#thin chicken breast

[viapu-com]

Fall in love with the tantalizing taste of our "Sizzling Sensation: Thin Chicken Breast Recipe". Perfectly cooked to mesmerize your palate. A divine indulgence you won't resist! 🍗💖

[squingy]

oooooo you want tooo draw dunmesh yuri ooooo

i can't draw any of them though :(

[menubot]

1997 menu for Applebee's http://menus.nypl.org/menus/29251

[bluepoodle7]

#Walmart #GreatValue #GreatValueWalmartThinSlicedRotisserieSeasonedChickenBreast #FlavoredSlicedChickenBreastReview

I tried the Great Value Walmart Thin Sliced Rotisserie Seasoned Chicken Breast and it was pretty good.

This sliced chicken was firm but soft and had a light rotisserie chicken taste.

This was lightly salty in taste and not drenching wet like some package deli meat I had.

This was lightly salty tasting to me.

I would eat this again.

Got at Walmart.

[spider-stark]

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes. 

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady. 

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.” 

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.” 

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be. 

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault. 

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.” 

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long. 

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze. 

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care. 

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you. 

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-” 

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!” 

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment. 

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.” 

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother. 

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you. 

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?” 

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well. 

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother. 

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you. 

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.  

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?” 

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings. 

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him. 

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant. 

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all. 

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother. 

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.” 

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room. 

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.  

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo. 

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck. 

And, in many ways, you hate it. 

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard. 

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself. 

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind. 

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol. 

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight. 

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest. 

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too. 

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors. 

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball. 

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air. 

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you. 

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips. 

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life. 

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear. 

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table. 

“No!” 

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck. 

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?” 

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table. 

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished. 

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary. 

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?” 

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different. 

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid. 

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!” 

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?” 

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.” 

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent. 

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence. 

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?” 

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe. 

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.” 

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with. 

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-” 

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,” 

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too. 

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!” 

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh. 

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.” 

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising. 

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.” 

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?” 

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.” 

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times. 

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into. 

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel. 

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.” 

“You could.” 

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise. 

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.” 

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth. 

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-” 

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.” 

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another. 

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,” 

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.” 

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?” 

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure. 

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you. 

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want. 

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon. 

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into. 

That, for him, it had always been you. 

“Aegon, I-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.” 

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions. 

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.” 

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it. 

“You’re… generous.” 

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon. 

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.” 

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self. 

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.” 

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression. 

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.” 

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.” 

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.” 

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.” 

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.” 

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age. 

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?” 

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.” 

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin. 

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.” 

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.” 

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice. 

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

[ellina4n4]

supermodel diet

tw: ana/ed

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

hey guys! i’ve never tried making one of these before so here’s my first shot it. this is a role play type diet to keep you motivated!! hope ygs enjoy 🫶🏻 ib: @honey-diet

year 2001

you are the biggest supermodel of your time. on every vogue and time magazine, you star on the cover page in a delicate and flashy new outfit. Every girl young and old would die to look like you. You are young and thin. Your collarbones and effortlessly slim arms let clothes fit you like you’re a hanger. You are petite and striking. Nothings free, your manager keeps you on a diet to make sure everyone’s jaws drop when you walk down the runway.

inspo:

rules —⊹ ₊ ⟡ ⋆

you are famous, you can only afford to have a stunning body, watch what you put in it

if you binge, it’ll show through your clothes on the runway, everyone will know what you did

always drink water, no mater how many c4ls your manager gives you, you drink water

be kind to yourself, after all you do need enough energy to do the best at your shows

diet— (feel free to change to your liking) 🫶🏻

breakfast ⋆｡°

you wake up in your trailer at 5:10 am, prepared for your show in the evening. the models’ chefs’ cook your meal. ———- for breakfast you eat 2 boiled eggs, whites only, which are salted and peppered . (34 c4l) You wash it down with either black coffee with monk fruit sweetener (0 c4ls) or cold iced water with cucumber and lemon (3 c4ls)

lunch ⋆˚.⋆

after consulting with the stylist what outfit you’re wearing tonight, lunch is prepared. lunch is one slice of toast, with either tuna on top, (84) or just the toast. (49 c4l) on the side you have a cup of raspberries, (64 c4l) and a cup of cold ice water (0 c4l)

dinner ⋆｡°

before your makeup artist starts on your iconic look, your manager notifies you dinner is served. for dinner you have a cup of mashed cauliflower seasoned with garlic powder and pepper (27 c4l) with a delicious grilled chicken breast, salt + peppered (90 c4l) and 3 cooked asparagus. (10 c4l)

total: 274-312

the show went great! you appeared in the latest news stories, everyone praised you for your excellent performance on the runway and and your slim figure accentuating the clothing

since the total is pretty low, be careful luvs! 🫶🏻

[saturnville]

home to you, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan (masters of the air) x black fem oc (amelia egan)

content: bucky returns home after spending time away in the war. inspired by this gif set

an: an anon asked me for more major john egan fics, so here we are! ask and you shall receive.

Amelia Mae Egan found it difficult to adjust to the absence of her husband. The sound of silence was daunting and nothing short of a haunting melody that kept her up at night. 

The bed was cooler than Antarctica. The chill of the sheets stung like bitter cold. His pillow was left just as it was the day he left. Perfectly propped against the metal bedframe. She would lean over to inhale the remnants on his scent. 

Amelia wasn’t used to making her own coffee. Only he knew how to make it the way she enjoyed. When her own hands attempted to make the rich goodness, she spewed it out like a stubborn child and chucked the remainder into the sink. 

Breakfast was uncompromising without him. She couldn’t stomach more than a few bites before her eyes filled with tears and she slid the bowl across the table. It would stay untouched and crust over as the day went on. 

Her frustration grew even more when the overhead light in the bedroom went out. Her day had been long, and the last thing she needed was to enter a dark bedroom. Amelia found herself running around the house like a chicken with her head cut off searching for a new lightbulb. Of course, it was on a shelf taller than she was, so she had to use a chair to retrieve it. 

Amelia’s heartrate quickened as the agitation within her seeped through her pores. Her fingers flicked the side lamp aggressively. She kicked off her shoes and climbed unto the bed, the springs squeaking gently. She reached above her, but her hands just barely met the unlit lamp. 

“Son of a bitch,” she cursed in frustration. 

“Nasty language for a pretty woman.” Amelia’s head flung up like a spring. She released a noise--a mix between a gasp, a sob, and a laugh. Last time she checked, she wasn’t going to see him for another two weeks. But, there he stood, in all his beauty. 

John gave her a small smile and placed his suitcase on the ground. He gently placed his hat on top of it. His shoes kissed the floor as he quickly made his way to her. Amelia smiled like a child in the candy store and dropped the lightbulb on the bed. 

“Hi darlin’.” His voice was deep like ocean waters yet smooth like silk. His rough hands trailed up her soft calves and to her hips. He clenched the flesh of her bottom; she leaned into his touch, leaning down to cup his cheeks with her hands. Her tear filled eyes gazed into his loving blue eyes. 

She wasted no time connecting their lips. Relief and comfort washed over her body like tidal wave. Her baby. In that kiss was an intense fuel of passion that transcended all other emotions she felt before. Amelia released a soft whimper when his hands cupped the back of her thighs, hoisting her in his arms. 

One of John’s hands searched for the bed, laying her against it gently. Amelia giggled softly as her husband wrecked her neck with kisses, “Johnny.” John nudged her thighs open and slotted his body between them; she trapped him in position. 

“I’ve missed you, doll,” he whispered lowly, fondling with the thin shirt that covered her chest. His nose brushed against the valley of her breasts. “Did you miss me?” His ears caught her heavy breaths and soft expressions. 

“I did. So much. So happy you’re home.” Amelia’s fingers carded through his hair as she tried to maintain the small amount of self control she had left. 

“How about you show me how much you missed me, darlin’,” he commanded softly, looking into her eyes. She smiled mischievously and lowered her hands to his belt. Four months without her, there was much to make up for, and she was more than happy to oblige.

[pjackk]

In Tekken 8 there will be a new character named Windwhistle. He practices an MMA style fusion of BJJ and Mystical Tai Chi. He is 38 years old. He has a sexy skinny twunky body. He has defined very thin and abdomen. He has sexy muscular collar bone. He has a tight waist. His calves are defined but not huge. His nipples are a subtle dark apricot hue. His nipples are small and turn erect on final round. He was born in Cuba but he grew up in southern China. In his adulthood, he travelled to Northern Alberta to work in the tar sands. His areolas is large relative to other male characters. His skin is a lightly bronzed color. On his left forearm there is a tattoo of a sheep. On his right forearm there is a tattoo of a wolf. His cheekbones are very defined. His jaw is very defined. He has deep eye sockets in a sexy way. His eyes are beautiful. His eyes are shining. His left eye is a bloody burgundy hue. His right eye is a deep sea indigo hue. His hair goes down to his neck. His hair is dark and curly. His hair has a lime green streak that goes down the front. He is clean shaven. He loves techno music. He loves EDM music. He loves DNB music. He loves experimental drugs. He goes into full power fury mode after taking experimental drugs. His breasts are large and tender. His breasts are large enough to be firmly grabbed by other human adult males. His cock is 3" long flaccid. His cock is 7" long erect. His cock has a 3" girth flaccid. His cock has a 4" girth erect. His balls are average sized. His balls sag slightly in an alluring way. His ass is large and firm. His ass is spanked and red. He loves for his big ass to be spanked red. He wears black bootleg timberlands. He wears tall black socks that go up to his knees. He wears black cargo shorts that are tight and accentuate his big ass. The bottom of his ass cheeks show from under his shorts tight. He wears a black henley style shirt with buttons that go down to under his breasts. He keeps his shirt unbuttoned to show his breasts. His chest is hairy. His breasts are hairy. His abdomen is not very hairy. He has a trail of hair going up from his pubes to his belly button. He has his zipper and belt and button on his shorts undone to show his dark curly pubes. His thighs are hairy. His calves are hairy. You can see his armpits if you look down his sleeves. His armpits are hairy. His armpits are sweaty on the final round. He has a full throw game. He can wave dash. He has a comboing hellsweep with a maximum for 45 damage. Is df2 punch is safe and launches. He can use a 16 frame unblockable deagle shot high in heat mode. He eats a slice of galic chicken pizza and flips you off when he wins. He has a 1+2 break comboing throw that sets up an unblockable shuriken throw after bounding. He throws three shurikens in heat mode so that you cannot avoid them by sidestepping. He is knocked unconscious and drools on his breasts when he loses. He is loading his deagle and says "Let's burn it all down" in his intro animation. He wears a golden ring with a shattered bloodstone on his left pinky finger. His right ear is pierced. He wears a diamond stud on his right ear. He has an unusually long tongue. He loves RC cars. He has a taunt move where he erotically sucks on a dumdum. He has an armored headbutt move. If his armored headbutt move counter hits, he grabs the opponent and takes them all the way to the wall. He loves cartoons. He loves French style sandwiches. He loves candle wax being melted onto his tummy. He is implied to be Jin Kazama's father. He is implied to be Josie Rizal's ex husband. He is implied to be Jun Kazama's ex husband. He is implied to be Kazuya Mishima's ex husband. He is implied to be Craig Marduk's ex husband. He is implied to be Lili Rochefort's ex husband. He is implied to be Paul Phoenix's ex husband. He is implied to be Prototype Jack's ex husband. He is implied to be Sergei Dragunov's ex husband. He is implied to be Master Raven's ex hu

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

LET THEM FEAST

This piece was inspired by this Mickey Mouse cartoon as well as this early episode from Spongebob.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

The cafeteria doors parted, swinging open as any other door would—but to Fellow and Gidel, it was as if the gates to heaven were welcoming them. Humming chatter and the smells of delicious foods churned out from beyond. Deeply inhaling, tasting the aromas in the back of one’s throat, made their bodies light and floaty, as if hunger had made them weightless.

They followed a hoard of uniformed boys with trays, drifting to buffet stations loaded with dishes they could only dream of. Slabs of roast beef dripping with mushroom gravy, racks od lamb, game birds with crisped skin, fish glistening with herb butter, steaming stews with vegetables bobbing in a sea of rich broth, fluffy rice, cakes sliced wide and trifles stacked tall. The paper-thin slice of bread and beans they had for supper had never looked quite so sorry.

Gidel didn’t notice that his mouth was agape and slick with saliva until a cane tucked under his chin and closed it for him. Fellow pulled the young boy close, a hand on his arm as he wildly gestured to the waiting delicacies.

“Take a gander, Giddie! All that food’s free and ours for the taking!!” he chirped. “Ready your fork and knife, we’re going to eat like kings today!”

Arm in arm, the duo dove into the bar, grabbing as much as they reasonably could. Generous scoops of mashed potato, the biggest pieces of meat, plenty of sauce, the largest loaves. Gidel rushed about with an apple crammed into his mouth and Fellow snuck oyster crackers into his breast pocket (as a late-night snack).

While their plates piled higher and higher, the mob students grew more irritable. Elbowing them out of the way, snatching up popular itwms, and taking far more than their share had the tendency to invoke ire. The mobs casted dirty looks at Fellow and Gidel, others raising their voices at the kitchen.

“Oi, where’s the refill of tomato soup? I’ve been waitin’ for forever over here!”

“When’re the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggies gonna be done…”

“I’m so hungry I could eat a whole horse. What’s the damn hold up?!”

“Be patient, boys!” a ghost chef callee back. He grunted as he hailed a vat of curry off of the stove. “It takes time to prepare the food.”

“They’re ravenous today,” remarked the lead chef. “Wonder what’s going on. We normally don’t have to prepare this much.”

By this time, Fellow (trailed by Gidel) had pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He set down his tray (the tower of food upon it wobbling, threatening to collapse) and waved enthusiastically at the chefs.

“Afternoon, gents! How’s it going? Looks to me like you’re hard at work feeding all these wayward souls.”

“Oh, um. Just fine, thank you.” The head chef blinked. He liked to think that he recognized all of the students and staff that came into his dining room, but he was drawing a total blank with Fellow and Gidel. “Er… Sorry, are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you boys before.”

“Fufu, that’s right. We’re new to these parts.”

“They ain’t even students,” an angry mob student behind him piped up.

The lead chef startled. Worry crumples his round, marshamallowy face. “Oh dear, not students? The buffet is only open to them and staff.” He glanced at Fellow’s pickings. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to return all that.”

Anger and annoyance shot through the fox beastman. Tch…! Those NRC brats, looking down on me! Why should they get to gorge themselves on this stuff while the rest of us beg for their scraps?!

He reached down and gripped Gidel’s hand, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze. Gidel offered a sleepy grin back.

Watch this. I’ll turn this entire situation around and have them eating out of the palm of my hand.

He let out a theatrical gasp, then summoned his most charming smile. “My bad, I forgot to introduce myself! You see, I am a health inspector sent by the Department of Magic Education to evaluate your menu! Gidel here’s my trusty assistant.”

The leader of the ghost chefs scratched his head. “Huh? Is that what a health inspector does…?”

“Of course, or cooourse! All a part of the job description, my friend.” Fellow indicated his absurd amount of food. “They’re looking to implement new standards for magic school menus—and where better to look at as a model for reference than THE famous Night Raven College? The education it offers is elite, so the meals it offers must be elite as well! That’s why they’ve sent us to try one of everything, to evaluate the quality of your wares.”

Gidel bobbed his head. (He had little clue what he was actually agreeing with, but he agreed nevertheless.)

“Come ON, you don’t seriously buy this crap, do you?” a mob student groaned. “The old fart’s clearly lying!!”

Other voices joined him, but they all fell upon deaf ears. The head chef’s eyes sparkled, his pasty white cheeks rosy with excitement.

“Oooooh, why didn’t you say so sooner?! W-We will absolutely do everything in our power to accommodate your needs, Sir Health Inspector!” He turned to his kitchen staff. “Isn’t this so exciting, everyone? We’ll be the first group of ghosts to receive a fancy accolade after death!”

A murmur of approval weaved through the kitchen. The dining room, however, erupted into a fresh round of protests.

“You’re joking!!”

“That’s such an obvious lie.”

“How can you believe that bullcrap?!”

Keheheh, never underestimate the power of this Fellow Honest-sama’s silver tongue 🎶 I didn’t even need to use my unique magic to cut to the front of the line. Some people are just born suckers and stay suckers in the afterlife.

He smirked, giving a triumphant twirl of his cane. “Sorry, folks! You snooze, you lose. We get first dibs on everything~”

“Hah?! What’d ya just say to me?” A vein bulged on a Savanaclaw student’s forehead. He was about double Fellow’s width and rippling with muscle. “Like hell you are!”

“The way you talk is pissin’ me off!!” chimed in a Diasomnia student. He drew his baton and aimed it at Fellow. “I oughta shut you up for good!”

The idea was a seed, taking root and festering among his peers. Other students were producing their own magical pens, out of pockets and from inside vests.

Fellow paled, balking but keeping himself between the mobs and Gidel. “H-Hey now, can’t we talk this over? Violence doesn’t solve everything, you know!”

“YES IT DOES,” the mobs retorted—in unison for once. Hungry and angry, a terrible combination.

Gidel whimpered. No sound, but Fellow could sense it in the way the boy retreated into his coat. A free hand found its way to the small of Gidel’s back, keeping him upright.

Don’t let them see you like that. Weak, downtrodden. It’s letting them have the moral victory.

His grin widened. He was a fox looking to sink his teeth into unsuspecting prey.

“Why spend your youth grumpy and causing trouble? You should lighten up, live a little, laugh a little. Here, I’ll show you how. Just follow me! Come on to the Theater!! Life is Fun!!”

Fellow spun his cane, releasing a light shower of sparkles upon the crowd. They floated down, popping like popping on their skin. Eyes glazed over, twisted expressions slackened.

“Now then!!” Fellow, raised his cane like a baton, still spinning as he conducted his herd. He, poised as the ringleader. “Right this way, right this way, gentlemen! Let’s have a lively parade to the courtyard on this fine day!”

“The weather is nice today…”

“Coach said I need to get more exercise in.”

“I’ve been stressed about classes, I need to take this break.”

Marching—one, two, one, two—Fellow led the procession out of the cafeteria. He belted out a tune as he ushered students through the exit.

“Hi-diddle-dee-dee, actor's life for me!”

(Gidel pranced in and out of the line of students, reaching into pockets and retrieving miscellaneous items. Pencils, a keychain, spare change. He stashed them under his hat.)

“A high silk hat and a silver cane, a watch of gold with a diamond chain!”

When the last student was gone, Fellow made a U-turn and rushed back into the cafeteria, slamming the doors behind him. He dropped his smile, letting it shatter like a porcelain teacup and not bothering to salvage the remains.

“Sheesh, they’re finally out of my fur!” Fellow sighed deeply. “Those rotten kids really had to make me work hard for my meal...”

Gidel scrambled over to him, pulling out the various items he had clumsily pilfered. Look what I got! he seemed to say.

Fellow brightened, ruffling the child’s messy brown mop. “Atta boy, Giddie! We sure showed those snooty rich kids what for, eh?”

At that moment, the head chef bursted out of the kitchen juggling a tray of apple strudel. He was followed by several other ghosts, each carrying a new dish.

“Sorry for the wait, here’s the… Huh?” The head chef glanced around the nearly empty cafeteria, his brows knitting. “Where did everybody go?”

“Must’ve gone out for a stroll Fine by me, they’re letting us get right down to business,” Fellow laughed, clapping a hand on Gidel’s shoulder. “C’mon, that’s enough excitement for one day. Let’s dig in!”

[cameronspecial]

(I have a lot of ideas sorry for the spam)

drew x reader where he cooks all the time cause she can’t cook, but she starts to feel bad cause he cooks everyday. So before he come back from work she try to make dinner but she hurts herself. Maybe cut herself or burned herself on the stove and when he gets home, he sees her trying to hide her injury because she is embarrassed. He gets a bit mad but not like mad mad just worried mad yk? Like “what the hell happened? I told you i would make dinner tonight!” And she cry and be like “I’m sorry I just wanted to make you happy” and he comforts her and say she shouldn’t be sorry.

Kitchen Nightmare

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Cooking Injury and Blood

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Y/N can’t cook. It is no secret on set that the girl is notorious for being a nightmare in the kitchen. The meat she cooks is always overcooked on the outside but raw on the inside. The rice she makes is always way too mushy or just hard as a rock. It’s like the universe only gave her the ability to cook food at either end of the extremities. The cast of Outer Banks loves her, but they dread going over to her house for dinner because it means they would have to utilize their acting skills to not make her feel bad about her cooking. When she started dating Drew, everyone felt relief that they would never have to eat her cooking again because Drew promised to take care of it. And Y/N was very grateful for that because the truth is that she hated cooking and she knew how bad she was at it. She never told her castmates because she found it amusing to watch them fake liking her food. 

However, she is beginning to feel bad that Drew is always the one who cooks. She knows he is more than happy to, but she also knows that being the one to think of a meal every day can be stressful. Her decision to help him out tonight scares her, yet she is determined to do something nice for him. Ordering food didn’t seem like a personal gesture, so she asked his mom for the casserole recipe she knew he loved so much. 

She feels like it is starting well. She has all the ingredients and the right tools. The first thing she has to do is get the chicken breasts out and washed. She is setting it in the pan and notices how thick the chicken looks. Her hand finds the packaging and realizes she made the mistake of not buying thin-cut chicken. She needs this dinner to be perfect, so she takes it out of the pan and gets it onto the cutting board. The knife shakily meets the chicken’s muscles and slices it apart. She always feared using knives. She knows how clumsy she is and can always imagine the disaster that would occur. Stuck in her own mind, it is exactly what happened. Her hand slips against the raw meat and the knife glides against her skin. A red line blooms across her finger. It is a scary situation and she knows she shouldn’t laugh, but the only thing that comes to her mind is a scene from Bob’s Burgers. Her cut is in the exact same place as Bob’s and now, all she hears is Linda saying finger crotch repeatedly. 

Drew enters the apartment to the smell of raw chicken and the faint hint of iron associated with blood. What is even more scary than the unknown source of blood? Finding his girlfriend laughing hysterically with a knife in one hand and her other bloodier than a slaughterhouse. He rushes to his girl, taking her hand into his. “What the hell happened?” he questions, piecing the scene together as he looks around the room. “I told you I would make dinner.” Her crazed state is now dying down and her laughter turns to soft cries. 

“I’m sorry I just wanted to make you happy. I know cooking every day can be stressful and that you miss your mom’s cooking. I wanted to surprise you.”

He feels bad about his harsh anger, pulling her into a hug with a kiss to the temple. “That’s really sweet, Sweetie. I’m sorry I was so angry. I just get worried when you cook. I don’t want you getting hurt,” he explains, combing his fingers through her hair. She nods. He gets a clean towel to apply pressure on her wound and gets his car keys out. He rushes her through the door. “Let’s get you to the hospital and then maybe to cooking lessons.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[viapu-com]

Add some spice to your dinner routine with our Sizzling Sensation: Thin Chicken Breast recipe. Now cooking can be both fun and scrumptious. #TheTasteYouCrave

[three--rings]

Threerings' Dinner Plan

Okay so you've got the average or more than the average amount of stress and limitations to your time and/or ability, but you like to eat good food. And you know you need to both eat healthier and more cheaply (i.e. home cooked food.) What do you do?

Well in the past few months I've kinda perfected a system for low effort cooking of very healthy meals that last for many days of leftovers. None of this is revolutionary or anything or original but IDK it's working really well for me so I'm sharing.

(Also this is for omnivores. Sorry non meat eaters.)

Basically the idea is sheet pan meals. Like I said, not revolutionary. But I've found a system to make it as easy and low-effort as possible.

Step One: Choose your meat and recipe.

So mostly I use chicken for this, because it's cheapest. But if your store is having a great sale on pork or beef, by all means. This last week I did pork tenderloin cause they were super cheap I just searched for a recipe for sheet pan pork tenderloin and adapted it.

But we're gonna assume you're going chicken. So I really only like chicken breasts, but if you like thighs you can use those because it's cheaper. I typically use about 1.75-2lbs of chicken at at time for these recipes.

So what I do is buy the thin sliced chicken breasts from the store. The benefit here is they are already pre-trimmed of all the nasty parts so you're not paying for bits of chicken you don't want and also you don't have to handle and cut the chicken yourself. All I do is open the package and I cut each piece of sliced chicken in half in the middle, horizontally. You don't have to do that, but it makes all the pieces about the same size and it fits better on the tray and then people can take exactly as much meat as they want more easily. (I'm only feeding two adults but it would work well for kids that way.)

Step Two: Veggies

So that's your meat, then you need veggies. I use frozen veggies because they are 1)cheaper and 2)pre-cut. You can pretty much use whatever veggies you like with whatever recipe, but I try to keep it in theme. Like with a Mediterranean dish I did onions and bell peppers and cauliflower. Recently I got a bag of "roasting vegetable blend" that was excellent with brussel sprouts, butternut squash, and onions. Get the higher quality veg like broccoli "florets" cause it's worth a few cents more. You will need/want more veggies than you think, like 20 oz total, you can mix a couple small bags of different ones per tray. And they will shrink a good deal in cooking.

Step Three: Sauce/seasoning.

And then we have seasoning/sauce. This is where I turn to internet recipes for "sheet pan whatever chicken." But I have a few I've used that I've adapted so I'll give them here. Whatever you do, basically you just mix the sauce and pour it over the chicken and/or vegetables and throw it all on a sheet tray and cook it in the oven. (Specifics below.)

Korean Chicken

4  tablespoons dark soy sauce (I've tried both dark works better)

4 tablespoons brown sugar

2 tablespoons neutral oil

1 tablespoon sesame oil

2 teaspoons Sriracha sauce

4 cloves garlic , minced (or ½ teaspoon garlic powder) (I use pre-minced jar garlic for ease)

1 tablespoon gochugaru red pepper flakes (if you don't have these just either use a smaller amount of regular red pepper flakes or just more sriracha. This shouldn't be really HOT, just tangy. )

Do Broccoli and Chicken with this, and mix it all in the sauce. It makes the absolute best broccoli EVER. Like I just want a plate of this broccoli it's so GOOD.

Greek Chicken

2 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp fresh lemon juice

6 cloves garlic minced

1 tbsp dried oregano

1 tbsp dried parsley

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp black pepper

1/4 cup feta cheese crumbled

(Sub pre-juiced lemon juice and jarred garlic for ease.) Marinate the chicken in the mixture for like 30 minutes first if you have time. Onions, bell peppers and zucchini is good for this. Don't add feta until the last 3 minutes of cooking, sprinkle feta over it and then put it back to get a little melty and browned.

Shawarma Chicken

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon ground coriander 

1½ teaspoons paprika (may substitute smoked paprika)

2 teaspoons ground cumin

½ teaspoon ground turmeric

1 teaspoon fine salt

¼ teaspoon black pepper

3 tablespoons neutral or olive oil

Juice of ½ lemon

You can again marinate the chicken for a bit if you want. But you don't have to. I recommend cauliflower for this, with whatever else you like. Grape tomatoes are good too. For this one I sprinkled the veggies with curry powder to make sure they got seasoned because there wasn't that much of the marinade.

So for ALL of these the process is this:

Preheat over to 450

Spread the frozen veggies all over a sheet pan (wrap the pan in aluminum foil first for easy clean up.) You can drizzle them with oil, salt and pepper, or a little of the sauce/marinade and toss to cover. Toss the sheet in the oven while it's still preheating. This will get the veggies started and defrosted before you add the chicken so it will all cook together.

Meanwhile get the chicken ready/wait 10-15 minutes for the oven to heat and the veggies to start cooking. (If you're using smaller/more tender veggies you can cut this time. Skip this entirely if you're using fresh.)

Mix your thin sliced chicken pieces with the marinade/sauce. Remove veggies from the oven and push to the sides to make room for your chicken in the middle. You can also simply lay the chicken pieces over veggies if you don't care about the veggies getting carmelized. Arrange your chicken and dump all the sauce. Return to oven.

Cook for about 20-25 minutes. You can check the temp of the chicken with a thermometer, but it's so thin it should be fine. This is why we start the veggies first so they can get mostly cooked and have time to start browning without overcooking chicken.

Remove from oven.

Serve with rice. I have been going the ultra-lazy route of using frozen microwaveable rice, but some of you may have rice cookers.

Congratulations you have a super healthy meal. If you feel crazy you could make a second tray of veggies at the same time and just have less meat with each meal to stretch your $. You could also add beans to your veggies and same.

My husband and I can get dinners for 4-5 days out of one of these meals. But neither of us eats a lot at a sitting, so ymmv on that.

You can also probably see how to adapt this. Find a sauce/marinade recipe, choose veggies and meat, and go! You will have to figure out the cook time for different kinds of meat though.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Tightrope and Lace

Astarion has a proposition: you’d look lovely in rope. And you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to dress for the occasion. Rated extremely Explicit.

Like a lotta questionable decisions in your life, this one also starts with four words.

“I have a proposition, darling.”

Okay, so that’s five words. But Astarion uses “darling” the same way the man deigns to breathe, so it don’t count.

It’s an hour after sundown. The last traces of pink light smear low on the horizon, behind the lit towers and buildings of the city. Warmth still clings to the stones of y’all’s townhouse, and your hair is still damp from your bath.

Astarion pads up behind you, and his cool fingers trace softly down the back of your neck. A shiver races along after them. Which he know’ll happen.

“Uh huh?” you say all non-committal, because the last time he said that to you it involved a phial of arsonists oil, the city watch, and the stray cat incident.

Y’all are still in your sleepwear. Well, he is. Soft, loose trousers and his bare chest against your back. You actually had to throw on a mumu (they call it a shift) after bathing, and that bitch is see-through in direct light, but y’all ain’t expecting visitors and it’s chilly enough you don’t want to walk around bare today.

(Fuck the heat.)

That mumu is thin enough you feel the first stirring of his intent against your ass.

“Uh huh,” you say, much more interested.

He nuzzles in, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. Down the side of your neck to drag his teeth over the fain scars you now carry there.

Feeding and fucking ain’t always synonymous with him—sometimes a man is just plain old hungry. It often is, though, and his cock is definitely starting to pay attention.

“Come back to bed,” he says.

“I’m hungry.”

He hums. Nibbles at you again and his hands move to your front. One lifts to cup a breast, while the other trails down, down to slip between your legs.

“So am I,” he says and he had to’ve practiced that line.

Except you’re up and washed for a reason. The night market is opening, and y’all are getting low on provisions. You want soup, goddamnit, and y’all are somehow out of both onions and fucking salt. Plus, if you get there soon, you can grab yourself a chicken before they all get snatched up (thank you Gale for teaching you how to defeather and dress them little dumplings).

(Ooh, chicken and dumplings sounds great.)

So you, very reluctantly, push his hands away. Turn in the circle of his arms—you don’t get a chance to talk before he leans in for a kiss. He’s gentle, this evening. You fall into it a little, until his teeth find your lower lip.

This’ll get out of control (y’all have fucked on this counter more than once already). And you need provisions.

So you break off. He tries to follow, and groans when you don’t let him.

“So selfish, leaving me here like this,” the man whines.

And the idea blooms in your mind. Your breath catches and a tendril of warmth shoots between your legs. Astarion, with his fucking vampire hearing honed in on your cardiac uptick, raises an eyebrow and a sly smile slides across his face.

“What if, um,” you say. “What if you weren’t the only one left wanting?”

“Oh?”

Your cheeks are warm. You bite your lip (and catch how he stares).

“What if we got the rope?”

The rest on AO3 cause I don't wanna get thrown into horny jail.

[adaginy]

I'm doing Dracula Daily for the first time this year after watching excitedly in previous years and I would like to share my recipe for chicken hendl/paprikash, somewhat based on my (slovak) grandmother-in-law's recipe. And for a slow cooker and a big batch.

The best part of this recipe, for me, is the memory of my mom copying it down for another family member and stopping to say "Excuse me does this say a quarter CUP of paprika??"

3+ lbs boneless chicken (we usually use thighs, obviously if you want to use something with bones just account for the weight. Recipe also works with rabbit.) 1.5 cup chicken broth black pepper 1 Tbsp butter 1/4 cup paprika (we use spanish because we can get that in bulk, please report back on results of what you use. Caution against using smoked because it gets to be Too Much very quickly.) 1 tsp marjoram, or thyme if you don't have marjoram on hand because who does 1 red bell pepper, in strips 1 shallot, in thin slices, or an onion, we just use shallot because I hate the texture and this way there's less of it 3 Tbsp tomato paste (~50g) . 1/2 cup sour cream, light is fine 1 Tbsp flour 3/4 tsp salt . carb to serve over (noodles/dumplings are probably most traditional, we like mashed potatoes)

Everything in the first section, into the slow cooker, about 3-4 hours on low or until stuff falls apart. (chicken breast doesn't always fall apart as well until you start stirring and poking at it.)

Mix the last 3 ingredients together and add to the pot, let heat through with the lid off while you prepare your carbs.

Grab yourself a plate/bowl of carbs and pour your delicious chicken sludge on top. Enjoy!

[elliespillowprincess]

being ellie’s housewife. omg.

a/n: smut, breeding kink… littleee blood.

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT NEIL DRUCKMANN

you were just finishing up the chicken tacos you made for your wife, ellie, while you wait patiently for her to get home; wearing nothing but a small cami and a pair of short shorts. she was off doing patrols for the past week and you grew more and more needy for her as the week progressed, unable to satisfy yourself with just your hands. suddenly, you hear her key insert into the door as you plate both of your plates. “baby? i’m home! where’s my girl?” you hear the familiar voice say. you run up to her, seeing how sweaty and dirty she had gotten being away for so long, and for some reason: it turns you on, wetness pooling in your cotton panties. “ellie!!! i’ve missed you so much!!” you say, wrapping your hands around her neck. ellie immediately noticed what you were wearing, she herself had grown desperate for you this week, only having the pictures in her wallet of you to look at.

“i missed you more sweet thing, what’s that smell?” she looks up, trying to find the source of the savory smell. you blushed at her sweet words as you explain you had made them dinner. she looks around the house and notices how beautifully spotless it is. “look at you mama, having food and a clean house all ready for me.” she says, grabbing the small of your waist and pulling you in for a sultry kiss. sweat, dirt, and her cologne fills your nose as you grab her auburn hair and kiss her deeper. “did you miss me baby?” she says, pulling away and laughing. “yes els.. you don’t know how much. i’ve been so bored here all week missing you… needing you.” your final words trail off, making ellie raise her eyebrows.

“go upstairs and lay down on the bed.” her words surprised you, not expecting her to be so demanding so fast. “but els.. the food!” you pout, turning back to see the steam from your plates become thinner. she gives you a look, a look that you just know you want to listen to, as you turn on your heels running upstairs. she watches you and goes to store the food in the microwave until you two are done.

you hear the downstairs shower running for about 15 minutes, growing more impatient by the second. “els!!! where are you?” you shout from upstairs. suddenly, the water turns off. about 5 minutes goes by and you see your wife walk in, wearing a pair of clean boxers and her sports bra. you practically drool. “couldn’t get my pretty girl all dirty right?” she says, walking over to the bed. you attentively sit up, watching her every move. she crawls onto the bed, and on top of you. “els…?” you say, looking up at her with innocent eyes. her eyes had grown darker, needier. “let me take care of you baby.”, she says, immediately sucking on the soft part of her skin. the sudden contact makes you moan loudly, holding her head in place.

“my sexy fuckin’ wife, cleaning my house and having hot food ready for me.” she says between kisses. her bent knee separates your legs, making you gasp at the sudden contact against your beating cunt. ellie notices how your wetness had pooled out through your underwear and into your shorts, smirking against your skin. her kisses trail down your collar bone, until she meets your thin cami top. “wearing these tiny little tops, looking so fucking beautiful.” suddenly, she rips the entire top in half in one fell swoop. “els!! this was one of my favorite tops!!” you say, pouting at her. “don’t worry baby, i’ll buy you as many more as you want- fuck i’ll buy you a hundred more- whatever you want.” her lips latch onto your left breast, suckling as her hand plays with your right bud. “fuck!!.. fuck, els please.. more..” she laughs softly, lifting her head up to look you in the eyes. “alright sweet thing.”

“aghhhhhh!!! ellie s’too much!!!” your head is shoved into the pink comforter of your bed as ellie’s strap enters and exits you at an animalistic pace. her grip on your hips is so strong, you’re sure it’ll leave marks. “my sexy wife, fuck.. look at you.. gonna.. gonna put my babies in you… fill you up.” nothing but the sound of your wet cunt, the bed creaking , and moans fill the room. “yeah baby?… what do u-fuckkkkk.. what do u think? you’d be so pretty.. all round and plump carrying my-nghh… kids..” you feel so full of her and all you can hear, smell, feel, think: is her. the knot in your stomach is pulling tighter and tighter and you feel like you’re gonna burst. “yes..-fuck!! yes els please!!!” her sweat drips off her forehead and down on your back. “look at that pretty pussy taking all of me.. so fuckin’ wet. she’s swallowing me.” her pace speeds up, her nails drawing small droplets of blood from your blush hips. her hand reaches around and begins drawing fast circles around your puffy clit. “els!!! m’gonna cum!! fuck-“ her pace speeds up as she her own orgasm from the back of the strap rubbing on her clit furiously tips her to the edge. “fuck- baby come with- with me.. gonna fill you up baby… cmon mama give it to me-“ her words, her pace, everything tips you over the edge as the moment you’ve been waiting for all week happens. your orgasm rips through you making you see stars and screams her name as ellie’s follows right after. you both fall over exhausted.

“got another one in you baby?”

[thegainingdesk]

The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.