you. Quaritch cleared his throat before stepping forward, closing in on your proximity. The heat practically rolled off of him. Almost radioactive in a sense. "Right. Welcome to the crew," he said as a deep rumble of chuckles resonated within the hall. You flicked your attention back on them, seeing as their expressions turned from scrutiny to amusement. The one with the hat flicked his chin toward Ryan, "So you get to touch us all around?" Ryan nodded cautiously, "Yes, in a sense. We need to do some physical checkups to make sure your bodies haven't mutated or caught any diseases on the way here and-"

"So you're gonna be cupping my big blue balls, too?" he said, making an obscene gesture as the team burst out in synchronized laughter. Mr Ryan pursed his lips in frustration. You felt his pain, it was nearly palpable.

You were so not ready for this... "Shut your horny mouth, Ja!" one of the female recoms hollered, smacking him on the back of his head.

Judging by the 'joke', you came to the conclusion that they were full-blooded jarheads. You sighed before ticking something off your clipboard. "And what about her? Is she good with her small hands?" At this your eyebrows twitched before you began searching for the miscreant of this statement. Seeing as the one with the bandana had crooked a finger at you. "Man, she does look cute tho... tiny lil thing. What's good, mama?" their banter continued, slapping and fist bumping each other, having the time of their lives. What a fucking farce - you thought to yourself begrudgingly. The behavior reminded you of teenagers experiencing the surge of hormones for the first time. You couldn't believe Vasquez had vouched for their professionalism. Perhaps he was in on the joke as well. "Shut your pie holes. They're here to help, not entertain you, you fucking lowlifes. Treat'em with respect or I'll have your ass handed back to the infirmary, you get me?!" Quaritch's voice boomed, immediately silencing the lively chatter among his subordinates.

Looking over at the colonel, you saw his hardened, chiseled features directed toward you with an unreadable expression. His pointed ears were tucked back against his head as he issued you a small nod. You repaid him with the same respect and inclined your head in acknowledgment before moving on to your first patient. "Brown?" you said, louder than originally intended before you flicked your gaze around the room, searching for any response. "Steven Brown?" you repeated with a bit more clarity. The mohawk lady merely snorted with arms folded, watching you as you searched for your first victim. Suddenly a blue hand lifted, alerting you of your designated recom, seeing that he looked a little less grim and intimidating. Although equally large, he seemed a bit more approachable, in your eyes at least. With that being said, it wasn't exactly a joyride pushing and squeezing yourself through, as some of them actively made an effort of staying rooted to the spot, entertained at your slight struggle. You could have sworn hearing someone wolf whistle at you but you pushed those thoughts aside when you reached your destination.

He was slightly shorter than the rest, not that you could tell right away as he was seated on one of the benches slightly hunched over, his posture overly lax. Much like the others, he sported that classical short military haircut and fade. "Alright doc, whaddya got for me?" he drawled with a certain bite. You decided not to overanalyze everything, as you were already extremely nervous. You meanwhile scribbled down all of the data before setting the clipboard down, looking him in the eye. He remained there, sitting there in silence, monitoring you with a peculiar glint playing in his topaz irises. "Alright, Mr. Brown, could you please stretch out your right arm? I need to take some samples and check your haemogram if that is alright with you," you explained as you flashed him a polite smile while the convos in the background resumed.

Brown simply nodded and muttered a small 'sure thing' before complying with your wishes. Once he extended his appendage, you got a chance to examine it closely - realizing just how large and sinewy his arm was. The texture was interesting too, differing not much from human skin, save for the lack of arm hair. "Finding a vein shouldn't be a problem," you jest before pulling out a small device for blood sampling. It was not a syringe, but a highly advanced gadget that locked down on the skin cell before drawing a bit of blood. "Alright, just let me disinfect this real quick..." you continued before wiping the spot with a small disinfectant wipe, clearing it from any bacteria. The feeling of his skin was curious, smooth yet somehow rougher to the touch compared to human flesh. Pandora's rough climates had evolved them to become perfect survivors as even their skin was harder to penetrate.  Brown tilted his head to the side, ears swiveling curiously when you placed the blood-letting machinery against the crook of his arm. A small pinch broke through his flesh, extracting only a few tiny droplets. "There we go, that's about it-" Before you could continue, however, you caught Brown sending you a mischievous wink. "Didn't hurt at all, doc."

"Got what ya need, Miss (y/n) or... did I get that right?" you felt blood rush to your cheeks, heating your face altogether. They were trying to rile you up on purpose now... "(Y/N) right, but just call me by my first name. No need for being formal," hoping it would somewhat diffuse the awkward tension between you and the recoms. However, things did not go as planned when Brown's brows lifted for a short moment before his ears rotated in your direction, more attentive than before. "Well good to know, (y/n), looking forward to working with ya," your breathing became heavy to his deliberate teasing as he allowed himself to lean forward. You nearly jumped at his sudden intrusion "So (y/n), what does my blood test say?" just then the analysis was completed, giving you a clear stats report on his bloodwork.

"So far so good... bloodwork looks normal. Cholesterol is in the green and.... well..." His face faltered a bit, "What?" "be sure to consume fewer sugary drinks or sweets but other than that, you're fine. Wouldn't want you to be the first adipose soldier on Pandora," his features continued to crack "You calling me fat, doc?" he said before warming up to a smirk. You leaned away from him to avoid his sudden boldness. "Nah, just reminding you to be on your best behavior if you want to keep up with the rest, alright?" Brown scoffed with a shake of his head as you took your clipboard with you, writing down all of the info as well as checking a few boxes. "I'll get back to you later, just need to do the same with.... uh.. Wainfleet?" you asked, squinting your eyes to spot someone a bit taller and a tad bit more athletic looking. He lacked hair, like some of the others as he wiggled his fingers at you flirtatiously, a crooked smile plastered on his lips. "The one and only," you grunted in affirmation, feeling some of the dread returning before you headed over.

A sudden ticklish sensation and force tugged at the crook of your knee, having you to stumble and nearly fall flat on your face. Walker clicked her tongue with a roll of her eyes, "Come on Kevin, leave the poor girl alone already!" Quaritch's nostrils flared when he caught Brown fucking with you. A move of his tail that hooked around your leg in order to trip you. "You better secure that shit, Brown before I clip that thing off, capiche?" He growled, causing Brown to stiffen immediately. Eventually, he lowered his head and ears ".... yes sir... sorry,"

You managed to calm your thundering heart as you eyeballed Brown with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. What an asshole. Is that how it was going to be all the time? Good lord... how much you began to regret signing up for this particular unit. "Mr. Wainfleet?" you said softly, approaching the man cautiously as he eyed you up and down with that same grin on his face.

"Call me Lyle, sweetums. Only my mother calls me Mr. Wainfleet. So.... here to check the goods? Or maybe even get a feel?" Lyle chuckled before flexing his built physique, making you watch his biceps bulge and swell. The action made your throat dry out like the Sahara desert. Just what in the world have you gotten yourself into...

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

🐉𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰🐉 (WORK IN PROCESS)

Including warnings, wether they were one-shots or bigger stories and other useful things like when I wrote them and how dark Aemond is in the stories. The list is a work in process so please be patient as I try my best to get it together:)) The princess of Dragonstone is fully published her and on archive.

My one shots are here as well.

The list is devided into older more dark and less polished content and warnings should be headed before clicking on anything of it.

BIGISH STORIES

🐲The princess of dragonstone🐲 Completed.

THE PRINCESS OF DRAGONSTONE IS COMPLETED AND HAS HER OWN BEAUTIFUL MASTERLIST HERE. DO MIND HER WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. THANK YOU.

🐝FIRE AND BLOOD🐝An intense story about two rivial brothers, doomed to always wanting to outshine each other, a civil war, and a noble girl who loses everything caught between them. Aemond x oc, Aegon x oc. Smut, dark smut, sharing, non-con, dub-con, brat-taming, slavexmaster things dom/sub themes and sadism as well as major characters death (but not aemond nor aegon or mc)

Chapter one: Lessons and punishments

Chapter Two: Plans and plots

Chapter Three: First times

Chapter Four: Jealousy

Chapter five: Death and duty

CHAPTER SIX: Punishment

Chapter seven: Aftermath

Chapter eight: Drinking

Chapter Nine: Battubs and compensation

Chapter ten: Pain and pleasure

Chapter eleven: The death of duty

Chapter 12: The death of duty

Chapter 13: That still small voice

Chapter 14: Kinslayer

Chapter 15: Dragons and the bee

Chapter 16: Last fluttering of wings

Chapter 17: The new norma;

Chapter 18: Reunion

Chapter 19: Queen of the Hive

Chapter 20: Fire and blood

Chapter 21 :the dance of two dragons

Chapter 22: a unwilling queen

FUTURE CHAPTERS ARE PLANNED FOR THIS FIC!!

❄️Snow Falls❄️ (x Aemond only) deliciously dark!Aemond, some say the darkest out of them. Aemond Targaryen is looking for allies in the North, for his brother's cause. So, he goes to the second biggest house in the North: House WyldeWoods of WyldeCrest. He takes a interest in the daughter of Lord Wyldewoods, the coy and mysterious lady Willa. She was never mentioned in the books discussing her familiy, and he wonders as to why that is. After Lord WyldeWoods makes some rather anti-Valyrian comments, Aemond takes you prisoner and beheads your family, claiming you as his wife and spoils of war.

CHAPTER ONE: Winter is coming

CHAPTER TWO: FIRSTS

CHAPTER THREE: SNOW DRIFTS

CHAPTER 4: THE PRICE

CHAPTER 5: ESCAPE

CHAPTER 6: THE FOX AND THE DRAGON

CHAPTER 7: THE THING YOU LOVE MOST

CHAPTER 8: THE PRICE OF GOLD

CHAPTER 9: SLAUGHTER OF INNOCENCE

CHAPTER 10: THINGS WE DO IN THE DARK

CHAPTER 11: The North remembers

CHAPTER 12: NIGHTMARES AND DAYDREAMS

CHAPTER 13: THE BURDEN

CHAPTER 14: REBELLION

CHAPTER 15: Fire and Blood

CHAPTER 16: AWAIT OUR TURN

CHAPTER 17: IF THE CARRIAGE IS ROCKING-

CHAPTER 18: READING

CHAPTER 19: KINGS AND QUEENS

CHAPTER 20: LESSONS IN THE BEDROOM

CHAPTER 21: The prince and the fox

Chapter 22:The bathroom

Chapter 23: The library

Chapter 24: The dining room

Chapter 25: Running around in circles

Chapter 26: Attonment

PILLARS OF SALT AND PILLARS OF SAND

Story about Harwins and Rhaenyra's daughter who bends the knee to Aegon to save Luc life. (Aegon central fanfic) Darkish (but aegon is not dark)

Chapter one: Storm's end

Chapter two: Alternatives

Chapter Three: Prisoner

Chapter four: A demented idea

Chapter five: The wrath of a mother

Chapter six: A shadow of a conquerer

Chapter seven: Two princesses, one dreamer

Chapter eight: Of wives and kings

Chapter nine: Those last moments of what we call ''freedom''

Chapter ten: The realms villian

Chapter eleven: One soul, one heart, one flesh

Chapter 12: The house that carried the dragon

Chapter 13: Gods, guts, gifts.

ONE SHOTS

Due to space issues, the one-shots wont be on my archive. You can find them here on tumblr:)

🦌Storm's ends fury 🦌

A short story about Maris Baratheon and her kiss with Aemond Targaryen at Storm's End. (Very short, barely 400)

🦌Fury's Storm, alternative version🦌

A short story very samilair to plot above might be a rewrite i did i cant recall how this ended up on my profile. Bratty Aemond though.

🐧The things we do for love 🐧(Dark!Aemond and Aegon capture daemons lover. Smut and other things) part 2 and now recently part 3

🧀Untiteld genderbend cheese assasin x aemond fanfic🧀 x aemond mostly

🌓The first night x aegon mostly🌓 A story about a girl marrying her love and Aegon and aemond getting upset with her breaking the laws.

🔫the devil made us sin criminal au story about criminal aegon and aemond 🔫

🌖For the night is dark and full of terrors: 🌖Priesteress mc who loves Aegon and her mother wants his throne

🔫The devil made us sin other version 🔫

🔫The devil made us sin gore aemond or aegon snippet🔫

🦌Storm born baratheon x aemond one shot. part 1 and 2 🦌

The maid of the red keep oneshot

Pirate mc one shot

The final devil made us sin and the best one at that part 2 is here

Lion brat part one

Spy queen x prince regent aemond

Aemond x Daemon one shot

GOTXHOTD One shot

ashes burn

The girl in the silver dress

Daddy dearest

Sandstorm

----

Updated on October 22 2023

[foggynitefic]

Drop Them Bones Chapter 9: Hard and Fast

This one's a doozy...

Hard and Fast

To be sure of, without a doubt, without debate History: In seafaring times, the term ‘hard and fast’ was used to describe a vessel that was beached on land and unable to be moved. [Don’t lie. Absolutely none of us thought it meant that. None of us.]

So, funny thing. Since posting Chapter 8, I had a wonderful long weekend in Manhattan, followed by the worst stomach flu I’ve gotten in at least a decade. Then, after a few weeks recovering from that, I partially dislocated my knee and sprained my MCL. Full damage assessment still TBD in a couple months, but I have a care plan for now.

What I’ve posted as Chapter 9 was supposed to be ten pages max plus additional scenes, and then this happened. So, I have 6k words of Chapter 10 already because I split Chapter 9 in half, and I’ve had the final scene in Chapter 10 (originally intended for Chapter 6, hah!) written for the last three months…

I currently have 9 more chapters planned out, but as this adventure has shown me, that’s more like guidelines. This chapter would have been out sooner, but reference above, and in retrospect, this chapter’s title also describes me in seafaring times right now…

Notes

At least I’m recuperating and back to excessive research spiraling:

If you have the equipment, time, and inclination, you too can om a gator nom. I have only ever outsourced my gator dining experience to trustworthy restaurants, because I’m happy to compensate people accordingly for their labor and gator meat is fucking expensive to have shipped up north.

I’ve mostly encountered alligator fried or in etouffees in restaurants, and if you can’t source alligator or just think they’re too cute to eat (look at them faces!), they do taste like a fishy chicken, but less swampy than frog, and have the consistency of a pork chop. So, imo, you can substitute either white chicken meat or pork to about the same effects in all the recipes except the whole smoked gator. Alligator meat is very lean and easy to dry out, though (flashbacks to straw-like fried, breaded nonsense on that one trip to Florida…) The Daily Beast has an article from 2019 that goes into more detail on taste, etc. I’m not going to link to any of the butchering videos I watched to make this fic, but if you’re interested, deermeatfordinner on Youtube has a good one.

And yes, in true Louisiana fashion, the state government does have an alligator cookbook available in PDF for free. The final page notes that funds for it came from both Florida and Louisiana, and the most approximate publication date I can find for it is 1994. Its text, graphics, and ingredients definitely look like something from the 80s or 90s…

I was not tracking that discarded crocodile and alligator fat can be used to produce biodiesel at competitive prices…

I went down a lot of interesting 1700-1800s sailing history that involved the provisions given per day to British Navy sailors, how much salt was needed to brine 100 lbs of meat, and how the brining process actually worked (floating eggs and meats, oh my!) The average alligator yields about 40 lbs of meat, so all the proportions and weights for applegators came from multiplying that by three, then adding on more layers of fat than an alligator would have because applegators can also go out in the deep sea. Yes, I know this is a fanfic for fantasy pirates on an imaginary planet. If Oda-sensei can say they’re all stronger because gravity, I can make chonky applegators.

Curing meat Wikipedia article; Quora entry (of all things) on sailor provisions; Colonies, Ships and Pirates blog; and an NIH paper with some science of curing meats; plus a definition of pellicle; and some historical pre-refrigeration context.  Salting meat Wikipedia article and smoking meat Wikipedia article. And of course, once the fancy bougie restaurants start using salt water, it’s cool again.

If you don’t have a smoker at home, here’s a stove-top smoked salmon recipe that could work with any type of fish (though, I don’t think a sweet cure would really go with white fish).

How to dehydrate food without a dehydrator ideas

Making a ground oven: I actually learned about this technique back in anthropology of food, as it’s one of the oldest cooking methods that we know of, and I’ve always wanted to try it. Darn you, local fire ordinances.

Random fandom trivia: If you’re a fan of 911 Lone Star, you may remember the first (I think) season episode of a family ground cooking in their backyard and their racist neighbor being a dick about it then getting a righteous comeuppance from the team. Is it over the top justice? Yes. Is the drama hilarious? Also, yes.

They use a technique in this chapter that I based off a New England clambake set up. Mainly, a pit on the beach with seaweed, hot rocks, and a wet sail over top, covered with sand. General bake concepts and times came from here (if you can read it through that horrible font…)

Sustainably harvesting seaweed.  Modern Farmer has a pretty informative newsletter I’ve been subscribed to for a couple years – It’s an interesting read if you’re into agriculture news (food-related technology, regulations, innovations, etc.) and like to know more about your food supply chain.

I didn’t know how to make sausage before. Behold, basic sausage tutorial!

Recipes bludgeoned in the making of this chapter:

I have never cooked gator meat or a whole pig, but here are recipes that sound like horrifying fun:

Whole Smoked Gator

But also, whole pig ground cooked

Kalua Pork  

Alligator Jerky

Songs: 

[antiwhores]

What Bakugou’s pet name for you would be:

It baffles me how yall think Bakugou would call you these goofy ass nicknames! So let me help yall with my completely cannon opinion.

What he would never call you:

Daddy

I dont know who lied to yall but he wouldnt be caught dead. Even if you were his significant other and asked him to he’d be heavily disgusted. He’d probably give you the most foul look and ask what the hell is wrong with you. It gives him the ICK 💀

Teddy Bear

As a proud Yagami Yato hater, I would like to declare this would never happen. Are we watching the same show? Sure he has a soft spot for this s.o. but not like this. He’d be revoltsd at the thought. Bro can be soft but not soft enought to show weakness like THAT. Leave the Teddy Bear shit to someone who doesn’t have a problem with masculinity!

Slut

Okay, I’ve seen this in a lot of fanfics. And i get it. BUT NO WAY HE WOULD CASUALLY CALL YALL THAT IN ANY OTHER SITUATION BUT CONSENSUAL SEX. I mean he was raised by a queen, theres no way in hell he’d find this okay. He considers you an equal if he likes you enough to date and he’d think thats too degrading and rude. Not equal shit.

Babe or baby

I feel like it could be a possibility- well, maybe not. Theres a 10% chance but I feel like he’d be detested at this coming out of his mouth. I’d remind him of his unfathomable hatred for children without fail everytime. Also, it sounds so foreign out of his mouth he never dares to say it again.

What he would call you:

Any type of softer mean word.

As in dumbass, asshole, bitch, stupid, rude ass nicknames, ykwim

Do I need to elaborate?

Hun

Now this one comes with a price. NEVER IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE. He rarely says it anyway. He only starts to use the word LATER on into your relationship. Like several years. And he ONLY starts saying it around people after a year a marriage.

“pass me the salt hun?” “You dropped that hun.”

Your name

Okay I know I put petnames at the top but hear me out. He only uses your customized nickname. So much to the point where when he does use your real name, which usually tends to happen in serious and/or passionate situations, it is considered a petname.

“I just- DAMN IT! I love you y/n!” “Come back safe. I mean it y/n.” “Fuck…. youre doing so good y/n.”

Princess

Alright, at first I was hating HARD on this one. Although, the more I think about it the more sense it makes. Princess can not only be a petname, but is also commonly used as an insult. So he says it in a sarcastic tone all the time just to piss you off. He’d also use it as a way to call you spoiled

“Maybe if you’d let go princess” “Well you’re just my little princess, huh?” “Lets go princess, hurry.”

[azrielwingspan]

AS FATE COMMANDS

This was an idea for an Azriel fanfic that I came up with. Jotted down a couple of visualizations and the type of vibe I wanted to go for.

Let me know if I should turn it into a detailed fanfic !

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

Nyra was standing by her usual spot by the balustrade facing the ocean. On the other side of the doors that opened out onto the balcony, the annual celebration marking the day The Vanezya dynasty began was in full force.

The breeze that swept across her face taking a strand of her now short hair with it, made a small smile touch her red painted lips. The calling card of a storm ready to make its landfall.

The glass of white wine in her hand remained untouched and was merely a prop for her to use as a part of her appearance. She needed her wits to be sharp edged tonight. The smell of alcohol, sea salt, rain on the wind and the caress of the wind itself was making her drowsy.

" A visitor for you, Your Highness." said Brian her royal guard and swept a hand towards three males that had stepped out onto the balcony.

She turned away from the ocean to face them and placed her elbows on the balustrade behind her. The perfect picture of cool, composed and fully in control. The type of swagger that could only be achieved by being born a royal.

She let her eyes rove over the three males and held in a laugh as she noticed the one standing in the middle bow so deep , he was parallel to the floor. "There's no need for that. Get up..please."

The male in the centre stood up, his face flushed red and his beady eyes widening by the second as he took in her face. Nyra knew she was breathtaking. She'd been told enough times that she got sick of it. She was grateful and yet insulted that they couldn't see past it. She was sure there were much better talents than just being beautiful.

She raised an eyebrow at him reminding him to state his business.

"Ahem..Your Highness, my name is Raphel your ever loyal subject. These males.." he pointed to the ones flanking him "wanted to meet with you regarding a very uhh...delicate issue and I volunteered to be the moderator. Cassian and Azriel. General and Shadowsinger of the night court in Prythian Your Highness."

She let her lips curve up into a small smile and remained silent as the Raphel rattled on. She was only half listening to his passionate speech instead choosing to observe the two males from the night court.

She knew they would come. There wasn't much that happened in her kingdom that she didn't know of. Cassian was marking everyone in the vicinity and probably thinking of an exit route if things went south.

Azriel on the other hand, was staring intently at her trying to gauge her reaction to the slew of information coming out of Raphels mouth. He was... heart stopping. Perhaps that was the word she found suitable enough to describe him. Wearing a simple tailored jacket and standing with the ease of a warrior who didn't need weapons to take down his enemies, he held eye contact with her while wisps of shadows curled around him.

She let her eyes travel down his body and the small smile she was wearing on her face turned into a mild smirk. She had a weakness for handsome men and her weakness had broken her heart more times than she could count.

She didn't meet his gaze again but was hyperaware of his gaze and absentmindedly took a sip of her white wine that was now flat.

Raphel had finally stopped talking and she looked at his face for two beats before saying "Okay." He'd requested for a formal investigation into the matter and had expected her to deny his request. Unbeknownst to him, she had been waiting for an opportunity like this to present itself.

"A favour in return is all I need. That will be the price." she said still looking at Raphel as he turned to his companions.

"Done." said Cassian drawing her gaze to him as she raised her glass to him in farewell.

"Very well. Send Lord Rhysand my regards. Enjoy the rest of the night gentlemen."

She passed by Azriel as she left the balcony and felt the wisp of a shadow touch her arm. She hoped he didn't notice the shiver that ran down her back.

She'd made her first move successfully. Let the games begin.

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

It's a rough draft but do let me know if you liked it !!

[justporo]

"but what if there was just a way how Tav and Astarion could just be young and beautiful, but also healthy and happy, together - forever?"

call me naive or crazy, but i am pretty sure this is actually possible (this IS the forgotten realms)

the clone spell for Tav to live forever (doing the spell every certain amount of time)

Hexxat a vampire from Baldur's gate 2 had the Cloak of Dragomir, which could allow Astarion to walk under the sun (although the penalties…but still! The clock proves that it is possible! we just have to find him something better!)

besides, Astarion has something very powerful on his side, his friend group

there is Gale, GALE, need I say more in regards to help with research?!?!

Karlach and Wyll may be in the hells, Lae'zel is in the astral plane, the chances of them finding something somewhere that could help their favorite mosquito are quite high i would say

Shadowheart also would help however she can

like, I honestly believe Astarion's chances of living a life as good as when he had the tadpole are actually pretty high (and I love that what could probably help him achieve this is friendship, the most powerful vampire in the realms being a vampire spawn that didn't sell his humanity, but embraced it, seems wonderfully poetic and very fitting to me)

Oh, I do believe there are ways to cure Astarion of his vampirism or just the - let's call them "negative" side effects. Because I do believe Astarion actually enjoys being immortal and young forever for example, I guess maybe even the blood drinking isn't as bad for him now that he can source it "ethically" and doesn't have to devour rats either.

(I actually headcanon that if Tav and Astarion would settle down in Baldur's Gate they'd maybe find like a local butcher where Astarion can source a steady amount of blood since he doesn't want to hurt Tav and he might not be able to always make the effort to go outside the city to hunt animals or something.)

The big thing is probably really that he can't walk in the sun. I guess Tav and Astarion would let things settler a little, maybe take at least a little breather before they go on, but Tav promised Astarion to find a way to help him and so they will.

I'd bet they would hit up Gale in Waterdeep because the wizard is the most scholarly of all the companions. Then they'd take it from there.

I really dig the idea of Astarion's friends helping him and this being the solution.

But alas, fanfic writing angst bitch that I am - I'd like to take it all with a grain of salt: if Astarion was to ever walk in the sun again, it would come with a price attached. There are no easy happy endings in this realm I feel like.

(And not saying that I haven't been thinking about a longform project where Tav and Astarion go adventuring to find a cure, but also not not saying that... hehe)

[cielsosinfel]

Some tidbits from the Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus adventure module (2019) that I want to save for future fanfic-writing pondering.

What Is Avernus? (p.75) Avernus serves as the front line of the great clash between the evil forces of chaos and law known as the Blood War. Demons from the Abyss use the River Styx to enter Avernus, where they hurl themselves against infernal legions of devils.

Avernus was not always the blasted, war-torn battlefield it is today. Long ago, it was a plane of lush gardens and bucolic beauty created by Asmodeus to tempt mortals. The intrusion of the River Styx followed by endless waves of slavering demons destroyed this paradise, leaving layer upon layer of bones, ruins, and shattered war machines. Pieces of cities stolen from other planes, tiny remnants of Avernus' lost beauty, evidence of destroyed celestial armies, and tombs of ancient travelers all dot the Avernian wasteland.

Avernus is not a place expressly for the punishment of evil souls; instead, it represents a "next level" for evil souls after the end of their wicked lives as mortals. The Nine Hells allows souls to exist in a concentrated form, where they can work through their spiritual bondage to express their dark desires such as cruelty, covetousness, the need to control, the craving for power, and uncontrolled greed. Hell offers an eternity of fulfillment from the most insignificant desires to the seven deadly sins. Every shred of evil is used in the Nine Hells, and each layer specializes in some way to accommodate and exploit the vices and weaknesses of mortals. The devils of Avernus seek to exploit pride and wrath, promising the aggrieved, enraged, and egotistical the power to fulfill their darkest obsessions. Such fulfillment, however, comes at a price.

Anyone entering Avernus finds a battlefield unlike anywhere else in existence. Evidence of past carnage, such as ruins of enormous war machines and fields of bleached bones, stretches across the horizon. Through it all, the River Styx winds its way across the plane as knots of demons and devils skirmish along its fetid banks.

Most devils in Avernus serve Zariel, though other Lords of the Nine send forces here to help repel demonic invaders. Devils who are not part of Zariel's legions serve as emissaries from the other layers or as spies for archdevils seeking signs of weakness that they can exploit to further their dreams of power.

Features of Avernus (p76)

The hellscape of Avernus sits under hideous clouds that obscure the vault of the sky, from which the occasional meteor streaks before crashing into the ground. Ambient light continually swells up from just below the horizon as thought lit by nine setting suns, yet no actual celestial bodies fill the sky, no sun, moons, or stars. This constant twilight makes it difficult for the denizens of Avernus to track the passage of time.

The atmosphere reeks of brimstone and burning tar, and hot gusts of wind shriek across the hellscape to scour the land below. Sometimes these winds swirl into immense sandstorms, which can strip flesh from bone and plunge everything into darkness.

Biting flies, hellwasps, and blood-sucking stirges patrol the air, hunting for any source of blood to feed on. Swarms of them can grow so large that they blacken the sky and deafen the ears with the sound of their wings. On the ground, wandering bands of nupperibos-blind, bloated castaways of the damned-move in thousands like living lakes of groaning flesh in their agonizing search for food. Bone fields, quicksand, bubbling tar pits, lakes of lava, canyons of wailing souls, and salt flats made from the tears of the damned all await those who wander the hellscape.

River Styx(p76)

The River Styx courses through the Lower Planes, frustrating every attempt to map it or predict its course. Getting lost while sailing the Styx isn't the only danger the river presents. Simply tasting or touching its waters can shatter a creature's intellect and personality, as well as strip away its memories. Certain fiends are immune to the river's effects, but most creatures have no defense against it.

Demon Ichor(p78) Demon ichor is what remains behind after a demon dies. It's a reduction of demonic blood, viscera and bodily fluids with the consistency and odor of bile. Enough demons die in Avernus that their ichor forms pools and small lakes. Although the ichor is harmless on most planes of existence, it can warp creatures on the Lower Planes. Devils and other creatures have found ways to use demon ichor in rituals and to improve the performance of infernal war machines.

Commerce (p78) When it comes to the souls of mortals, the Nine Hells is always open for business. In Avernus, the business is war, making sure the frontlines of the Blood War are continuously replenished with fresh troops, weapons, armor, and war machines. The main drivers behind this infernal commerce are treasure and soul coins. Treasure is only valuable to devils because of its efficacy in tempting and twisting mortals (humans in particular) toward lives of corruption, ultimately leading them to forgeit their souls. Because gold has been used for millenia in the Nine Hells, adventurers can find gold coins from civilizations long lost to history. Silver is Harmful to devils. nevertheless, devils trade silver to those wishing to eliminate rivals in their path.

Food and Drink (p78) Wisdom (survival) checks to forage in Avernus are made at disadvantage. Water exists, but tastes foul and is hard to find. Food can likewise be scrounged, but the flora and fauna taste revolting no matter the manner of preparation. Even rations brought to Avernus taste bitter and ashen.

Infernal Order of Battle (p.76) Whereas demons attack in disorganized mobs, relying on shock and overwhelming numbers to carry the day, devils organize into a basic unit called a legion. Each contains one thousand devils organized as follows:

1 legion = 10 cohorts, commanged by a legate 1 cohort = 10 lances, commanded by a signifier 1 lance = 10 devils, commanded by an optio Ranks of miserable lemures and nupperibos compose the base of dreg legions, while bearded devils and merregons make up the bulk of regular legions. Each legion sports a unique name, usually denoting its purpose and numerical designation. Examples include the following:

5th Infantry legion, "Infernal Absolution" 13th Cavalry Legion,"Bel's Fury" 47th Dreg Legion, "Piteous Fodder"

"Life In The Nine Hells (p.9) Paradise Lost Before the Blood War reduced it to a blasted wasteland, Avernus was a honey trap created by Asmodeus, a paradise of infinite delights designed to lure and enrapture mortals. Fragments of this lost paradise still plunge from Avernus' sky as burning meteors, and the land is dotted with the ruins of palaces and idyllic gardens that were obscenely beautiful in eons past. Fleeting reminders of this ancient paradise can come to characters in the following ways:

While traveling across Avernus, the characters glimpse a fantastic mirage: a grand palace or garden oasis that vanishes when they get within 100ft of it.

A random character hears beautiful music or laughter, catches the scent of flowers or perfume, or experiences a gentle caress. The sensation has no discernible source and fades after a few moments.

The characters find a relic that survived the fall of paradise, such as a beautiful vase or toppled statue. The first character to touch the relic experiences a fleeting moment of pure joy.

Anywhere is Everywhere

Geography warps at the whims of the Nine Hells. One of the liberating aspects of this planar feature is that you don';t need to be fastidious about keeping track of where locations are in relation to one another.

While the spatial distortion can be unsettling to visitors, it affords you the following benefits as a DM:

You can decide how long it takes for characters to get from one place to the next. For ex., the characters might need to travel 6 miles to get from Fort Knucklebone to Haruman's Hill, and 60 miles to get from Haruman's Hill back to Fort Knucklebone.

If the characters are in a rush to get somewhere, an imp could appear out of nowhere and, for the price of a soul coin or other valuable item, show them a shortcut that halves the distance the characters must travel to reach their destination.

The Wandering Emporium (p. 126 [emporium of merchants under the auspices of Mahadi, a rakshasa businessman and information broker who does business in across the nine hells and material plane with Asmodeus as his patron]) can show up almost anywhere in the Nine Hells, at any time. If the players don't know where to go or what to do next, or if you want to surprise them with fun roleplaying opportunities, have the Wandering Emporim arrive at the party's location, regardless of where they last saw it.

Everything's Awful Avernus is insidious in the way it fosters greed and makes visitors pay or barter for the things they need to survive. Most of the wildlife on Avernus is not edible to mortals, and most sources of water are poisonous or otherwise tainted. The rarity of edible food and drinkable water encourages hoarding behavior.

You can remind players about the awfulness of Avernus in the following ways:

Any food or drink the characters bring with them or conjure by magic retains its nutritional value but tastes awful when eaten or imbibed on Avernus. The food tastes like ash, the water tastes like bile, and the wine tastes like spoiled milk.

If the characters want something that tastes good, they must buy it from licensed sellers such as Mahadi the rakshasa, who runs a restaurant called Infernal Rapture (see page 219). The price of good-tasting meal is always a bit too high.

[blackacre13]

I heard you do carol x Therese smut so I’m here to read them all and possibly request some

Haha I see my reputation precedes me. Welcome to the shit show! Let's get you started with some previews, shall we? (But seriously, welcome aboard and happy reading!!)

[boldstarks]

Salt Wife Fanfiction Plot Bunny

I have a plot bunny about a Lannister cousin (Ysabel Lantell) who lives in Lannisport being carried off and made a salt wife by an ironborn man. This will take place during and after the Dance of Dragons. It basically will follow Ysabel's life and hardship after being kidnapped by a minor ironborn lord. Anyone find this interesting?

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hello, I just wanted to ask what your opinion on fanfic commissions is? Is it ok to ask for payment for fics in the same way fanartists ask for payments? There just seems to be more stigma against fanfic writers asking for payment for their work than there is for fan artists.

I seem to recall some original authors LOATHING fanfic but then gladly sharing because it promotes their work.

Personally, I’d never ask for payment for my fics because I can never finish anything under pressure/on time but I think the option should be there for other fic writers

I'm going to answer this question in a few different ways. First, specific to AO3:

Do not link to patreon or ko-fi or even a price list from your AO3 account. That includes the author's notes on a fic, your profile page, or in the comments. Linking to any commercial page (ie, a page whose purpose is for the user to spend money) is against the Terms of Service for the site. That also includes the donation pages for charities. Link to their home page instead.

Second, in terms of legality (take this with a grain of salt because I'm not a lawyer):

There has not yet been a successful court case where a creator has sued a fanfiction author and won. What usually happens is the creator will send the fic author a cease and desist and that will scare the fic author into self-deleting their works. DMCA takedown requests have also happened, but as of Sept 10, 2022 I'm not aware of any case law stating that fanfiction is illegal or that it's illegal for fic authors to make money for writing fic. Profit is one factor in consideration during a fair use lawsuit, but it's not the only one.

Third, historically:

You are correct. There is a long, long history of everyone from George Lucas to Anne Rice to George RR Martin being extremely upset by the existence of fanfiction. However, fanart isn't without its own controversy. Fanart of live action shows, movies, or novels is quite clearly not made by the original cast or creators. However, fanart of animated shows or movies and of comic books could potentially be mistaken for "the real thing". It's not unusual for comics artists to request fans not sell their fanart for profit. Plus, there is just as much discussion in art spaces about whether fanart is "real art" as there is in writing spaces about whether fanfic is "real writing". We have more in common than you might think.

Lastly, for myself:

I've been commissioned before. I've written probably 2-5? fics for money. I can't be exact because it's been so long that I don't remember and the commission was along the lines of "I want more of your fic, so please take this money and write whatever you want for this ship". It's not something I sought out, and I don't think it's something I'd personally do again. Not because of any moral superiority or anything. Just because I don't want to monetize my free time. Fic and fandom are hobbies for me. They're fun. They give me a feeling of freedom and creativity. I worry that introducing money into that space would turn it into a job and change my reasons for writing. I wouldn't post a fic because it was a bonkers idea that made me cackle with glee. I'd write to please the person who paid me and to try to encourage more people to pay me too.

[mlmxreader]

Just The Sunshine | Bob Saginowski x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Bob Saginowski Hiya! Hope all is good 🖤. May I please request something using the following prompts for Bob Saginowski X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: "Get closer, I want to remember the colour of your eyes" Thank you 🖤🖤! 🐍anon

summary: things get a little heated between you and Bob when he spends the day in the garden.

tws: suggestive content, swearing

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Bob was all too aware of your gaze on his back, burning into him so harshly and so hot that it made a cool sweat drip down his exposed skin; it had been a hot day, and it was only natural that he had taken his shirt off.

Exposing his tattoos and his stomach that hung over the edge of his jeans. Exposing his thick arms and his soft back. Flesh your hands and lips had graced a thousand times over, yet now you looked at him as if you had never seen his skin before; your gaze soon turned to hunger when he turned around slightly, giving you a show of his stomach and his chest.

The trail of hair that ran from his navel down, dipping beneath the denim curtain so horribly. You swallowed thickly, bringing your drink loaded with ice to your lips and taking a long, drawn out gulp of it; it clung to the skin above your upper lip as you lost focus, staring at Bob.

Rocco was happy, playing in the garden with his ball on a rope; he tossed it in the air and caught it, chasing it around.

But Bob was busy, chopping back the grass and digging holes for the native flowers that you had picked out together. His hands were rough and dirty, calluses highlighted by the dark mud. Oh, and how the sweat dripped down his body. His skin glistened beneath the thin sheet, the salt of his sweat upon his brow and his hair flat from the dampness.

You squirmed in your seat, suddenly feeling something hot coursing through your veins. Something that wasn't caused by the day's heat. You clenched your jaw, taking in a sharp breath as you let your drink rest on the table, reaching to grab your cigarettes in hope that one would calm you down.

Bob sat on the grass by the table, right in the perfect lighting. The bastard. He took one look at you, and furrowed his wet brows. "You okay?"

You nodded, breath shaky and heart pounding as you did your best to muster the ability to speak. "Yeah, just… just really hot."

"We'll get an umbrella," he shrugged, squinting as he looked at the sky. Sweat on his neck, running down the soft skin. "It's not gonna cool off until later in the week."

You sighed, hoping that your feelings for your boyfriend would fade when it cooled off. But he looked so tempting. The wetness of his skin, glittering. His tattoos all on show and every curve and every bit of chub more than visible. Nothing to the imagination.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you fought back the urge to jump on him then and there. Fuck. Bob could be so tempting even when you didn't want him to be. You cleared your throat, trying to cure the shakiness and the thundering of your own heart.

"Yeah, an umbrella might be a good idea."

Bob pulled his phone out from his pocket, but you were too busy staring at his arms and his chest to even think about it when he opened up the website to a DIY shop and began talking about the prices and sizes of outdoor umbrellas; he had no idea what he was doing to you. He had no idea how tempting he looked.

You knew that most people in the neighbourhood had a crush on him, and that some envied the fact that he was with you and not them, but as you looked at him, you knew that you would feel the same. Bob was everything; charming, sweet, gentle, handsome, and kind. He only ever raised his voice at the dog when he ran off too far and Bob wouldn't be heard otherwise. Bob was great.

You had to admit, you loved him more than anything else in the world… except maybe the way he always made coffee the exact way you liked it. But you couldn't stop yourself, looking him up and down shamelessly.

"What?" He grinned when he noticed you staring, tilting his head to the side innocently. "Something in my teeth?"

You shook your head, licking your lips and internally kicking yourself for being so fucking obvious. "No, just… get closer, I want to remember the colour of your eyes."

Bob didn't question it, dragging himself over so that he could kneel between your legs, a fond smile on his lips. He could be so violent and so cruel, and yet when he was with you, he was peaceful and so gentle. He leaned into the touch when you ran your hand through his damp hair, daring to get up, planting his hands on the arms of your chair. Trapping you and pretending like he didn't notice your hand resting on his chest. He looked at your lips for a moment.

"You're really warm," he said quietly, placing his hand on your cheek. "Anything you wanna tell me?"

You shook your head, swallowing thickly and hoping it wasn't audible when he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Your heart skipped a beat as you fought back the urge to whimper. "Bob…"

"Maybe we should go inside," he murmured. "Get you cooled down a little."

You shook your head. "It's just the sun got to me a little bit. I need another drink, that's all."

He nodded slowly, although something told you that he didn't entirely believe that you had just been a little bit dehydrated from the weather; not by the way you were staring at him at least.

"Stay here," he gently kissed your forehead. "I'll get you one."

You nodded, wishing he didn't pull away but still leaning over in your chair to watch him walk away when you were sure he wouldn't notice; you had to fan yourself a little when you leaned back. Fuck, it was great to watch him walk away.

Bob smiled to himself. Even after so long together, you still checked him out and ogled him like it was the first date.

[chicago-geniza]

Price of Salt fanfic where Therese speaks a smattering of Czech and uses the first-person masculine form and I know it's because the author used Google Translate and that's the default grammatical gender for Slavic languages but I am interpreting it as a creative choice to have her use the lesbian "ot muzhskogo litsa" form when addressing her lover as the more butch partner

This, to me, is reader response theory

I've had a migraine for so many days you guys