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turboweenie · 6 months

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I am not a connoisseur or anything but I am a little guy who's sensitive to smell, and I've bought a few of the Baldur's Gate 3 perfume oils from various vendors. I thought I might put together a little post of my likes and dislikes for each of the oils I've tried, in case people weren't quite decided whether or not they wanted to try them out! It might be helpful, it might not. Under the cut features a small selection from Kronos Olfactory, Siren Song Elixers, MadLabs Studios, and Moth & Myrrh.

Kronos Olfactory

Trickery x Key notes: Bergamot, Rosemary (top); Cream, Brandy (mid); Honey, Musk, Burnt Sugar (base)

This is the first oil I purchased with the intent of finding something subtle that I could wear daily that wasn't just straight clary sage in a carrier oil. It is peppery. This is the only oil in this little series that I've used that's given the more shady characters a peppery undertone instead of just smokey or leathery, and I think it really works well. It's sweet straight out of the bottle from those base notes of honey and burnt sugar. I'm not normally a fan of sweet, and it took me a few days to stop thinking that it was too sweet for me to use. Once it settles on the skin for about a half an hour or so, it becomes more 'burned' than 'sugar', and the pepper really balances it out. It kind of reminds me of well oiled boots, or gear that's a little bit older but well maintained. There's an ambery sort of sweetness to it that isn't my favorite, which I assume is from the honey base, but it works really well with this blend. It was a daily wear for me before I had a few other options to choose from and in terms of quality of materials, candidness of recipe, and complexity of scent, I would say Kronos is a really, really good brand to purchase from. There is no bite of alcohol to this one, for those who are also sensitive to alcohol-based perfumes. My only complaint is that their selection is quite small if you're looking for specifically Baldur's Gate 3 scents. A lot of the other scents look like they are just as carefully blended, though.

♡

Siren Song Elixers

The Pale Elf x Key notes: Bergamot, Rosemary, Brandy

If you are sensitive to amber or sweet scents the way I am, this is a bit too sweet, unfortunately. If it's something you enjoy, however, I think this would be a really great scent. Out of the bottle there's an almost vanilla sort of undertone to it, which makes me think that the oil they've used for 'brandy' might be the key note in this one. Rosemary and bergamot are both very bright, citrusy and herbal scents; this oil is not that. It's dark, almost fermented. I say this with the intent to convey that it suits the character well. The blenders have done a really good job of nailing the vibe they were going for with this one. In total honesty it won't be in my rotation, but that is not because of the quality of the product, that is due to the quality of my olfactory system. There is no bite of alcohol to these. My biggest complaint with this vendor is that the 5ml bottle is a dauber instead of a roller ball; the 10ml standard, which is the size I purchased for the other vendors, is available! I would have to double check, but I think perhaps this is the priciest of the vendors, which is maybe why I opted for a 5ml dauber when I was not certain I would get daily use out of the oils.

The Devil You Know x Key notes: Palmarosa, Black Pepper, Cinnamon Musk, Rosewood, Amber, Cherry, Salt

Unfortunately, if the Pale Elf was just slightly too sweet for me, this one was definitely too sweet for me. There is a sort of fruitiness to this one, it is ambery and sweet straight out of the bottle; I would personally describe it as more of a maple sort of sweetness rather than a fruity sweetness, which might be good for some... the fruit is there but it's not quite there. Unfortunately for this perfumer, and through no fault of their own, I sort of associate the saccharine quality of amber with mouse poison (that sort of syrupy sugar smell of a corpse... anyway, if you know you know). That death rot. It's actually pretty funny if you're considering the character it's for, though. When it settles on the skin, there's more of a smoked saltiness that comes up and the maple syrup lessens, but it's still a bit sweet. There is no bite of alcohol base to this one.

Ascension x Key notes: Spiced Brandy, Bergamot, Rosemary, Lavender, Amber, Incense, Black Pepper

The sweetest of this batch. Unfortunately, I bought the 1ml sampler of this one because I knew there was a good chance I wasn't going to be able to wear it, and I wasn't wrong. There's a sweet sort of vanilla-y kind of creaminess to this smell. It's not a bad smell, but if you are sensitive to scents to begin with, it might be a bit too complex. There is smoke and shadow from the incense, sweetness from the amber, floral notes from the lavender and rosemary -- it's just very complex. It overwhelmed me quite a bit, and unfortunately I was not able to determine what the scent settles into. Hopefully, the pepper comes out a bit more, as that is what I liked so much about Kronos's 'Trickery' scent and was excited to see that this one also included pepper. Out of the bottle, it's not noticeable to my palate. There isn't any alcohol in this one, either.

♡

Mad Labs Studios

Rolan x Key notes: Teakwood, Geranium, Old Books (???), Bitter Orange

This one is very herbal and citrus out of the bottle; almost a little soapy with the floral notes, very clean smelling. I was a little nervous, as florals are not typically something that I am drawn to, and you can smell the ethanol base on this one when you uncap the bottle. Floral and clean is not how I would describe old books, either. I am sensitive to these sorts of scents; I would encourage the wearer to give it a minute to settle into the skin. Start with a small layer to get your nose accustomed to it. Once it's sat on the skin for about 30 minutes and the alcohol has aired out and the oils have soaked in, the only way to describe this is the smell of a library. Clean, but with a musky undertone that reminds me of old binding glue. The kind you smell in a used bookstore when you're flipping through a collection of Keats from Ward, Lock & Co that's so old, it doesn't have a publication date, but somehow still seems clean, as though it was cared for. I cannot stop huffing my own arm when this one's on. The more you smell it the more the different notes come out. Really like this one. My complaint for the company is the quality of the roller bottles: this seems a fairly standard complaint. There is often minor leakage (all three of mine had leakage), and if you don't rinse them off with soap and water, the carrier becomes sticky on the label. There is also a matter of the mystery shrouding some of the names of the ingredients. I understand that they are probably doing this to avoid having their formulas replicated, but as a shopper who sort of has an idea of what I like and dislike in a scent, I would rather the ingredients be listed candidly. Even so, I will be ordering from MadLabs again. Their products blend well and I've been impressed with the blends despite the drawbacks.

Dammon x Key notes: Clove, Blacksmith's Forge (???), Hot Cocoa, Sandalwood

This one is very smoke and cocoa out of the bottle. It took a second for my nose to adjust to the smoke smell; when mixed with the ethanol base it has a slight bit of a tobacco-y tone to it from the clove that I wasn't certain I would enjoy, but it mixes well with the chocolate and the sandalwood is a subtle balancer. Clove by itself is something I do enjoy, so I didn't think it would be a problem. There's something kind of metallic to it, like iron. Once it settles on the skin, the cocoa fades a bit to make the smoke the strongest scent, but it's almost woodfire smoke, not necessarily quite so coal/tobacco/iron. That stuff fades into the background. The cocoa that lingers adds a hint of dark chocolate sweetness to ensure that the smell isn't just smokey, and it blends well. There's a slight undertone of alcohol to this one even after it settles, it must just be the way it blends with the other ingredients. I could still wear this semi-regularly and not be bothered by it. The cocoa undertone is really unique.

Raphael x Key notes: Cinnamon, Plum, Labadnum, Black Velvet (???*) (*appears to commonly be a mix of citrus like lemon or bergamot, floral like lavender or rose, and something woodsy like cedar or sandalwood)

I am obsessed with this one, almost straight out of the bottle, even. I think this might be the favorite. This is what I expected a Raphael perfume to smell like. There is a cloying sweetness from the plum (cherry) overtone but it's not too sugary, like candied cherry or watermelon flavoring. It is the strongest note when you uncap this scent, but it fades to the background after about 20-30 minutes. Even straight on, I still found that it's more of a natural, subtle sweetness that almost presents itself as savory instead of sweet. I don't like sweet perfumes, I am obsessed with this. It's musky and overall more of a subtle scent than what I would presume a cherry-inspired perfume to be, and it settles even more savory on the skin. The fruit mellows out and gives way to the spice of the cinnamon and a muskier floral smell with the very slightest undertone of smoke or leather, which I am assuming comes from the labadnum. It was smart to pick plum instead of cherry, the cherry would have been sugary, or aspartamey. This is part of my regular rotation.

♡

Moth & Myyrh

The Pale Elf x Key notes: Bergamot (top); Leather, Geranium, Rosemary (mid); Brandy, Patchouli, Oakmoss, and Tobacco (base)

Let me just say, I like this company. I feel terrible, as their scents did not mix well with my needs, and it's unfortunate. The packaging is really nice. Cute, professional, the bottles themselves look very pretty, there was no leakage of product and the rollerballs are smooth, they are clearly using high quality materials to produce their scents. I like this vendor. Out of the bottle, this scent is herbal and soapy. It's very clean smelling, and I might not have been able to wear it long enough to get it to settle, but it didn't seem to mellow out for me at all. It's what fresh laundry from your nan's house would smell like: clean and comforting but a little perfumed. There is a smokey undertone from the brandy but it's overpowered a little by all the other notes, and it translates as very floral. (In the spirit of complete honesty, my brain told me that it smells a bit like someone went out back for a cigarette and spritzed a bit of floral perfume to cover the smell on their clothes when they came back in.) Honestly, if you are the type of person that perfume is often irritating to (like myself), this one might not be for you. I really tried to let this one settle on the skin to see how it mellowed out but I did end up having to wash it off, as it wasn't compatible with my sensory needs.

Raphael x Key notes: Saffron (top), Tobacco (mid), Cedar (base)

Again, top quality product. Not for me, that's all. I have been trying to avoid using terms like masculine and feminine for something as arbitrary as a smell, but this is what perfumers are talking about when they describe something as masculine. If you've ever smelled a cologne from Bath and Body Works, you've smelled this oil. That's not necessarily a bad smell but it is iconic, and it might be the saffron overtones mixed with the cedar (the Bath and Body Works one might use sandalwood instead). Pretty much what you smell is what you get. I again did not find that letting it sit on the skin changed the tone of it much, it felt straightfoward to me. It's a good, clean, masc smell. It doesn't particularly evoke Raphael to me, though; I might more readily assign this to one of the Zhentarim, like Rugan.

#bg3 #charlie talks #hope this helps somebody!! aaaaa #much love to all the hard work that went into these

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mask131 · 1 year

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Simple facts about Ancient Egypt (3)

And here is my last entry on various simple facts, trivia and elements about Ancient Egypt as a society and nation, to completement my mythology posts. (At least, my last entry of this summer). A bit of a warning, as usual, my sources might be a bit too oversimplified or a bit outdated, but that’s what I know about Ancient Egypt and feel free to correct me if anything is wrong!

We talked of great general facts about history and geography… We talked of the various jobs and social classes… Why not conclude with everyday life? And let’s begin with the heart of it all: food!

# Unless there were very bad crops leading to famines, the “common folk” of Ancient Egypt usually ate their fill and did not die of hunger. But while they ate their fill, they ate very simple and plain foods. The main element of the Egyptian alimentation was bread. Every meal had at its center the bread – sometimes served with onions (which was the most common and widespread vegetable of Egypt). Made with either spelt flour or barley, there were forty different types of Egyptian bread, usually of conic shape (since the molds for the bread were cone-shaped). Egyptians also ate a lot of vegetables and fruits: cucumbers, radishes, garlic, salads, cabbages, grapes, grenades, dates, figs… Egyptians especially ate a lot of lettuce: they believed it was an aphrodisiac and frequently ate some to augment their sexual desire. For great occasions, big holidays or special events, Egyptians added to their bread-and-plants meal either a fish or a duck, if the hunt/the fishing had gone well – because for every day folks, you had to get your own meat and fish. The meat coming from farms, the “raised” meat, was only a product for the wealthy and the upper-class.

# Egyptians took three meals a day: one in the morning, one in the beginning of the afternoon, and one in the evening. To eat, Ancient Egyptians sat on the ground, and didn’t use fork and knives, but either their own fingers, either a piece of bread.

# Egyptians were BIG beer drinkers. They drank more beer than water – and for good reasons! Because the water they obtained from either the Nile or wells tended to be filled with bacteria causing all sorts of disease and infections. So they preferred the much safer beer. Even kids drank beer every day – but hopefully it was a beer very low in alcohol. Egyptians created their beer with barley, and each family had to produce its own beer: a barley bread was broken into crumbs thrown into a big jar, filled with a mix of water and honey (or dates if you couldn’t have honey). The Egyptians then crushed and mixed the whole thing with their feet (yes, they entered into the jar and stomped it all). The gruel or porridge they obtained from this mix was then left to ferment for several days, before being eaten. Yes, “eaten”, not drank. Because Egyptian beer, on top of being much more nutritive than today’s beer, was also much thicker – it was more of a food than a drink.

# Since Egyptians had no sugar, they sweetened their meals with either honey or crushed dates. The wealthiest Egyptians drank wine, either red or white. And Egyptians already made foie gras! Yep, long before the French. But the funny thing is that they didn’t just do goose foie gras… They also made hyena foie gras.

# Egyptians, men and women, thought physical beauty was very important. If their clothes were typically simple and white, with not much color or ornament, they however had very varied and extravagant jewels, hairdos and makeup. Egyptian jewels came in the form of bracelets, rings, necklaces and earrings – the wealthy and the rich had jewels made of precious stones such as turquoise, lapis-lazuli, jasper or carnelian, while the poorer wore jewels made of enamel/faience.

# Egyptians wore most of their makeup around their eyes – they highlighted the shape of the eye by covering its borders in a black substance, either galena or kohl, before putting green makeup over their eyelids. Egyptians sometimes even dyed their eyelashes or eyebrows in green – and this wasn’t just a women’s habit, men also did that. The reason why Egyptians placed so much makeup on their eyes was because there were no sunglasses at the time, and the Egyptians desperately sought a way to protect themselves from the harsh rays of the sun, the dust carried by the desert’s wind, and the flies that tries to infect eyeballs. Galena and kohl had antiseptic properties, hence why Egyptians covered their eyes with it.

# While green was a very common makeup color, Egyptian women LOVED red makeup, made out of ochre. They used red makeup on their lips and on their cheek. They rather used henna to paint their fingernails and toenails – sometimes even their whole feet.

# In general, Egyptian household were known to collect a LOT of pots, jars, bottles and vials filled with creams, perfumes and various body oils. It wasn’t just pure vanity: Egyptians took great care of their skin because it could easily be damaged by the dryness and hotness of the Egyptian climate. Plus, Egyptians also had a great fear of aging, which was just as stigmatized as today, and so they tried to keep their skin looking as young as possible for as long as possible. In fact, one aspect of this fear of aging was the Egyptians’ fear of baldness. To fight it off, Egyptian men used all sorts of potions and products whose recipes we kept today, and that were made with the most improbable and repulsive ingredients. Donkey’s hooves, dogs’ legs, dates cores, snake fat or crocodile fat!

# Another fight against aging was the Egyptians’ fight against white or grey hair, that they constantly covered by either dying their hair black or wearing a wig. Egyptians were BIG fans of wigs – because they were considered a sign of wealth and upper status, since you needed a LOT of money to buy a wig. They were made out of real hair, decorated with various feathers, and plunged into bee wax to keep being straight and shining. However, to wear those wigs, Egyptians had to completely shave their real hair underneath…

# Ancient Egyptian houses were made out of mud bricks – all houses were made of mud bricks. You could only distinguish them by their size and their level of comfort, not by their material. A typical Egyptian house had three to four rooms, with thin walls and an uncovered ground – plus, the roof was always flat and doubling as a terrace. The houses of the nobility were much bigger (300 meters square roughly) , with much more rooms: they had several bedrooms, reception rooms, kitchen, pantries and workshop. Noble houses were also noted for having thick walls, and being covered in painted ceramic. To protect themselves from the heat, Egyptians built only a few windows, placed in high positions, and always towards the north – plus there were ventilation openings bult on the roof.

# Egyptian houses, however, were not very solid. They had no foundations, they just rested on the ground – and their bricks were made by leaving to dry out in the sun a mix of mud, stone and hay. If the wind was blowing too hard, cracks appeared in the walls, and if there was a flood, the walls simply melted and the house was swept away. So Egyptians often had to rebuild and repair their houses.

# Of course, no need to tell you that getting water to the house wasn’t easy – Egyptians had to go to the well two times a day to get water, and they kept it in large jars either in the courtyard or near the door. Only the rich could afford having big bathrooms and even toilets, and they were the only ones who built special passageways for dirty water to go outside of the house.

# Poor people in Egypt had the strict minimum when it came to furniture: a few stools to sit, a few mats to sleep on the ground, and a few baskets to put their clothes into. Rich people could afford tables (though they were low), beds, chairs and chests. But things such as wardrobes, high tables, or libraries did not exist in Ancient Egypt… There were couches however: But they were made out of bricks, and covered in cushion/pillows to make sure you didn’t break bone when you wanted to sit. To have light, Egyptians used a type of oil-lamp, made of a cup in which was placed a burning linen wick. Beds were also very uncomfortable, since it was a rectangle of wood, with cross-breams of woven reed, with no mattress whatsoever. There was no pillow, but a piece of wood on which Egyptians rested their heads. There was also no bedsheets whatsoever – all Egyptians could do was cover their beds in cushion or pieces of cloth. During the hottest nights, Egyptians slept on their roofs (which was also where they kept their stored grains and cereals).

# After talking of the house, let’s talk of the household. Egyptians were very BIG on love stories and romance in general, constantly painting or describing couples hugging or holding hands. While numerous marriages were arranged, a lot of Ancient Egyptians marriages were actually done out of love – something that was very unusual for the time, compared to the neighboring civilizations. People married young – around twenty years old for men, around fourteen years old for girls (because men were recognized as living longer than women in Ancient Egypt). The main purpose of the marriage was for the couple to make children, because it was believed that the child’s duty was to help and assist their parent when they grew old. So couples had lots of children – the average Egyptian family had ten children. When they died, couples were buried together in the same grave.

# A very interesting fact: women in Ancient Egypt were considered equal to men in the eyes of the law. This meant women had the same rights as men, could own money or wealth of their own, could go out without any chaperone and without their husband being present… In fact, if a woman was abused or harmed by her husband, she could go to the tribunal, and the husband would be punished by a severe beating – up to a hundred hits with a wooden rod. And if the abusive husband harmed his wife again, she could demand a divorce and to have money given to her.

# Because yes, divorce existed in Ancient Egypt! Some couples, when they married, wrote a contract, but it was not obligatory – and usually these contracts were only written by couples who were married together for a few years now. That’s because the contract’s function was to establish to who belonged what in the household (the furniture, the clothes, the money, the house) and it was only used to take care of the topic of heirs and inheritance. There was no official religious or bureaucratic ceremony for the marriage – no priest was called, no bureaucrat of the town was called, there was no trip to the temple… The only thing that “validated” a marriage was the fact that a man and a woman lived together as a couple in a same house – in fact, a woman was officially married when she first placed her foot inside the house of the boy she wanted to be the wife of. If a couple didn’t like each other anymore or couldn’t stand each other, they just had a divorce. Well… if they could afford it. Because the Egyptian divorce required for the couple to split their belongings between each other, which was a cause of many feuds and disputes. Typically the divorced woman returned to her parent’s house, until she could find a new husband.

# Unlike what some people believe, there was no “harem” and no polygamy among Egyptian couples – it was a strictly pharaonic habit. The regular folks of Ancient Egypt could only have one wife or one husband. Similarly, while the pharaoh was allowed and encouraged to marry within his own family, incest was forbidden for the regular inhabitants of Egypt – siblings could not marry, and parents could not marry their children.

# The love Egyptians had for cats was so great that, when a cat died within a house, all of the household grieved, and every member of the family (because a house’s cat was thought to be part of the family) shaved their eyebrows.

# Children are taken care of by their mother up to six years old or so. During this time, the child’s life is mostly just playing around with their siblings and their neighbors in the streets. Starting at six years old, the boys become their father’s charge, while the mothers stay with their mother. Boys are taught either their father’s job, or were sent to school, while girls learned from their mother how to take care of the house, or how to do farm work. But for the “school” part, it was only for the boys of rich family, since school was an elitist organization in Ancient Egypt – school was the only way for Egyptians to become scribes, scientists, priests or ministers. All those that didn’t go to school were forced to work alongside their parents – yes, even at five or six years old! Child labor was very common. Little boys could be found sculpting stone, doing woodwork, painting, shaping jewels, building houses, while little girls learned how to weave, how to brew beer, how to grind grains, and of course if the child belonged to a farmer’s household, they were seen working in the fields.

# Children often had a shaved head to avoid the plague that were the lice. Children could only keep one lock of hair, that often grew into a braid – it was the “lock of childhood”, or “children’s braid”, a braid which was cut off at fourteen years old.

# There was no difference between boys and girls when a baby was born: both were welcomed with great joy and festivities. As I said before, women had the same rights as men, and so girls were just as beloved as boys.

# There were a lot of toys back in Ancient Egypt, for young children (below six) to play with. Balls made of woven reed or stitched cloth, rattles, stone spinning tops, earthenware dolls (for girls), and even all sorts of wooden animals with articulated limbs and jaws. In fact, the same way young children of Europe often played with miniature horses or horses on wheels, Egyptian kids (who had no idea what a horse was since they weren’t from the region) rather had lions with wheels, or wheeled crocodiles.

# And most of the time children were left naked. This was actually part of a strange obsession with cleanliness that possessed Ancient Egyptians: people thought that leaving the child naked would allow the clothes to keep clean and thus avoid unnecessary laundry. However, children were forced to wear jewels, especially ear-rings (be it boys or girls, both had their ears pierced). Children were only asked to wear clothes when the temperatures went low and the air was a bit chilly – they then wore a sleeved tunic.

#simple facts about ancient egypt #women's rights in ancient egypt #ancient egypt #ancient egyptian family #ancient egyptian diet #makeup throughout history

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atopvisenyashill · 7 months

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Which asoiaf characters would like chocolate?

WELL chocolate in Westeros wouldn't look like the chocolate you buy in stores. Chocolate - or cacao in its original form - was used as a drink for most of history because actually making chocolate sweets is kind of a laborious process even with a steam engine and cultivating cacao is much harder than most people realize (that's......um, probably why it's so infamously tied to slave labor eeven in the modern day. shout out tooney's chocolate tho). it was considered a delicacy but the spaniards hated the bitterness of it originally, so they added honey, and then understood why half the americas had lost their damn mind over cacao. so while it’s likely there’s some sort of chocolate in Terros, they probably drink it!

Arianne Martell/Dornish chocolate - there’s two types of “chilate” drinks (this one is central american the other is mexican), I think Arianne would like the spicier version, which involves adding chilies to spice it (and you use a masa drink base like atolli, mix that with the cacao, then add chilies), and I think she would make Myrcella drink it super spicy just to fuck with her and then pull out a sweeter version when Myrcella is like “oh you think you’re so slick making fun of me bc i’m white well you’re right give me the honey”

Myrcella - I think she’d love a good cinnamony drink ya kno. The other version of chilate is served cold, basically the same concept cinnamon and sugar. I think she’d find it very refreshing with the hot Dornish weather.

Tyrion/Westerlands/Crownlands - another way they drank cacao is using the bitter white part of the bean as a fermented sugar for alcoholic drinks and personally, not only do I think the tricksters of House Lannister would be allllll over that, I think Tyrion specifically got introduced by Genna and brought it back in style everywhere he could because he loved it.

Cersei Lannister - refuses to partake because Robert also thought the chocolate alcohol was tasty BUT she WILL drink the version of it that the Spaniards loved which was spicy but add vanilla AND honey AND sugar, and it gave all those spaniards a lil tummy ache, and it definitely makes Robert’s stomach hurt but Cersei will down a keg of it without blinking on spite alone.

Sansa Stark - the second chilate drink, the one Myrcella likes, I think Sansa would also love that. Rice milk + cinnamon + chocolate + sugar girlies, besties for life, plus it’s usually eaten with a fritter of some sort and we know Sansa loves her lil cakes.

Ned Stark/The North - one of the earliest ways of using cacao was to use the whites as part of a frothy, bitter drink and I think that screams Northerners to me and I think Ned would unironically love how bitter it is. He makes sure to invest in some bee agriculture when Cat moves north so she can have honey tho

The Reach/Alicent Hightower - the fact that one of the popes said that drinking a chocolate drink doesn’t count as breaking a fast is so funny so i FULLY believe that the Faith went WILD AF for chocolate, which means Alicent introduced it to KL and got half the population hooked bc it’s the only think she and Aemond can drink when they fast so they need a constant supply just in case they gotta be super catholic about something

Baelor the Blessed - real talk though, a drink made with masa & water or rice & milk, is probably more filling and a little better for your body, so Baelor drank chocolate drinks but ONLY the spicy kind because it was punishing to his white people sensibilities

Naerys - I can’t imagine she did much fasting considering how sick she was but we know she was religious AND close to Baelor, so she’d like drinking it to feel closer to her faith and Baelor. Plus, again, both Spain and Indigenous Americans thought chocolate was the shit they used it during religious ceremonies and considered it a delicacy, so I can see chocolate really catching on in court after having back to back Alicent/Baelor/Naerys chugging it all the time.

Ser Duncan the Tall - chocolate is very much a rich people (or religious) delicacy pre industrial revolution so Dunk likely hadn't had any until after he meets Egg. I like to think he had like the chocolate milk type drink and it rewrote his brain chemistry lmao. I actually think it's likely that Egg shies away from it and sees it as sort of an example of the social stratification between the nobility and smallfolk, but probably couldn't help but get Dunk some every time he could.

Daenerys - Dany definitely takes it spicy and cold, I really think she'd get a kick out of it, she seems very interested in trying different flavor profiles and I think the play of flavors in typical chocolate drinks would fascinate her.

#asks #anons #the history of chocolate in pre contact americas and late medieval spain is really funny to me

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clatterbane · 2 years

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Redneck Cider Experiment 2: Ginger Lemon Cyser!

Next to the previous batch, which is nearly finished fermenting. *fingers crossed*

Yep, I did go ahead and throw together a test batch using that ginger-lemon-apple juice drink! The base juice wasn't much darker than the other kind starting out, but certainly turned that way once everything else was in.

I decided to use a little honey mainly for flavor this time, putting it somewhere in cyser territory. Though closer to cider strength than the usual run of mead. It's mostly apples! 😁

I thought we had some of the plainer generic honey left that Mr. C picked up for his mead batch, but turned out he did use it all. So, I ended up using what was already in the cupboard, which is a little stronger flavored wildflower type honey that I spotted at Lidl. (And totally delicious.) Just as well that this only needed like 1/4 cup, with that little jar.

We have some more nice apples that I mainly got for cooking but haven't made anything with yet. So, I decided to do a little prep work in advance, and cored/chopped up a big one last night to stick in the freezer. Which also helps break it down some for better brewing. Pulled that out of the freezer a little in advance to thaw out, and the little chunks were definitely mushier trying to feed them down into the bottle.

I'm hoping that the fruit pieces will break down enough to pour out of the bottle without too much trouble later on. If not, that will have to be a problem for Future Me to contend with. 🙄 Making do with the best equipment I have on hand.

Partly to help break the fruit down and bring out the flavor better, I did indeed also pick up some pectic enzyme in that new haul of actual brewing supplies. Also, some proper yeast nutrient to hopefully keep the friendly beasties happier. (Labeled for beer, but the stuff Wyeast pushes for wine/cider/mead is apparently exactly the same.) The pectinase is also supposed to help it turn out clearer, but we'll see.

I may or may not have used anywhere near the appropriate amounts of either thing, but went with a wild-ass guesstimate based on what people with a lot more experience were saying. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ If anything, I tried to err on the side of using less, to hopefully avoid any strange flavors.

I just went with the same yeast as last time again. Seemed to work pretty well. Almost ready, just waiting to get the yeast hydrated here before pouring it in with everything else!

The actual recipe and numbers, btw:

Yes, I am using a Cider / Wine Tracker app for convenience, because I am just that kind of nerd. Who never intended to find another hobby rabbit hole to jump down like I seem to be in the process of doing.

The airlock wasn't bubbling yet at last check, but it hasn't been that long. Interested to see how this goes!

#redneck cider #homebrewing #cyser #alcohol mention #food

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 2 years

Note

Spinning off from my question about Grima's favorite and least favorite foods, what about sweets? What sorts of pastries or candies do you think could be found in Rohan, and which ones do you think Grima likes best?

Oh man! Love me some food talk! Especially Grima food talk :D Thank you for dropping this into my inbox~~

As usual, this got hecka long. (This is what happens when I answer on my desktop and not my phone.)

I love food and food history – it’s something I’m super keen on and love nattering on about, particularly as it relates to the medieval and early modern period. Though, for Rohan, we’re really talking late antiquity and early medieval in terms of time but ingredients in European cooking didn’t take a dynamic change until 1492 and the colonization of the Americas began.

I have a lot of thoughts about what Middle Earth has access to in terms of food products from the Americas – because clearly they got tobacco somehow. Also, apparently, tomatoes? And potatoes. Etc. (I know Tolkien has an answer to this but I’m still a little hmmmm/consistency check needed Tolkien about it.)

My answer will generally work based on the assumption that Rohan has limited to no access to ingredients that are wholly and entirely native to the Americas. Because, as we know, Tolkien intended Rohan to be reminiscent of Anglo-Saxon England and early medieval Scandinavia so I tried to work at least vaguely within those parameters. (I know he was like: it’s Mercia! But I refuse to be hampered by a single kingdom that ranged from 6th to the 9th century because Tolkien didn’t limit himself either.)

my tl;dr is: Grima has a sweet-tooth and loves carbs and dairy products so he's all about them honey cakes and sweet cheese tarts.

----

Frist off - base ingredients that the average Rohirrim would be working with as sweeteners are honey, fruits, nuts (e.g., chestnuts, walnuts, almonds), herbs/spices, syrups/confits (fruit or cereal based – strawberry, for example) and cheeses/dairy products.

Pending Rohan’s climate and geography, they might have the correct maple trees for syrup tapping (i.e., sugar maple, red maple, and black maple), which would add an additional flavouring agent to their dessert foods. But I personally find that doubtful. The temperatures in spring need to range from -4 at night to around 6 or 7 in the day for a proper sugar tap and I don’t see Rohan getting that cold consistently enough to make it work.

For the wealthy, there might be access to sugarcane products (i.e., sugar, molasses, rum ;) etc.), but I just can’t get my head around Middle Earth having sugarcane. If they did, it’d be in lands controlled by Sauron so access would be limited during times of war. Therefore, Grima growing up would likely not have seen any white or brown sugar, if it existed.

Other things that would have been accessible more to the rich in Rohan than anyone else: cinnamon, cloves, allspice, cardamom, ginger, vanilla and other herbs, spices etc. that grow outside Rohan – and in regions, coincidentally, mostly controlled by Sauron and/or have rough trade relations with allies of Gondor.

As this is the case, most of the sweetening Grima would be familiar with would come from honey and fruit. His palate, like most in a late-antiquity and early medieval society, probably ran towards sour and tart. Our palates today, especially in the west, are incredibly sweet in comparison to what our ancestors were used to.

All fermenting was done with wild yeasts and that tends to give you more sour flavour profiles in your ales/beers, meads, and yogurts than the controlled approach to brewing and dairy products we have today. Meat and fish were often preserved via salting, vinegar, or with the sour dairy run-offs from the cheese and yogurt process.

All this said! Some deserts or sweet snacks Grima would likely be familiar with include, but are not limited to:

Sweet breads (e.g., gingerbread [for the wealthy, in 14th c England a pound of ginger cost the same as a sheep], apple loaf, honey load, nut bread etc.)

Fried breads (think beignets or zeppoli, but also proto-funnel cakes)

Fried, baked or stewed fruits

Sweet cheeses

Custards

Skyr/something similar

Honey

Candied fruits and nuts

Tarts and pies (a very wide range of tarts and pies existed)

Cakes (and there are a wide range of these, too, e.g., I’ve seen an early medieval cheesecake recipe)

Cookies or sweet biscuits

Fried figure-of-eight snacks (an early medieval pretzel, basically)

Fritters (so many fritters, so little time)

Sweet toasts i.e. toastee (most usually topped with spiced honey and available nuts)

For Grima – I firmly believe the man has a devil of a sweet-tooth and therefore likes any and all things put in front of him that are vaguely sweet in nature.

He’d have grown up on simpler versions of everything listed above – a lot of honey, orchard fruits (e.g., apple, pear, cherry, plum, quinces, medlars) and local berry flavourings (e.g., blackberry, blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, gooseberry, lindenberry). Maybe nuts, depending on what was available. The herbs would have been rosemary, mint, elderflower, heather (get hiiiiigh), lavender (maybe), rose (for special occasions most likely), marjoram etc. Not sure his family would have had the income to access things like citrus of any kind, cinnamon, ginger etc.

Therefore, day to day when he was young it’d have been honey cakes and seed loafs and sweet cheeses and skyr + fruit (not unlike how we eat it today) and fruit or nut tarts etc.

When he entered Theoden’s household and was able to sit at the high table with the king’s family and chief advisors this is when he’d get the glories of cinnamon bread and candied ginger and lemon tarts and the like. Pineapples.

Grima: We can’t EAT the pineapple. We have to leave it on the table so people know we can afford it.

Eomer: We have more than one pineapple. We can eat it and display it.

Grima: M O R E. T H A N. O N E??

Personally, I think Grima just loves carbs. So he’s the one sharking all the sweet and fried bread products at the table. I think he also likes sweet cheeses and custards so is really happy whenever something is fried bread on the outside and a sweet cheese or something on the inside.

As palates ran tart/sour, I can see Grima enjoying Rohan’s answer to skyr straight with no additions to it. Same for sour cheeses served at the end of the meal.

If I had to rank Grima’s favourite deserts/treats, once he was part of Theoden’s household and can afford/has access to Fancy Things, I think it’d go:

Fried bread with cinnamon (i.e., Rohan-beignets)

Orange infused custard

Saffron custard tart

Honey cakes – preferably with cinnamon or vanilla

Skyr

Candied ginger and almonds

Gingerbread

Sweet cheese filled tarts (Rohan’s answer to the Danish)

Pear or apple fritters

That said, I can see him still enjoying throwbacks to the less fancy sweets of his childhood, such as the fritters, but also the more herbal and earthy flavourings that were available to his family—winter savory, lemon thyme, bay, lavender, mint, borage, rosemary, marigold, sweet marjoram etc.

I didn't get into sweet beverages (herbal wines, mulled anything, mead, flavoured ales, fruit wines etc.) because that's a whole other thing.

I hope this was helpful! These are many, many thoughts and honestly, I could probably have gone on for another three pages but I thought I should wrap it up.

Thank you so, so much for the ask! It made day :D :D

#lotr #lord of the rings #ask #reply #rohan #lotr meta #grima wormtongue #anon #food history #middle earth #grima thoughts #grima and food

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synstoria · 2 years

Note

What types of contraceptives exist in Calidya's world? Is there something like the moon tea of asoiaf?

Absolutely, there is conveniently, several herbs in Calidya for birth control.

1) Acalactine*, mixed with honey because it's quite bitter and sariette for their aphrodisiacal propriety. PLOT TWIST it act on sperms, so it's men who have to take it, not women. The little name of this mixture is "special honey", because it's mendatory in most brothel for any men to drink one when they enter the house.

2) On the first semester of pregnancy, women can take an alcholol called "forbiden absynthe", they have to drink it twice a day during an entire week. It's a mixed of several herb including fermented absynthe, vervain, licorice, mint and sage. It actually smells and taste quite good.

"Forbiden absynthe" is obviously not allowed in Calidya even if a lot of people actually sell it, but the "special honey", is really common and quite accepted. It can even be prescripted by doctors for example if a couple doesn't want children anymore because they already have one and the mother nearly died giving birth.

Both of those things are forbidden in Isiria, since birth is more important than anything else for them.

Contraception, it's probably not something I will have time to really speak about in detail in the game (maybe through a petition, I don't know yet). But I thought a lot about it, because it's very important for me.

In the end, if a choose the "special honey" it's because there is two idea between them. In one hand, I like the idea the contraception burden is on men and not women for once. On the other hand, it once again gives the power to men, which makes perfect sense in a patriacal country and creates an other set of problems explaining there is still unwanted pregnancy in Calidya and unfair control on women's body.

*Acalactine is totally invented, but it was inspired by an actual spermicide practice “mix grated Acacia leaves and honey and soak a gauze to be inserted into the vagina.” who was actually effective due to acacia lactic acide. I just feel it's more convenient to drink a tea than to shove some stuff into a vagina. First because I wanted to be a men thing like I explained before, and second because it's a bit more convenient this way, and as I said before, sometime as a writer you have to think about convenience before realism.

#Imperial Grace #lore

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lananiscorner · 2 years

Text

About that tea blend merch...

Seeing a lot of FE3H tea discourse in the tags right now and I’m kind of confused that no-one has pointed out the obvious what-the-fuckery going on with the ingredient choices for some of these blends yet. So below the cut, I’ve put the ingredients of the tea blends that are being sold as FE3H merch, as listed here and translated by Google Translator (because I sadly don’t speak JP, so correct me if I’m wrong), adjusted for the names they have in-game, with their in-game description and my honest thoughts:

Bergamot: black tea / fragrance - “The bright notes of this tea stem from an infusion of citrus oils. This blend is highly favored by nobility.” - Okay, this makes sense--bergamot is a citrus fruit, bergamot tea is black tea + bergamot. No objections.

Dagda Fruit Blend: black tea, coffee / fragrance - “A stark, bitter fruit from Dagda makes this black tea particularly pungent. Connoisseurs enjoy its unique flavor.“ - I gotta ask: Where’s the fruit? Where is it? I don’t see a single fruit in here. They got the black tea and the coffee (bitterness) right, but where the fuck is the fruit?

Almyran Pine Needles: black tea - “This tea is comprised of oxidized pine needles from eastern Almyra, giving it a distinct, earthy tone.“ - They weren’t even trying. None of the shrubs/trees used for making black tea have pine needles.

Angelica Tea: Verveine, rosemary, eyebright, chamomile, green tea, lavender, Nikko maple, blueberry leaf, jasmine flowers - “A cleansing herbal tea blended with angelica.“ - This is actually called “Herbal tea” in the merch, but the closest to that in game is Angelica, which begs the question: Where the fuck’s the angelica? They put pretty much everything in there except the one thing the tea is known for in-game lol. At least this time they used green tea, not black.

Ginger Tea: black tea, ginger - “The sharp spiciness of ginger laces the body of this tea, unforgettable and brightening.“ - I will give them the benefit of the doubt here, since some ginger teas are actually made with black tea (although some are not).

Albinean Berry Blend: black tea, dried strawberry / fragrance, citric acid - “Dried Albinean berries give this black tea its fragrance. The sweet, relaxing scent is popular among many.“ - Nothing to critique here.

Four-Spice Blend: black tea, cinnamon, cardamom, clove, white pepper, black pepper - “A novelty tea blended with four unique spices inspired by the Four Saints. Enjoyment requires a mature palate.“ - So right of the bat, we have 5 spices in our 4 spice blend. Maybe the people who created this counted Saint Seiros too, in which case, take your pick which Saint inspired which spice (Cethleann is obviously the cinnamon and Seiros the white pepper, but the rest is debatable imo).

Chamomile: black tea, chamomile - “A stark white floral tea with bright notes, this blend calms the nerves and heightens concentration.” - You... do not... put black tea... in chamomile... omg, why would you... *shakes head* It is literally just chamomile + hot water + maybe a bit of honey.

Cinnamon Blend: black tea, cinnamon / fragrance - “An aromatic bark blend referred to as the king of spices. Its unique taste appeals to similarly unique people.“ - I know some RL cinnamon teas are made with black tea, but the in-game description mentions nothing of the sort, so this is kind of sus.

Mint Leaves: black tea, peppermint cut - “An invigorating mint blend that revitalizes and refreshes all who partake.“ - You... do not... put black tea... in mint tea... If you really want to use more than just mint and maybe honey, add green tea, but not black tea, wtf...

Crescent-Moon Tea: black tea, vanilla / fragrance - “Fermented dried seeds blended with tea leaves. It has a soft and subtle flavor, akin to the gentle light of the moon.“ - Nothing to say here. God knows what they thought of when they originally created that item in the game.

Sweet-Apple Blend: black tea, dry apple / fragrance - “A tea blended with two types of apple peels. Elegant and sweet, it is popular among common folk and nobles alike.“ - Okay, so they couldn’t even be bothered to use/specify two types of dried apple, that’s a good start, but I also gotta ask: “black tea” in a “sweet” blend? What? Ever heard of red tea? I have three different fruit blend teas in my kitchen right now--not a single fucking one of them uses black tea. Keep that shit away from my fruit blends.

Rose Petal Blend: black tea, rose red / fragrance - “Black tea laced with rose petals. A classic floral blend often enjoyed among Kingdom and Alliance nobles.“ - Good job, nothing to add.

Almond Blend: black tea, almonds / fragrances - “A refined, nutty tea that is blended with leaves and thinly sliced almonds.“ - While “almond tea” is called “tea”, it traditionally does not include any black/green/red/white tea.

Seiros Tea: black tea - “A black tea common to the south of Almyra, it is fairly basic in its flavors. This is its common name in Fódlan.” - Okay.

Honeyed-Fruit Blend: black tea, marigold / fragrance - “A candied blend made up of dried, honeyed fruits. For anyone with a sweet tooth, this tea can't be beat.“ - Again, where the fuck are the fruits? What the hell is black tea doing in my fruit blend? They couldn’t be bothered to add a single bit of hibiscus, peach or literally anything fruity in there? (Side note: the actual plant “marigold” refers to here is of the genus tagetes, not calendula.)

Lavender Tea: black tea, lavender - “Tiny dried purple lavandula flowers are sprinkled into this refreshing floral tea.” - Similar to chamomile tea, putting black tea in lavender tea kinda defeats the purpose. Stop putting black tea in everything!!!!

Southern Fruit Blend: black tea, blue mallow, safflower, marigold / fragrance - “A blend with a unique dried fruit from the south. Popular for its intoxicatingly strong, bright notes.“ - Again: who. the. fuck. is. putting. black. tea. in. all. those. fruit. blends??? *incoherent screeching*

Leicester Cortania: black tea - “A specialty tea from the Alliance blended with a variety of leaves from the east. This tea is of the utmost quality.“ - Yes, this tea is so special, it has exactly the same ingredients as Seiros tea and nothing else, even though it is supposed to be made from a variety of leaves. So tea, much wow.

Tea of the Saints: post-fermented tea - “Even commoners have tried this cost-efficient tea, which is a mixture of herbs. It's a tad bitter.“ - Ironically, fermentation actually makes tea LESS bitter, so I really don’t know what they were going for here. Also note the dubious lack of herbs.

Bonus round: Hresvelg Blend: black tea, rose red, safflower / fragrance - “A high-quality blend of leaves procured specially for House Hresvelg. Its refined flavor brings sheer bliss.“ - This makes sense, considering the “crimson flower” CF refers to is a safflower.

TLDR: If you don’t like black tea, you’re fuuuuuuuucked. Whoever put these together clearly does not understand the appeal of herbal teas and fruit teas that very specifically do NOT include black tea.

#Fire Emblem: Three Houses #FE3H #FE3H merch #FE3H tea blends #one more reason why Byleth fails as a self-insert for me #they spend all day sipping all those black teas with people #I'd spit them out after 3 sips at best

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screechthemighty · 3 years

Text

Resident Evil Brain is still going brrrr, so here’s a new short fic! I actually came up with the idea for it ages ago, but finishing up everything stays gave me some breathing room to finish it off. You can read the full story below, but I’ll also post it to AO3 (same user name as here) and include a link to that in the reblogs!

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have slept. He would have powered through, gone after the next Lord. Stopping to eat was one thing; stopping to sleep felt wrong. Almost like he was giving up, or wasting valuable time that could be the difference between life and death for his daughter.

But Ethan had nearly tripped while catching a chicken to eat, and deep down he knew he'd just get himself killed if he didn't rest at least a little. He wasn't expecting that somewhere to be the back of the Duke's wagon, but the man had offered, and Ethan was too tired to complain. He kept the two flasks he'd managed to gather close to his chest as he curled up in his corner. "It's gonna be okay," Ethan whispered. He wasn't sure if Rose could hear him; the Duke had said her essence was intact, whatever the hell that meant, so maybe. It couldn't hurt to try. "I'm coming for you, honey. I promise."

He just needed enough of a nap that his limbs would stop feeling so heavy. Ethan's eyes drifted shut. He thought between the stinging pain in his hand and the memories of that awful house with all the dolls, sleep wouldn't come easy, but he dozed off pretty quickly.

He woke up to a feeling of dread seizing his body.

At first, he thought he’d had a nightmare, but...no, it was deeper than that. Maybe it was his paranoia, but something wasn’t right. Ethan carefully moved off the cot and crept towards the front of the cart. He could just see the Duke’s shoulder, and past it...

Black robes, the flutter of feathers, no, no, she couldn’t be here, not now.

The other man glanced over his shoulder, pressing a single finger to his lips. That was the only thing that kept Ethan from panicking. He thought about making a run for Rose, but that would mean making noise. It was a miracle that Miranda hadn’t heard him move the first time.

How hadn’t she noticed them? The Duke wasn’t exactly subtle. Ethan kept bracing himself for her to turn her head, try to talk to the Duke, maybe even try to hurt him. She did look their way at one point, causing Ethan to duck back behind cover, teeth clenched, trying to steady his breathing. But when he looked again, she just moved on. As if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the Duke being there.

No. As if she hadn’t seen them at all.

Ethan stayed frozen in place until Miranda was out of sight. Even then, he kept his voice down to a whisper: “Is she...?”

“She won’t be a problem,” said the Duke. Ethan was taken aback by the other man’s tone—not quite aggressive, but definitely hostile. “Not for now, at least.” And then, just as swiftly... “It’s good that you’re awake! I’ve just finished preparing lunch.”

That tone was gone.

The smell of food was the only thing that got Ethan to leave the cart; even then, he made sure everything was packed away and secure before he did. He wanted to be ready if he had to run. The Duke didn’t seem worried, though. He just served up the dish (Ethan had already forgotten what it was called, but fuck it smelled good) and started eating his own portion as if nothing were wrong. As if he hadn’t just had the one and only major change in his mood that Ethan had seen in the time they’d known each other. It wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but when the guy had been so consistent up until then, it was noteworthy. Weird, even.

Why are you doing all of this?

Why, it’s all part of our first class customer service.

Or maybe it was personal.

Ethan sneaked a few glances at the Duke as he ate. The man seemed genuinely unbothered, but maybe he was just good at hiding whatever that venom had been. “How didn’t she see us?” Ethan asked. It felt almost rude to ask, but if he was throwing in his lot with this guy, he felt like he had a right to know. “She wasn’t too far away.”

“I’ve been in this village longer than she has,” said the Duke. “It seems to agree with me more than it does her.” He noticed Ethan’s immediate frown. “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived somewhere, Ethan?”

“The same...place? I mean, I was in Dallas for a while. Not the same house the whole time, but...probably Dallas?”

“Well, after a while, wouldn’t you say that you get a feeling for a place’s...essence? How it moves, how it breathes? You could navigate it more quickly than a person who hadn’t been there as long, could you not? Stay hidden in places and ways they wouldn’t know about?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “...we’re right out in the open, there’s nothing...” Ethan sighed. “You know what, never mind. This is sounding like a conversation I should be drunk for.”

The Duke laughed. It didn’t sound mocking, at least. “Well, if you find anything left to drink in this place, bring it back with you. We can split the bottle.”

“Maybe. Once this is over.” And as long as it wasn’t from Dimitrescu’s winery. That stuff definitely wasn’t just fermented grapes.

Ethan kept eating, trying to focus on the food and not on the questions still nagging at his mind. Nothing about this place made sense, and the Duke was high up there on that list. Even if Ethan was choosing to trust him for now...

No, I have to knw.

“So...you know Miranda? Maybe not personally, but...” Ethan glanced up at the Duke, carefully studying his nearly unreadable face. “...I take it you don’t like her very much?”

The Duke hesitated. Even though his face stayed impassive, that alone was enough to catch Ethan’s attention. He wasn’t usually so slow to answer. “I am not one of her devotees, no,” the Duke said. “Which means I can clearly see she is the root of much suffering in this place.”

“The Lords? All those monsters?”

“In more ways than you realize. They were people once, you know. They might be monstrous now, but they are monsters of her making.”

Ethan understood what the Duke meant. He thought about the Bakers. The madman that had cut off his leg versus the man with kind eyes who’d begged him to save his family. The shrieking banshee with her bugs versus a woman who could’ve been his own grandmother. He wasn’t sure if Eveline had ever been anything but cruel, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have existed if it hadn’t been for someone else’s greed. Even the molded had been people once. Ethan didn’t regret defending himself and Mia, never would, and he’d keep defending himself here as long as these people kept screwing with him. But...

How different might things had been if someone somewhere down the line just hadn’t screwed with everyone? Just left the Lords, whoever they had been once, and the villagers in peace?

“Yeah,” Ethan said quietly. He took his last few bites of the food. “Fuck that crazy bitch, huh?”

The Duke laughed boisterously. "I'll certainly eat to that."

Ethan didn't entirely relax. He wasn't sure he was capable of that. But he was able to relax a little. Even if he didn't know how, it seemed like the Duke's little setup was a safe place.

There weren't too many of those in this place.

---

Knowing what to say and when best to say it was one of the most important parts of customer service. It was the only thing that kept the Duke from saying more to Ethan Winters. The poor man had enough on his plate, much he had to grapple with, most of it beyond the scope of his understanding. Further truth might not break him, but it would cause him unnecessary stress.

There was much the Duke would have told him if it weren’t for that concern. What centuries felt like. How this little village had changed, people coming and going, living and dying. How many had tried to seize the power the mountains held. None had truly succeeded before Miranda, the self-proclaimed mother of this place.

The Duke may have long forgotten the face of his own mother, but he remembered enough to know what maternal love felt like. Whatever Miranda had to offer was not that love. Just a twisted perversion of it, as the Lords were twisted perversions of children. She was an infection in these lands, but unfortunately, one he could do nothing about. The Duke had a great many tricks up his sleeve, but he was only a seller of arms. He had never learned to use them himself. He had always been keen to supply those who might oppose Miranda, but none had succeeded yet.

Out of all of them, he felt that Ethan Winters had the best chance of succeeding.

It wasn’t just the man’s biology, though that was clearly giving him an edge. It was something else: the spark the Duke had in his eyes from the first second they met. Determination. Rage. The kind of drive that couldn’t be found in any mold or virus in the world.

And what better to defeat a perversion of parental love than its true counterpart?

Ethan kept his bag clutched close to his chest as he ate, the bag that contained two parts of his daughter. The Duke had heard him whispering to the flasks before he fell asleep, trying to soothe and reassure the child. Even now, as he paused in eating, Ethan hummed quietly. A jaunty tune, one that the Duke didn’t recognize. “A favorite song of hers?” he asked.

Ethan glanced up. “Oh, uh. Yeah. ‘Doctor Worm.’ Never too early to get started on good music.” He held the bag a little closer before finishing off his meal. “Thanks. For the food. And for...” He gestured. “Whatever it was you did back there. If you did anything.”

His tone cemented the Duke’s decision to keep some things from Ethan. He sounded exasperated by even a simple cloaking technique. The Duke’s true age would only elicit a similar response.

Maybe if Ethan survived this, when he had less on his mind, the Duke could tell him everything. His full, dark history with Miranda. The full scope of the horrors he’d seen. The horrors that Ethan would have put a stop to. But for now, the Duke took Ethan’s plate with a smile. “Do keep an eye out for more meat as you go,” he said. “It would be an honor to have dinner with you.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said in a quiet huff. “Assuming I make it that long.”

That was always a risk, of course. That Ethan wouldn’t make it. But despite knowing that...

“After what you’ve done, Mr. Winters? I think you’re more than equipped to handle what’s to come.”

And he meant that. He truly did. Even if it was to be the death of Ethan Winters...the Duke had a feeling it would be the death of Mother Miranda as well.

He just hoped he would be able to explain exactly how truly important that was.

#resident evil #resident evil village #the duke #resident evil the duke #ethan winters #just two special boys having a grand old time in the village

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

The Servant and The Prince | Five

Wow wow wow this is late but I hope with it being late that I have had the extra time needed to make it good. Please do enjoy lovelies-- and expect big things for the next chapter!

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter five

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: anger, mention of bruises / abuse

Tags: angst, fluff

Word count: 6.6k (consider this my apology for the late chapter)

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Master List

“On the balcony,” Frigga calls back, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “We have company!” She adds, seemingly as an after thought— she is too busy pouring wine from a glass feeder into a beautifully ornate cup.

At least, Y/n thinks it is wine. She can smell the fermented berries— sweet and tangy and warming her nose as all wines she has encountered before have— only this wine is a pale violet shade. It is not an opaque rouge, not a barely there chartreuse. Nothing like what she has ever been able to get her hands on by way of bartering or shared celebration. Weddings and births. She takes a seat in one of the golden chairs, trying not to think about how out of her element she truly is. The little details are starting to show though. Not just extravagant pools and marble hallways. Even the food here is luxurious.

The Queen presses the cup into her fingers. She is not expecting the weight of it— the way her hand drops a fraction before she thinks to tense her wrist— she has never held pure gold before, not this much of it all at once. “Drink, dear. It will return some of the color to your face.”

She nods at Frigga, hoping her small smile will convey her thanks in lieu of her absent tongue. Speechless does not even begin to cover the way she feels.

“She is right—” the smooth, deep voice interrupts, his words coated with mirth— “it is what I do.”

Heavy footsteps fall behind her, thundering through the quiet chamber. She hears the water in the pool slosh lightly, the rose oil swirling out to the balcony. It makes her feel woozy— like she is already intoxicated despite not having touched her wine.

“No what you do is something else entirely,” Frigga giggles, raising her own chalice to her lips.

That is what these are called, right? Cup seems like too plain a word for something as extravagant. Chalice is luxurious— foreign to her daily life which makes it perfect. She raises her chalice too, taking the first sip of her violet liquid. Her eyes blow wide as she does so, a tarte berry sweetness bursting across her tongue. She almost chokes from how rapidly it takes over her senses, almost painting her vision in a matching purple hue. The liquid is warm as it trickles down her throat and blossoms that same warmth through her chest. It is magnificent— it is new— it makes the racing thoughts in her head slow to a honey crawl. She has to force herself not to down the whole cup immediately, wanting nothing more than to make them stop completely.

“If you say so, mother.” His laugh is almost as booming as his footsteps— it is how she pictures a giant’s laugh would sound, all heavy and dense, weighing across her shoulders like a wet blanket. It is less uncomfortable than that though. It makes her smile. That could just be the wine though.

She takes another sip, as the man finally emerges from behind her, his large body stepping into the sunlight like he is stepping into a second skin. In that moment she is grateful for the warmth in her chest and the way the wine adds a layer of lead to her bones for without it she would surely topple out of her chair in fright. The wine is like a barrier, though, stopping her common sense from leaking through. It makes sense, now, why she had pictured a giant— he is one.

She has to crane her neck to meet his blue eyes. When she finally does she decides that they match his mother’s. So does his blonde hair but it is a little more honey, a little less golden. Just as soft looking. His skin is golden though. It looks like he spends every waking hour in sunlight— no, it looks like he is sunlight. If sunlight was a person it would be this man. His mouth cracks open in a wide grin, his ivory teeth sparkling, as though he can hear her thoughts and agrees.

Frigga rolls her crystal eyes, an action so out of place alongside her more gentle movements. “Do introduce yourself before our guest starts to believe that I have not taught you manners.”

“I was getting there,” the giant insists to his mother. He bends at the waist, reaching for her hand which he engulfs in his surprisingly soft hands. He brings her knuckles to his lips— which are also soft but less surprisingly so— kissing them gently. “I am Thor, Odin’s Son, welcome to my home.”

Again, if it were not for the wine she would surely topple out of her chair. “Thank you. I am Y/n.”

Her voice sounds so small compared to his. Meek. She feels like a mouse sitting next to a lion. Perhaps it does not help that he is standing but she doubts that him sitting down will do much to remedy the difference. Spare a growth potion there is nothing she can do to match his build.

“How fitting—” he takes a seat in the chair across from her, squeezing his mother’s shoulder as he does so. Frigga smiles at him, a glint in her eyes— “a beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

Y/n’s cheeks fill with heat. Beautiful? Her? No certainly not. He must say that to all the women he meets. She steals another tiny glance at him while he speaks quietly with his mother. His skin looks even more golden in the light. His honey hair looks sweet enough to catch flies. Or women. Probably more so women. She drops her gaze back to the table, her fingers teasing the cool metal of her chalice. He definitely knows his way around the ladies. Still, she tucks the comment into the back of her mind for a later time. It is nice to be complimented, even if it is perhaps less than authentic.

Frigga turns away from her son, her eyes softening once more. “Tell me about yourself, my dear. Have you come all this way for the ball? That was quite a few bags you brought with you earlier.”

Much like her cheeks, her ears flood with heat as well. Unlike a moment ago, however, it is not the soft kind of embarrassment. Her blush is not a kind one. She would rather dig herself into the ground then explain that she is a servant. Her stomach fills with butterflies. Their wings beat with a vengeance, absorbing the heat of the berry wine like nectar— like fuel.

“Well, no, not exactly, your High—” She stops herself this time, taking a sip of the traitorous wine in an attempt to cull the fluttering in her chest. “Frigga. Those were not all mine. I do not think I will be attending the ball actually.”

She tries to say it casually— perhaps if she feigns indifference then it will sound as though it is her choice. Frigga narrows her brows, lifting a dark violet berry to her lips. Like a candle sparking into flame, it dawns on her what she has been consuming. Blackberries. Her eyes dart back down to the table. She tries not to let her jaw drop when she sees the magnificent spread of food that was not there only moments ago. Sliced meats and cheeses, fluffy white bread— all she has back home is the tough, grainy kind— and so many fruits she cannot even name them all. Most of all, though, there are heaps upon heaps of blackberries.

Frigga drags one of her delicate fingers across the corner of her lips where some of the dark juice has stained her otherwise immaculate skin. “Well certainly you must attend.”

Her ears burn hotter, her mouth filling once more with cotton. How is she supposed to explain to the Queen that she agrees but that she also cannot go.

“I agree,” Thor’s deep voice joins the conversation as he swallows a bite of that fluffy bread. “You must come! There will be dancing and food.” He throws a hand up when he mentions the food and she lets a small smile free wondering how much it takes to feed someone as massive as him. “I hear there will even be some suitable bachelors. I assure you— it will be a splendid evening, Milady.”

Her ears skip over the jest about the bachelors, hightailing right to his very last word. Milady. The butterflies consume the word faster than they do the wine. They are addicted to it. She thinks that she might be as well. It repeats in her head, bounding around in her mind, crashing into her skull. Milady, Milady, milady. She has never been called milady before. The more it echoes around her brain, the more disorientated it sounds. It blurs together, the vowels folding in on themselves. The butterflies do not seem to care though— they consume the fuel just the same. And the more they consume, the more she wants to throw them all up.

The line between Frigga’s brows deepens, her crystal eyes attentive. They seem to catch her every movement, down to the little shakes in her fingers as she closes them around her cup again. She does not take another sip— she is more than warm enough now— she just needs something to still her hands.

“Thor is right, dear. You would have a wonderful time.” She tilts her head, some of the crinkle returning to her eyes. “Besides, even if it is not for my sons you must go for me.”

Y/n nods— perhaps lying is the best course of action here. “For you, then.”

She pops a blackberry into her mouth for good measure.

Good measure or to keep from spilling the truth. Either way the berry is not as sweet as she would have thought it would be.

* * * * * * * * * *

The rest of the conversation passes easily after that, filled with Thor’s booming laughter and Frigga’s loving eye rolls. She does not speak that much, offering her input when asked directly or when goaded, but the royals do not seem to mind. It is a welcome reprieve from her usual days— the ones where she is yelled at for speaking and slapped for not speaking and insulted for everything else. Here she can laugh when she pleases, eat when she pleases, and exist how she pleases. She does quite a lot of the first two. The tangy berries grow on her. So does the wine. Honestly, the wine is probably the cause of her new fondness for the berries. It sweetens everything that touches her tongue. Before long her belly is full, her eyelids are heavy, and her tangy lips hurt from how much she has been smiling.

Thor takes his leave soon after the three of them finish eating, laying another of the knee weakening kisses to her knuckles and reminding her that he will be expecting to see her at the ball two nights hence. He also calls her Milady again, as though trying his hardest to slip it in there are many times as possible. Maybe he is trying to give her a heart attack. She would not mind that much if he was— she would not have to return to her tiresome, damaging life if she had a heart attack.

After Thor leaves, Y/n stands, her hands lingering on the solid golden chair, her chest getting increasingly heavier as the moments pass. “Thank you so much for your kindness, Frigga. This afternoon was wonderful.”

The blonde woman smiles, standing as well and stretching her arms gracefully over her head. “Oh, it was nothing. Are you leaving so soon, my dear?”

“I must,” Y/n tries to replicate the Queen’s smile despite the weight on her shoulders. “I have already taken too much of your time. You must be a very busy woman.”

Frigga laughs. “I am only busy when I want the Kingdom to run smoothly.” Her eyes flit to the waning sun, shaking her head slightly. Y/n wonders if she is supposed to see the small action. It seems personal. “I fear that unfortunately means you are correct.”

She nods, pulling away from the chair. “Then I will leave you to the Kingdom— it is certainly more important than I.”

Her words are airy, the smile on her face glued in place by sheer will. She likes the Queen so she will hold her carefree exterior to keep her from worrying. She does not need to ask to know that the Queen would worry— she is a mother. Her own mother would worry as well and she would feign the same calm to keep her from worrying the same way she is now. No matter how calm she looks on the outside, though, her stomach topples, like the churning waves she had passed earlier. The bile that she swallows is foamy. Salty.

She could cry.

Before she can, though, the Queen’s warm fingers curl around her icy wrist, the contrast making a shiver crest down her spine. How long has she been cold for?

“Dear you mustn’t leave until you try the pool. Really, I implore you, you will love it. I really must go but I will tell my maids to ensure that no one comes in here to disturb you. Only if you would like, of course?”

It feels like a dream, or maybe an extension of the dream she is currently in, but for a moment her leaden lungs expand enough to drag in a healthy amount of air. It is like a light in the darkness— another log to ensure the fire keeps burning for a little bit longer— and she is not about to let it pass her by. What is a few more hours anyway— she is already going to be crawling away from the next meeting with her step mother.

She hopes the relief is not too distinguishable in her voice and eyes when she answers. “Are you sure, Frigga? I would not want to impose on your hospitality.”

Frigga does not answer— not at first. Not before her slender arms wrap around Y/n and she pulls her into her flowery chest. For a moment she is frozen, her arms hanging limp at her sides. She does not even breath— she does not know if she can. The warmth that seeps into her skin is both painfully familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It makes her ten again. She is no longer standing in the Queen of Asgard’s chambers but in her little wooden house.

And she is not alone.

“My little dove come here will you?” Her mother calls to her from the kitchen. Perhaps she needs help icing the little cakes. Y/n hopes so— licking the icing spoon afterwards is her favourite thing.

She hurries into the warm room, the smell of cooked strawberries and sweet icing sugar wrapping around her bare arms. She had been fishing with her father earlier in the day and her cardigan had become dirty so she had stripped and left it to hang on the line outside before coming in for the evening.

“Would you like to help me?” Her mother’s eyes sparkle like two diamonds, crinking at the corners as she holds a spoon out.

She takes the spoon eagerly, stepping up to the table where a dozen of her favourite little cakes are layed out. She closes her eyes, breathing in the sugar. It is perhaps her favourite smell in the world. Her favourite smell doing her favourite thing with her favourite person. Well, spare her father of course, but he does not much care for baking.

“Little dove you know how much I love you right?”

She sneaks a lick of the icing spoon, giggling when her mother tickles under her chin. “I know, mama.”

Her mother grabs another spoon and one of the little cakes, setting to work as well. “How much do I love you?”

“To Midgard and back!” Y/n giggles. She does not quite know what it means but her mother has been telling her that for as long as she can remember.

Her mother nods, some of the hair spilling out of the braids along the side of her head and curling across her brows. Her smile is so bright that Y/n wonders if they even need the gas lamp. Surely her mother could light up the room fine on her own.

“That’s right, to Midgard and back.” Her mother presses a kiss to her forehead. “And back and back and back!”

She lifts her head, blinking the fog from her vision and clearing away the memory. When her senses return to her she finds her arms wrapped around the Queen’s waist so tight it feels as though she might break the tiny woman. She lets go immediately, taking a few steps back, her eyes shooting wide. She can still feel the heavy warmth of her mother’s kitchen on her skin— still smell the cooked strawberries— and her chest jolts painfully. If only her ten year old self had known that would be one of the last moments her mother would truly be herself again then maybe she would have kissed her forehead too.

“I am sorry, Frigga. I think I am just tired from the journey here.” She sputters out. The words sound mushy and garbled, her throat closing around each syllable, trying to swallow them before they can push past her lips.

The tears she had wanted to let out before rise so quickly to her eyes that she does not know what to do but look at the stone under her feet and hope Frigga does not notice. It must be her lucky day because all the Queen does is place her hand on her shoulder. She does not try to seek out her eyes.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. My sons do not hug me nearly as much as they used to—” Y/n tries to keep her shoulders from shaking as Frigga’s voice washes over her, soft and gentle like her mother’s used to, watching as the stone becomes wet and darkens. “I think a bath would help you greatly— warm water always helps clear my mind. Maybe you will find something you are looking for in the process.”

Y/n nods, her chin dipping against her throat. The Queen squeezes her shoulder once, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She has to hold her breath to keep from sobbing. It fights against her lungs though and she is sure Frigga can feel the way her chest jerks, fighting her from the inside. Frigga sighs and she watches as her feet leave her line of sight, her heels clicking on the marble as she goes to leave. It is only when she hears the heavy wooden door thunk closed does she move, the scream ripping from her throat so loudly she does not doubt that the Queen— no, the whole castle— hears it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Loki looks everywhere. Everywhere. Every corridor, every entrance, every dining room. He knocks on every damn chamber door. He never knocks— he never has to— but this time he does. The amount of faces he encounters is endless, most of them women, all of them speechless. He is not surprised to see so many women— nor is he surprised when they scramble to put sentences together in his presence, stuttering through their answers. To be fair, he does not really ask them anything. He knocks on the doors, looks at the stunned faces, and then, after feeling none of the warmth he is looking for— none of the sparks— he nods at them and continues his search.

As his search deepens, the minutes dissolving quickly into hours, his chest begins to feel like it is caving in on itself. The cavern walls of his lungs shift closer and closer together, beared on by a sourceless weight. It is invisible and it is heavy and it makes his head sting. By the time he gets to the last door he is pretty sure his lungs are incapable of filling completely. He fights to draw in a breath but the pressure is so intense that he has to throw a hand against the stone wall to keep from sinking to his knees. He is drowning in oxygen and yet cannot seem to suck in a single drop.

By the time he reaches the final door his head is foggy and his chest is burning. The remaining air that he has managed to hold onto turns on him more with every step, forming a mutiny and staging a siege in his body. The air fights against his lungs, banging on his windpipe, demanding to be let free. In what manner it wants to escape, he does not know. Probably loudly. He has never wanted to scream more than he does in this very moment— to let every building tension in his body free until his throat is raw. He can practically taste the metal on his tongue. The anger.

The blood.

Loki swallows hard, the action more painful than he would have ever thought, and blinks a few times before raising a fist of steel to the final door and knocking twice. He steps back after he does, giving whoever is inside room to speak to him. He hears a commotion, the hushed and quick murmurs of people, and scurried footsteps. Barely a second passes before the heavy wood slides open and reveals two women.

One of them is a scrawny blonde. Her limbs and face are boney, her fingers long and slender. Her hair drapes down her back, tangling with the ribbons that are keeping her corset tied so tight he wonders if she— like he— is finding it hard to breathe. Obviously it would be for opposite reasons. She is clearly choosing to be breathless— not being crushed under the weight of being so close and yet so far from her soulmate. He narrows his eyes at the girl, lingering on the sharpness to her. There is not a single soft feature about her— he strongly doubts she is hiding a pair of magic thighs underneath her dress. Definitely not her.

The blonde cowers slightly, her eyes flashing with recognition as her thin shoulders drawing into a tight point as she bows her head. He sighs— he does not have time for this. He almost forgot about the ridiculous ball and the actual reason why there were so many young women in his castle right now. Some of them had not recognized him— he is not his brother, after all. Thor would have been recognized in a heartbeat. Him, though, not so much. As much as it would make his blood boil any other time, right now he dreads the thought of enduring the conversation to come. He does not care to speak to hundreds of women; he is too busy trying to locate one.

He cringes when another woman joins, this one older than the blonde, her hair a dulling shade of red and her eyes are lined with wrinkles. Her mother, he assumes. She, too, sinks into a curtsey, the heavy jewels on her throat clinking as she does so. He can hear the gears turning in her head— see the same recognition as her daughter mingled with something else— something vaguely sinister— and the weight on his chest presses harder into him. So does the anger.

Odin, he does not have time for this!

The older woman rises first, her smile slick with the same slyness that clouds her eyes. “Your highness! How gracious of you to greet us before the ball.”

The anger grows— hot, heavy, and blinding— and he has to squeeze his fists to keep from baring his teeth at the woman. It surprises him, his instant hatred for her. He is not someone who makes friends easily— a choice he makes happily— but he is also not someone who wishes to kill people within seconds of encountering them— especially not women. There is something about this woman though that makes his vision tint black at the edges.

“It is nothing, madame.” He nods, his tone an icy, flat bite.

Much to his disappointment, the woman does not flinch. Her daughter does, the blonde’s shoulders catching like they have been snagged from behind, her neck remaining dropped in a bow. At least one of them is smart. Her mother does not seem to agree, her red heel sliding across the marble to jolt into her ankle. Loki squeezes his fists. How much longer must this go on?

“Anna—” the dull redhead’s voice is pinched as though she is trying to conceal her frustration— “do you have anything to say to the Prince.”

The blonde flinches at the contact, her head drawing up, her eyes clouded over with panic. He does not know who she is more afraid of in that moment— him or her mother. His chest still does not warm for her though, fear or no fear.

“Thank you.” She chokes out and he nods again— he does not want to kill her the same way he does her mother but the lines are getting hazy from the lack of oxygen he is breathing.

“Thank you is right.” The redhead’s wicked smile widens and his vision flashes.

He takes another step back, biting his tongue. The mutiny continues to rage in his chest, climbing up his sternum, stabbing holes in his jaw. He cannot hold it back for much longer— he does not really want to. But he is a Prince and he must, if not for him than for his mother. An image of Frigga flashes through his mind and, moments later, a plan. With both in his mind he is able to suck in half a breath. It stuns the insurrection inside him for a moment and hardens his resolve— he has to get to her.

He straightens his shoulders, lifting his chin higher, revelling in the way the redhead finally shrinks away from him. “If you will kindly excuse me.”

Loki does not waste time waiting for their responses, he only spins on his heel and struts away. The walk to his mother’s chambers is quick. Usually he would linger, skimming his fingers over the marble banister and peering out towards the sea. He has spent many days locked in a staring contest with the waves. Usually he wins— they are always blinking their foamy eyes at him. Today he does not spare them a glance. They will be there tomorrow. She might not be.

He turns the corner quickly. Too quickly. He honestly is not aware of how fast he is moving until his body slams into something small but strong. He grunts, shuffling backwards until he glimpses at blonde hair and two familiar crystal eyes. He chooses to ignore the half-hearted fury in them, opting instead to grab his mother’s shoulders.

Frigga curls her hands over her son's arms, the fury melting to something more concerned. “Loki what on Asgard are you doing—”

“Mother, I need you to tell me where she is.” He pleads— breathes— not waiting for the end of her sentence to tilt into a question like he knows it will.

Her shoulders drop under her palms in a sigh that he senses coming. “I have already told you all that I can— all that I know. Even if I did know more you know that I could not tell you without putting you and her—” she pauses, raising a golden brow in what he assumes is an attempt to make him listen. It only serves to make his chest squeeze— “in danger.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, his eyelids crushing together the same way his teeth do as he grits his answer out. “I can protect us both, mother, I just need—”

The rest of his sentence is drowned by a scream that rips through every fibre in his being. For a moment it even feels as though it is coming from him, burning like bile up his throat and tearing like knives through his eardrums. It stings so much— how could it not be his scream? But then he closes his mouth, slamming his hands against his ears, and he can still hear the feral wails slicing at him through the barrier of his skin. He peels his eyes open, searching for the source of the noise but coming up empty— the only other person around remains his mother whose mouth— while drawn into a deep frown— is also closed.

“Faen!” He curses, not sure if it is as quiet as it seems to his own ears or if he just cannot hear his own voice over the violent screams. “Mother I— It hurts I—”

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice barely cuts through the howling but he can still decipher the worry in her tone.

For the second time in less than a week’s cycle, his knees touch the ground. It is a sight that has even his mother lost for words, her mouth falling open at her usually proud son forced into a bow. Loki never kneels. Now he has kneeled twice for a woman he has yet to even properly meet. Something familiar prickles against the back of his neck, right where the top of his spine meets his skull— right where the wails zero on him. Somewhere in the fever pitch he finds the very thing that has been haunting him for an entire sun cycle. Please Surtr. With the realization his own screams claw at his chest, begging to join in with their match.

It is her.

Loki rises, pushing off the marble floor and staggering forward. It is not an easy task, he feels like everything around him is fighting against his movements, pushing on his limbs until each step feels like he is fighting through waves. He is drowning but not in oxygen this time. He is a child again and the sea is crashing over him so violently that he is not sure if this time he will survive. He has never actually stopped to ask himself whether or not he can die this way— by drowning. He had always assumed the answer was no, he could not. But now he is not so sure. Now he feels like he might die on the precipice of everything important to him— quite literally on the threshold of the rest of his damn life.

The hell he will.

His hand curls around the iron handle, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he uses the last of his power to shove the heavy wood open. He can barely hear his mother’s protests— they are more a feeling if anything. Loki, that is not proper you cannot go in there. Does it look like he cares right now? He ignores her— there is nothing else he can do. The light from the room trickles over him, mingled with a heady, flowery aroma. He lets the door fall closed behind him. It is thick and warm, mingling with the heat rolling off his mother’s bathing pool and creating a fog that should make it hard to breathe.

Should.

The opposite is true though. The thick air is anything but hard to breathe. Rather he feels as though he is breathing for the first time all day. Like magic it works against the pressure on his chest, lulling the storm inside him. For a moment he cannot hear the wailing, the peace soaking into his skin enough to silence the agony. As soon as the calm comes, however, it is gone, torn away by the hiccups of a small form that is huddled against the jeweled tub. Loki’s heart stops— at least it feels like it does.

She lifts her eyes and— while half hidden by the fallen strands of her hair— he can still see the way they are banded in strands of silver that seem to go on forever. They draw him in, pulling him under the surf of her eyes but this time he is not drowning— he is floating. It is her. He is pretty sure he takes a step forward because she is now a few feet closer to him but if he does then he does not feel it. Floating. She freezes, her chest stilling, her rose petal lips peeling apart. No sound comes out. Gods how he wishes she would say something.

But then she sucks in a breath, her chest rising, and the veins under what he knows to be the softest skin in all of Asgard glow, illuminating a pattern of lightning strikes across her flesh. Just like that, he is officially a goner. Officially hers. He would do anything she asked of him. Anything to keep her. How the hell did he get so damn lucky? He cannot tear his eyes away from her, drinking in as much of her skin as possible. The sleeves of her dress hang off her shoulders, baring her flesh to him, and he can see from her hunched form that the first few buttons of her dress are open. She was undressing? Now he cannot breathe again.

He follows the pattern under her flesh intricately, taking another step, his whole body shuddering when she breathes in again and makes the scattered glow of her veins shift. The lighting strikes continue over her shoulders, mingling with the silky strands of her hair. He is suddenly envious of the strands— why does it get the privilege of touching this Valhalla made woman?

He traces her sparking veins over the crest of her shoulders and down her spine. He can feel her silver eyes on him, watching as his own eyes flick over her skin. It is exhilarating— it makes him feel alive. Was he even living before this moment? Walking and speaking and experiencing? Or is it only now that he realizes that was all a dream? Is this what it feels like to actually be alive? Odin, he was missing out.

His eyes crease over the arch of her back, drawn to the mountains and valleys of her spine. Her skin is like another world, one he would give anything to forage through— to explore for hours on end. For the rest of his life. There is not a doubt in his mind that he could be happy getting lost in her for the rest of eternity. His eyes skim the ridges of her shoulder blades, trying to decide where to even begin, and it is only then when he sees it— when his heart actually stops.

At first he does not know what he is seeing. Of course he has seen bruises before— he has fought alongside his brother as a warrior countless times. He has seen both his own skin and Thor’s turn violet and blue. This, though, is different. He has never seen anything close to the deep black bruises on her back. Her lightning veins are more muted underneath them, still crackling but instead of silver light they glow a sickening shade of scarlet. Where the lighting webs he can see her blood shifting, clinging to her injuries and flowing like lava— molten.

He can feel the heat from where her body is trying to mend itself back together. Any other time he would want to sink into it— feel her warmth against him and try to steal some of it for himself. Usually he feels so cold. Not right now. Right now all he feels is fire— fire from her lava, lightning skin, fire from the embers heating the pool next to him, fire from his own, burning anger— and he can feel the flames leaking into his eyes as he kneels for the third time.

Once he is on the floor as well her scent strengthens, wrapping around him and clinging to him. He does not know much about flowers but he can smell the Dhalia’s now, clear and sharp, just like in the castle gardens. He does not remember the castle gardens being this intoxicating though.

And nobody stomps on the Dhalia’s in the castle gardens the way someone clearly has with this one.

His chest squeezes, the flames flaring out again. Like the bruises, Loki has longed for vengeance before— many times, actually— but never like this. It has never consumed him so completely. He has never had to teeter between two impossible choices like this— impossible not because they are undoable but because he has to do both and he does not know which to do first. Engulf the shaking girl or seek out whoever thought it wise to mar her soft skin?

He meets her silver eyes, watching them crackle and flood with more tears. He has to swallow hard to stop his own, his throat burning too now. Being this close to her he can make out her features— the special curve to her nose and the dip of her cupid's bow and the little marks on her skin— everything that makes her special. He wishes more than anything in this moment that the circumstances were not as they are so that he could spend an hour memorizing every little detail.

Her hands twitch and his gaze darts to where they curl around her elbows. He wonders for a moment if they shake because of him. Gods, he hopes not. Being who he is— a prince and a feared warrior— he is used to people cowering away from him. He has grown to crave it— if they are going to keep doing it then why not embrace it? He likes when they fear him. With her, though, he wants anything but. It becomes clear which choice he has to make in that moment— and that there was never really a choice at all.

He flicks his eyes back to her, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to sink closer to her height, trying to make himself appear smaller. Before this moment he never thought himself large. He is taller than his mother, yes, but not by too much. He is nowhere near as big as Thor. Hell, even Heimdall is bigger than him. He has always been the sleek one— agile, fast, lean. He is made for stealth— not at all used to towering over another person. But here he is, all of a sudden feeling like he did when he was a kid hitting a growth spurt again, all awkward and lanky. He tucks his elbows into his sides, his chin to his chest, his vision filtered through his lashes due to the tricky bow he squishes himself into. It is not enough but it is a start.

For a moment they just stare at each other. Loki has no idea what to say to her. It is not like he has been thinking about it for an entire sun cycle or anything, mulling over everything he could possibly tell her. Anything he could say he has surely thought of— he has played through every rendition of every conversation. Thousands of words and thoughts and feelings, all of which have evaporated into the vacuum of his mind the moment he needs to use them. Again, some silver tongue he is.

Thankfully, though, he does not need to figure out what to say to his soulmate— she figures it out first.

“Are you real?”

___________

Tag List: @crystal-siren @cari1bunny @breethememe @tapismyforte @atashi-no-yuuki

#loki #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki fic #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #Loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson fic #The Servant and The Prince #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #marvel fic #marvel cinematic universe fic

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tastesoftamriel · 4 years

Note

What kinds of foods were you not expecting certain races to enjoy? Like, things you thought for sure the Altmer wouldn't eat EVER, but they actually do?

There are certainly a surprising number of culinary irregularities all Tamrielic races have, despite the overwhelming number of picky eaters (Skyrim and Valenwood, I'm looking at you). These are some of the ones which caught me off-guard...

Argonians

Traditional Argonian cuisine is known for being spicy and a whirlwind of flavours, so the mildness and complexity of foam frog soufflé was not what I expected! In terms of taste and texture, it's comparable to the classic Breton orange liqueur flambéed soufflé. The naturally-occurring foam generated by foam frogs is whipped with coconut milk and scuttlebloom nectar, then gently baked in delicate clay ramekins in a traditional stone oven. It is then sprinkled with a bit of coconut sugar, and drenched in sweet banana liqueur before getting blasted with a Flame spell right at your table! Don't think you can try this at home though- this recipe takes a lot of skill to pull off, and is considered one of the most impressive dishes in Saxhleel cuisine. And yes, it's Breton-approved, but don't tell them that the frog foam is actually residue from mating and is filled with tadpoles.

Breton

On that note, the Breton kitchen is full of surprises! It's well known that High Rock gastronomy is very focused on sit-down meals and the correct use of cutlery, so finger foods aren't very traditional, even among the common folk. It blew my mind when I first visited Daggerfall and found taverns and market stands selling Orcish kebabs! These messy, enormous rolls have been downsized (and underfilled) to suit Breton tastes, but the strongly spiced goat meat, frost mirriam yoghurt sauce, and tasty radish balls are true to the original! You'll even find nobles sending their butlers out to procure a hot kebab for them to eat out of view of the public eye...it would be mortifying if somebody saw a drop of chili sauce dripping down a noblewoman's chin!

Bosmer

Green Pact Bosmeri food isn't known for its sweets, so the very existence of meat-based desserts was initially baffling to me. A Valenwood favourite is the boiled pudding, which is made from eggs, milk, suet, and cricket flour, and sweetened with imported sugar, sweet condensed milk, or candied fruit. As such, these dense puddings are sometimes known as Falinesti Forbidden Fruit, and they're sometimes decorated to look like large oranges, apples, or coconuts for the shock factor! And if you're curious to try this strange but tasty dessert, you'll be pleased to know that a new recipe is coming soon...

Nords

I admit it, Skyrim cuisine can be a little bland compared to the food of most other races, but this little gem is a dish most outsiders don't know about- Akaviri casserole. I don't know if it's actually Akaviri in origin, or if somebody just thought it sounded exotic, but it is deceptively spicy, and not in a way most Tamrielic people know it. Its key ingredient is frost peppercorns, which grow at high altitudes in Skyrim and around the Druadach Mountains, are coveted by alchemists, but also pack a serious punch in any dish. While regular chilis have a sharp burn, frost peppercorns leave a numbing, tingly feeling that spice masochists love. Anywhere from a couple of peppercorns to a whole fistful of them go into a casserole dish with an eidar cheese sauce, venison, juniper berries, and vegetables like potatoes and carrots. In other words, it's just another Nord dish...but painful.

Redguards

I mentioned a while ago that Redguards detest moldy or fermented foods, due to the close association with rot and death. There is an exception to this however, and it's surprisingly something that's served in every Hammerfell household: fish paste. Similar in taste to the Imperial garum, fermented fish paste is literally made from leftover fisherman's offcuts which usually have been left out in the sun all day. Rather than leaving the scraps to the vultures, at the end of the day they're shovelled into stone amphorae containing gods know what (it's a closely guarded secret) and are left to ferment for two days in a cellar. Of course, there are plenty of posh Redguard fish pastes on the market with Abecean longfin caviar, but this is first and foremost a food of the common people, with humble (if slightly gross) origins.

Imperials

I've always loved the predictability of Cyrodiilic cooking...until you find something like barbecued minotaur ribs. Ribs aren't anything surprising, but Imperial ribs are usually tender, delicate lamb or faun. Eating is a serious, dignified affair, so this is a completely astounding defiance of customs. Minotaur meat is a rare delicacy, and they're normally basted in a red wine, honey, and mustard sauce, and grilled on flaming coals. The end result is a meaty, sweet mess, and definitely just as undignified to eat (if not moreso) than the Breton kebabs. If you're willing to get your hands dirty and abandon haughty Imperial decorum, you've found a carnivore's dream.

Khajiit

Gryphons can be dangerous pests to the Khajiit living outside city walls in Elsweyr. When they've snatched enough sheep or wounded people, villagers will often band together and hunt the responsible gryphon, and eat it at a communal feast. A successful gryphon hunt is a cause for celebration among Khajiit, and is seen as a good omen and blessing from Hircine, the Hungry Cat. The reason this is fascinating to me is that gryphons are sort of like a cross between turkey and beef in form and taste, and no other race eats them. After it is plucked, gryphon meat is hacked into chunks and distributed by the clan chief between households, who then cook and share it with the village. Gryphon dishes range from red curried gryphon with saffron rice to a simple roast gryphon with moon sugar.

Altmer

It's an industry joke that cooking for High Elves is like trying to milk a kagouti; it makes no sense, they're probably going to get mad, and it's impossible. Imagine my astonishment, then, when I learned that even haughty Summerset is not immune from the delicious clutches of...macaroni and cheese. They'll opt for ingredients like cave-aged, 80 year old vintage indrik cheddar or authentic Cyrodiilic buckwheat orrechiette, but I was shocked that this humble dish was a treat that's well-loved in Summerset, despite its lack of technical complexity. It's a rare treat though, because all that cheese grease is bad for the Altmer complexion!

Dunmer

Nothing is particularly surprising from the old guard of traditional Vvardenfell cooking- after a few kwama eggs and guar steaks, you get the general idea. What I do find surprising is the emergence of Skyrim Dunmeri cuisine. It's been a couple of generations since the refugees fleeing Morrowind settled in Solstheim and largely Windhelm, and those born in Skyrim have developed a cooking style of their own. Based on traditional Dunmeri dishes like crab meat and scuttle, you'll find local ingredients used as substitutes. Apparently, the juices from Nord pickled herring makes the perfect substitute for kwama egg whites...I'll leave it at that.

Orcs

It's known that the radish is an Orc's favourite vegetable, and it's served tender, crunchy, baked or raw in any Orcish dish under the sun. Radish tea-sandwiches are therefore one of the more confusing foods I've come across, though they're mostly served by Wrothgarian and High Rock Orsimer. Soft wheat bread is buttered and layered with horseradish chutney, raw radish slices, and cucumber slices. They're cut into dainty triangles are are usually a snack food, though other races view them as canapés served at high tea or parties. However, when I asked an old hearthwife on Betnikh about radish tea-sandwiches, I was threatened a beating because it was embarrassing, and to tusk off and find some mammoth. If you never hear from me again, you know who got me.

#the elder scrolls #tes #world building #Worldbuilding #Asks #long post

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tightwadspoonies · 4 years

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The Joy of Raising (and eating) Your Very Own Yeast Child(ren)

I know I am, statistically, late to this bandwagon.

Once a mysterious realm that only seasoned bakers would dare enter, the world of baking with a home yeast starter has become much less foreign to the scores of reluctant public health enthusiasts trying to find a way to use their sudden increase in free time.

It’s also because yeast is both reasonably expensive (like $5 for a jar that lasts a while, granted, but if you make all of your own bread, it quickly becomes the expensive ingredient) and frankly when everyone is making yeasty baked goods and supply chains are disrupted due to a pesky global pandemic, you want to have a backup. Discard also makes the food you eat just a little better for you (see below), and if you’re relying on more starchy things like flour in your diet for budget reasons, why not get everything you can out of all the other ingredients?

I, like everyone else, made like three sourdough starters in the last 12 months. I then let them die because holy crap those things 1, ate way more than I expected them to, and 2, I kept ending up with this stinktastic, slowly-fermenting glob of goo (the discard) in a takeout container on my porch because otherwise my entire apartment would have smelled like it.

I know I’m not doing a great job of selling it, but I wanted to make a post that showed it really was possible to not only sustainably and economically grow and maintain your own edible bacteria-and-yeast colony in an old jam jar, but really make it a part of your family.

1- How to Make a Starter:

Before we can really get into the joys of raising a pet sourdough starter, you have to actually get your hands on one. It’s actually way, way easier than I thought:

First, you get the following:

A jar with a lid (preferably glass- my first one was a pasta sauce jar from Aldi, but anything that’s clear-ish and around a pint/500ish ml will work great)

A half cup or so of whole wheat flour (if you don’t use whole wheat flour often, it will only be a few cents if you buy it in the bulk section)

6-7 tablespoons of tap water

A clean spoon

A rubber band or dry erase marker (optional but recommended)

All-purpose white flour to feed

Second, you put the flour and water in the jar and mix until it forms a thin, sticky paste

Third, cover loosely with the lid, and mark the level of water-flour paste either by putting the rubber band around the jar or marking it with a dry-erase marker.

Fourth, wait like 24 hours for bubbles to appear. These are CO2 bubbles released as the wild yeast and bacteria that is naturally present in whole wheat flour eats the wheat starch.

Fifth, once your flour-water-yeast goo doubles in size, scoop out half of it and discard (it should be stretchy, sticky, and bubbly in texture and smell pleasantly yeasty and ferment-y), place a quarter cup of all-purpose flour and 3 tbsp of water in the jar and mix with the remaining starter. Repeat every time the mixture doubles in size.

Note: if you go too long without feeding your yeast baby, it will form a watery layer and start to stink. All you have to do to save it is get as much of the watery stuff out as possible, discard half, and feed it until the smell and texture return to normal.

Once you start having to do this multiple times per day, congrats! You have a live and active sourdough starter!

2- What to Do With All That Goo (or ”discard”):

So basically now you have a boring, hungry toddler that really likes flour and outputs a lot of gooey discard.

First, don’t think of discard as a waste! You should think of your starter as a yeast farm and the throw-away portion (the “discard”) as the product.

Using discard in recipes not only lends a deeper flavor and chewier texture to baked goods, but helps partially digest the wheat starches (making discard slightly lower in quick carbohydrates than traditional flour), acts as a prebiotic (the fiber in discard-laden baked goods is better for feeding your gut bacteria, which helps you digest things more thoroughly), decreases the amount of gluten, and the lactic acid bacteria in discard increases the amount of nutrients like folate, potassium, and magnesium that the body can absorb during digestion. Basically, it lets you get more out of the food you eat and makes baked goods (slightly) better for you!

Here’s how you can use it (remember that measurements shown below are “stirred down” discard, meaning you have to stir the bubbles out of your discard before measuring):

Bread/bagels/english muffins- replace the active dry yeast portion of the recipe with a quarter cup of discard, and let the dough rise 12 or more hours after kneading. This longer rise time is required because the wild yeasts are not quite as active (or voracious) as their cultivated cousins, and you want time for the whole thing to get nice and sour from the lactic acid bacteria.

Crackers/thin-crust pizza dough- replace half the flour in a cracker/pizza dough recipe with discard and omit yeast.

Crepes/pancakes/waffles- replace up to 3/4 of the flour in a crepe, waffle or pancake recipe with discard, and omit yeast.

Quickbreads- replace up to 3/4 of the flour in a quickbread (pumpkin, apple, zucchini, banana bread, etc...) with discard and adjust liquid to desired consistency.

Brownies- replace as much as all of the flour in your brownie recipe with discard and adjust the liquid to the desired consistency.

Granola- replace the binder (usually honey or sugar) in granola and granola bar recipes with discard, and sweeten to taste.

Pie crust- replace half the flour in your pie crust with discard, add the discard when you would normally add the water, and omit the water.

Batter for fried fish/chicken/potato wedges/veg, etc...- water down the discard with some beer or water, dip your fried things, and fry.

3- Preserving Your Starter Colony When You Have More Bread and Crackers Than You Can Comfortably Eat:

As much as you’d like to think you’ll use discard for every recipe, you might find that your creativity (or just your tolerance for discard-flavored things) gets stretched a little thin over time.

That’s okay!

Here are a few great ways to save your starter without needing to feed it every 12 hours:

Fridge it- If you just want less discard, put your whole starter colony in your fridge- the cold slows down the yeast’s digestion so you only have to feed it once per week.

Freeze it- if you have a few days that you don’t have anything to do with your discard or want to save up for a bigger recipe, portion it into greased ice cube trays, freeze it, and then pop the discard chunks out and store in a ziploc or jar. Thaw it to use in larger recipes down the line.

Dry it- spread your discard on parchment paper-lined baking trays and let it air out at room temperature for a few days, then chop it up and store in an airtight container (with some burnt flour in a little cloth envelop if you live in a humid climate).

Gift it/sell it: You’d be surprised at how many people feel the need to buy an existing starter. Feed your starter and then portion it into small jars (baby food, etc... with labels removed), then freeze the jars. Gift or sell these frozen portions by tying a little ribbon around them (feel free to name them and write the parent starter’s date of birth on the ribbon) and sending them off with a little printout of how to care for them.

#sourdough starter #starter #discard #tightwadery

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midgardbrewhouse · 3 years

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Brewday - Barleywine

First brewday of 2022 and we're going big! 👊 Jan or Feb is when I usually look to brewing something for Christmas to give it the aging it deserves, previously its been Imperial Stouts, but as I've a good Milk Stout recipe that I want to do again which doesn't require so much aging, I thought I'd change tact. Inspired by Brew York’s Grainsly Harriet, a Ryewine, I put together my own Barleywine with a bit of Rye, but not too much. The malt bill was 51.9% No. 19 Floor-Malted Maris Otter, 13% Malted Rye, 6.5% Crystal Dark and 6.5% Dextrin Malt. The rest of the bill to be made up of 15.6% Liquid Malt Extract and 6.5% Dark Brown Sugar. I know the limitations of my Brewzilla, the bigger we go the less efficiency there is so this one needed a little boost. The mash went fine, a little slow on the sparge but no major issues. Went with 66c mash and 75c sparge. For the 2 hour boil I just added 50g of homegrown Fuggles for 60 minutes with another charge of 50g at 15 minutes and finally 47g of Keyworth Midseason for the final 5 minutes. Aiming for about 39IBU, but this is always a bit of a guess with my homegrown hops. At flame out I added the sugar and extract. Boil off wasn't too much actually so I think I ended up with around 19L. I should have made a starter but didn't get round to it so it took Nottingham a day or so to get going but of course being Nottingham it's hardcore and is currently bubbling away. I was only a few points off at 1.080 which should still give around 9%, probably the highest I've ever gone without the addition of honey. We'll see how this one develops over the next few weeks.

8 days into fermentation of my Barleywine and unsurprisingly Nottingham has destroyed the sugars to 1.012 from 1.080! I don't know why Brewers Friend always calculates such low attenuation for it, it's target was 1.016. 🤷‍♂️ Anyway I'm going to leave it a few weeks as I'm fermenting quite low at 18c and we could have a few more points yet to go. The sample tasted awesome, thick mouthfeel, mega malty with loads of caramel and booze. Just like a Barleywine thankfully. More time then some aging should really do this justice, all being well.

Barleywine bottling day.

Mostly 330s so quite a bit more to do packaging. I used black treacle to prime for a little extra flavour boost, not that it needed it though.Wow. The sample I tried was astounding, such huge silky body and even though its 8.9% the deep maltiness hid the booze pretty well already.This is supposed to go away to age out over the year for Christmas, if it makes it. 😆 I'll get it packed away at the back of the shed to avoid temptation. Let's hope aging does improve it.I think the addition of liquid malt to get the ABV up rather than sugar makes a vast difference to the body, so I'll be using this trick on any future big stouts as well.

#barleywine #homebrew

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

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mystic meadow and the sweet spot

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: anxiety, awkwardness, shy!baker!harry, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: harry hates working the farmers markets, but the girl in the kombucha booth is cute

author’s note: hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

Harry used to hate working the farmer’s markets; there was so many people, so many awkward encounters, and so many stupid questions. The heat of the midsummer didn’t help either. He hated having to set the booth up and take it down, with the help of nothing more than an inadequate coworker, who spends most of his time on his phone or flirting with the other vendors. He hated working the markets, which is why he honestly contemplated quitting when his boss told him that he was scheduled to work the new rounds of the summer circuit, but the pay was double what he was normally making, in addition to mileage compensation.

It’s been a couple weeks since the market season began; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he has to set up his booth, put on a fake smile, try to sell as much as he can, and take the booth down, only to start it all again the next day in a different location. It’s exhausting, draining.

Today isn’t as bad as others. Cas, his poor excuse of a coworker, hadn’t even bothered showing up, but other than that, Harry hasn’t had any rude customers, and Andy, the guy who owns the spirits booth, gave him a couple bottles for cheap. By the end of the day, he sold most of the product, with only a few pastries and macarons to save for tomorrow, which will be handed out as samples.

He’s nearly all packed up when a girl meanders over near his booth. A loose yellow tee hangs off her shoulder with pale pink lace peeking out from the top of her chest, and she offers Artemis, the elderly woman who works the soap booth next to him, a soft grin. They make eye contact, and she gives him a warm smile. Thinking she’s a straggler who doesn’t know the market is closed, he offers her a tight smile while not-so-subtly boxing up the remainder of baked goods.

“Hmm, macarons,” the girl mumbles, fingering at the blue and white plaid tablecloth. “Any good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says softly. He has never been really good when it comes to small talk, which is one reason why he probably isn’t able to have any lasting relationships; he barely had any acquaintances, let alone meaningful friendships. He scratches the back of his head, beneath a wool beanie he apparently had to wear, even though it’s been burning hot all day. Sweat seeps into his hair, threatening to drip down his neck. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. He slides the tray of eclairs onto the side table, wrapping it with a healthy amount of plastic wrap before placing it in the insulated tote.

“And you’re not just obligated to say that since I’m a potential customer,” she smirks.

“Would never lie to such a pretty girl,” he says, smiling. He honestly can’t believe that those words actually came out of his mouth. A blush makes its way from his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and he prays that she can’t see it. The sun is setting; dull oranges and pinks peek over the tops of trees and wrap around her like wings, bright and comforting. He wipes his forehead, trying to conceal his blush from her. Just by looking at her, he’s sure that she wouldn’t even bat an eye at the rosy flush to his skin, but his stomach still balls up.

“Smooth,” she says. “You come here often?” Regret passes over her features as soon as she asks that, brows furrowing and head shaking. “Sorry, that sounded stupid. I just haven’t seen you. It’s normally Ryan or Cas,” she explains. She starts folding the tablecloth when Harry packs the final trays of pastries away.

“Well, Cas didn’t even show up today.” Harry can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his anger on this poor girl, but she’s looking at him with such understanding eyes, it’s hard not to completely break and rant about everything that’s been building up. She hands the cloth to him, which he takes with an appreciative nod. “But, yeah, ‘ve been workin’ this fo’ a couple of weeks,” he says. Feeling like he’s being a little too standoffish, he offers her a smile, nudging the tray that caught her eye toward her. “You like macarons?”

It takes a bit for her to answer, and she bites at her lip, fingers wringing together. The skin of her palms are stained a pinkish-purple.

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re my favorite.”

“Here,” he says, scrambling to get a box. He digs into the tote, easily ripping into the plastic wrap. “Take some. Better you than me. ’Ve had enough sweets to last me the rest of my life.”

“Thanks.” She takes the box of pistachio-honey, raspberry-basil, and orange cream. “Pretty,” she says, fiddling with the gold ribbon he tied around it and already picking at the label. She lingers for a little bit, like she’s waiting to find something else to talk about, fingers tapping nervously on the table top. “I, uh,” she stutters, gesturing toward the booth across the way from his and a little to the right, “work the kombucha stand over there.”

It’s a large booth with large, draping black curtains shifting. If the wind catches it just right, he can see streams of warm colors painted on them, layered and bold. Two men are taking down a large banner that says ‘Mystic Meadow Kombucha’ with the outline of a bull’s skull beneath it, wildflowers winding around it. It seems to be more extravagant than Harry’s setup, with 3 large kegs in the front, decorated with fake vines and flowers.

“D’ya paint?” He asks suddenly, gesturing toward her hands.

“I do, but these are from some beets. We were testing new flavors, and I, well—” She bares her hands, laughing lighty, “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll see you around,” she says after a minute, offering him a shy smile. Before she walks away, she raises the box of sweets with gratitude. “Thanks, again.”

“See ya,” he says, eyes lingering on her, watching her skip back toward her booth. One of the men looks at Harry and smirks, nodding knowingly. The rest of the night, he finds his gaze wandering back over to her booth. A couple of times, she catches his eye, and when they leave, in an old van with a flaking paint job that wobbles over every bump in the road, she waves at him.

It’s ten at night before he gets back to the bakery, the sun long gone, but the dry heat still hangs heavy in the air. Marty, the owner, is still in the office counting the money for the night that she probably wasn't able to get to earlier. It’s a fairly small operation, with only two baristas, two managers, Marty and Ryan, and two bakers, himself and Cas, who probably won’t have a job after today’s no-call-no-show. Harry leans against the doorframe, handing her the bank pouch.

“‘M headed out,” he says. “See ya tomorrow.”

“How was it?” She asks before he can leave. He turns around.

“Wha’?”

“The market,” Marty supplies. “Is it still as bad as you thought?”

“Today was better than others,” he says vaguely, his mind wandering to the girl at the kombucha stand. A smile plays on his lips. Marty cocks a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“So you wouldn’t mind working next week?”

“Nah,” he says, “Tha’s fine.”

That night, he dreams of a girl, with pretty eyes, a yellow t-shirt, and stained hands.

In the weeks following their first encounter, Harry takes the time to visit the kombucha girl before the market opens, and at the end of the night, she stops by to get a box of leftover baked goods. He’s learned a lot of things over the past few weeks: her name is Y/N, she’s the daughter of the owners of Mystic Meadow, her main jobs being selling at local markets and businesses and coming up with the different flavors, she’s working on her bachelor’s degree, she’s single (Harry found it difficult to contain his joy when she told him that), and she’s an all-around sweet girl, who’s wonderful with people.

Harry also found out that he hates kombucha.

But that doesn’t stop him from getting one every time he stops by. It’s normally before the market is actually open to the public. She just gets so excited whenever he tries a cup of the newest flavor, normally an odd mixture of spices or herbs with vinegar and a fermented fruit flavor—it’s not even good fermentation, like with alcohol— it tastes absolutely horrid, but Y/N looks at him with such hopeful eyes the first time he has a sip; he couldn’t bear seeing the disappointed look in her eyes, so he accepts the little plastic cup from her, nodding thankfully, and takes it back to his booth, where it will sit for the remainder of the night, untouched and dripping with sweat, leaving faint rings on the tablecloth.

“I brought you something,” she says to him one afternoon.

It’s early August, the sun at its peak, beating down on his black tee; he really needs to learn how to dress for such heat.

“Yeah?”

She lugs a black glass bottle from the cooler in the far corner of the booth, hidden behind the wooden chair for her. Her smile stretches from ear to ear; it’s hard to contain his own, but why would he want to? When you’re in the presence of beaming sunlight, you shouldn’t shy away, rather, embracing it because you never know how long it’s going to last. Her finger is hooked in the small hole near the top, and she slams it down on the table, the decorated glass jar filled with inspirational quotes and stickers with the Mystic Meadow logo on them nearly toppling over. He clumsily grapples for it before everything falls.

“Sorry,” she laughs, rubbing the sweat that has already formed on the bottle. She holds it out for him to take. “It’s a growler of the pear and pink peppercorn,” she says, smiling. He takes it gingerly from her hands, turning it over and feeling the weight.

“Wha’?”

“You said it was your favorite,” she says, her grin falling slightly. His heart stops for a second. Guilt floods him as he smiles widely, dimples settling deep in his cheeks.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither of them, he’s noticed, are very good at making conversation. Y/N is normally the one to initiate the pleasantries, but it still takes a little bit before they can actually get into a deep conversation. Sure, when they finally find a subject that the both of them are passionate about, they can talk for hours, like her paintings or his music, but the starting off is always difficult. Granted, that’s not abnormal for Harry; he’s never been much of a talker. He can fake it if he has to, but he’s a bit of a blundering idiot sometimes, and he’s learned that the less he speaks, the less likely he is to embarrass himself—especially when he’s around Y/N.

He’s been trying to find the courage to ask her out on a date for the past few weeks, hell, ever since the day they met, but of course: he hasn’t. Granted, he’s never had much luck in the dating scene, probably because he can’t flirt for the life of him. There are some times where something charming comes out randomly, but it’s soon followed by an uncomfortable silence, and he gets embarrassed.

He just needs to go for it. He knows that. He tells himself that every time he misses his chance, when he waits too long, and the window of opportunity is slammed in his face. Y/N is a wonderful match for him, and she’s too sweet to completely laugh in his face or flat out reject him.

But it’s still scary. His heart is in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans, noticing the slight tremor. He tucks them in the pockets of his jeans (yet another terrible clothing choice for such a hot day).

He just needs to do it, rip it off like a band-aid.

“Was wondering,” he blurts out, shifting nervously on his feet. “Do you have plans on Saturday?”

“No, do you have something in mind?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and he melts. He wishes he could be as comfortable as Y/N, to not be constantly worried about the approval and validation of the people around him. He wonders what it’s like to wear his heart out on his sleeve.

He wishes he could live like that.

“Uh, I have work,” he says, “but after, maybe, we could get dinner?”

“Sounds like a date.”

—

The Sweet Spot Bakery and Cafe is a cute little shop on a corner in downtown, ironically next to a nutrition store. A blue neon sign shaped like a mug flashes in the corner of Y/N’s eye. Rain pounds onto the red and gold striped awning, dripping onto the flooded concrete. There’s cute flower boxes beneath the windows, but the flowers look sad and droopy, the dirt splattering out with every powerful raindrop. Antique metal tables are stacked in the far corner, out of the rain. Y/N shakes off her umbrella.

A sweet chime sounds when she pulls open the door. Inside, the scent of coffee and sugar fill her senses. There is just something so comfortable about being in a bakery or even a cafe that always reminds her of warmth, of intimacy, of home. The shop is fairly empty, with an older man reading in one of the corners, snug in a velvet chair, and a couple quietly chatting on the other side, hidden behind a hanging plant, their legs crossed over each others’ on a leather stool.

An older woman greets her from behind the counter, obscured by a gold espresso machine. She’s short with graying black hair, brown eyes peeking behind horned glasses. Her red painted lips stretch into a smile.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, is Harry here?”

As if he could hear her, Harry stumbles out from the back, the door swinging idly behind him. Flour coats his arms to his elbows, with a few stripes on his nose and forehead. The green bandana struggles to hold back his hair, curls slipping onto his forehead.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He wipes his hands on the apron, a cloud of white billowing out. He coughs. He shoos the woman away and leans against the counter, his features impassive. To the untrained eye, he looks normal, fine, calm, even, but Y/N has learned how to read him; from the faint blush on his cheeks to the look in his eyes, which are unable to meet hers. He looks anxious, more so than usual, and there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry, I forgo’ to tell ya, but I’m scheduled to close tonight.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “We can do this some other time, then.”

“I can take my break in a bit. Marty doesn’ really mind how long it takes. D'ya wanna sit? Be out in a minute,” he says quickly.

“Sure,” she says, nodding. She opts for the corner booth, away from the other customers. Harry comes out from behind the counter only a moment later, like he promised, clean with a large white mug clutched in one shaky hand and a white box, wrapped in a pretty gold bow, in the other.

“Here ya go,” he says, sliding a large mug toward her. Foam sloshes over the edges and onto the table, wetting the napkin under the cup as well as her hand. He curses under his breath, grappling for the napkin dispenser. A poorly shaped face made with cinnamon smiles up at her, and she wants to aw at the sight, her lips pouting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping her hand with a stale paper napkin.

“It’s fine, H,” she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous (more nervous than usual). It’s not like this is his first time meeting her; they’re comfortable with each other, and they joke around, and he also knows that she’s interested because of how understanding she was when he told her that his shift changed, or maybe that is a sign that she’s not interested.

He really needs to stop overthinking these things.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to talk with her without his hands clamming up or his heart beating out of his chest. Maybe it’s the pressure of it being defined as a “date” that makes it even worse. He just hopes that he doesn’t psych himself out.

“Thank you.” She grins.

“No problem. Remembered that ya told me once that you liked honey and cinnamon.”

Her heart swells at his words. Even though Harry puts on an uneasy exterior, he’s very attentive and loving. None of her exes would have remembered how she took her coffee after she mentioned it once.

“Sorry,” he says again suddenly, looking at the sad excuse of a smiley face on her drink. “Don’ normally work the front unless it’s too busy.”

“You should. Such a pretty face, I can’t keep it all to myself.” She pinches his cheek, and he shys away, swatting at her hand playfully. He nudges the box toward her.

“Macarons. Your favorite,” he says, and she nudges it to the side, taking a large gulp of the coffee.

“How’s it been today?” She asks, rubbing some of the foam off with her thumb.

“Slow,” he admits, breathing out shakily. His feet tap nervously on the floor, tapping back and forth, from heel to toe.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his. “No need to be nervous.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “I jus’ feel like I should apologize again. I should’ve said something to you about my shift change.”

“It’s no problem, Harry,” she reassures him.

“I just got promoted. Marty needs help with orders and stuff, so I’ll be the bakery manager, now. She wanted me to close as a part of my training.”

“That’s great,” she smiles, lacing their fingers. He stares at them, his thumb tracing over her knuckles gently. Her skin is calloused and warm. He tugs her hand up to his lips, and she gives him a shy smile.

“You’ll still be working the markets, right?”

“Ya can’t get rid o’ me tha’ easily, lovie,” he smirks.

“Good.”

They talk for a good ten minutes, but the conversation is no deeper than the short interactions they normally have at the markets.

Harry wishes that wasn’t the case.

“Harry,” Marty calls from behind the counter, interrupting them. “A timer’s going off. What’s it for?”

“Oh, um—” He stands up, looking at Y/N with apologetic eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, downing the last of her drink and gathering her things.

“Brunch? I’ll text ya?”

“Harry,” Y/N calls out after he slips behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, not missing the red forming on his neck.

“See you tomorrow.”

She gives him a wink before leaving. Harry stands, stunned in silence, his fingers tracing the warmth lingering from her lips.

“Whipped,” Marty mutters, a soft smirk toying on her lips.

“Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I’m not judging. It’s cute, H.”

“I don’ need this, ‘kay?”

She throws a wet towel at him, catching his leg before the door to the back closes.

—

As promised, they had Sunday brunch, with bottomless mimosas and American biscuits, something he still isn’t used to, with jam and poached eggs. Y/N, who is a lot bolder when she has some alcohol in her, chattered on and on about her friends, her parents, and her classes. College never seemed like an option for him. He always held the belief that in his career choices, a baker or a musician, he doesn’t need a degree; you either have it or you don’t type situations.

But Y/N, the smart little cookie, loves school. She talked about how she may get an education degree, but one is plenty of work right now. She commended those brave enough to be in a double major. She asked him about his family and his job, mostly; he would rather listen to her than talk, so he kept his answers short and sweet.

Afterward, they went to the park, cliche as it seems, because even though he’s lived in the area for nearly five years, he never took the time to stop by any of the parks, and Y/N took full opportunity of this: she gawked at him, pulled him out of his chair at the bistro, and slammed some cash onto the table. He tried to argue with her, that he should at least leave the tip, since he was at fault for their date yesterday not going to plan, but she wasn’t listening.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been to any of the parks,” she said, tugging him along the sidewalk. “There’s a nice one around here, only a ten minute walk. It has a pond and that cute little playground equipment—you know, the tiny slides with tiny stairs for the little kids. Do you remember those?” She stops. “Should we get bread to feed the ducks?” She shakes her head, answering her own question. “No, we can do it some other time.”

They spend the rest of the day by the pond, people watching, another one of Y/N favorite past times. After dinner, Harry didn’t get home until after sunset and went to bed with a smile on his face.

The next day, Harry spends two hours contemplating whether or not it was too early to send a good morning text. He nervously rolled around in his bed before he accidentally sent the message. She responded quickly after, and they talked for the entire day (seriously, he didn’t get up unless he absolutely had to).

Tuesday, market day, comes around quickly, and Harry gets there earlier than usual, not so subtly waiting for the Mystic Meadow van to chug through the grass lot, and when it does, his heart speeds up, but he doesn’t recognize the girl that hops out of the passenger side.

His mind runs amuck, as usual. Even though they talked nonstop the day before, he thinks that maybe she’s not here because she doesn’t want to run into him, that she was annoyed by him already, his wariness and nerves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that there are so many other possible explanations, but his anxiety wasn’t having it.

It takes him a while to gather the courage to go over to the booth, and he tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, pacing slowly in front of the other booths, organic fruit, soap, paintings, and jewelry, until he’s at Mystic Meadow. The chalkboard sign that usually says Y/N’s name in fancy lettering says, ‘Florence will be helping you today’ instead. A girl with very long, very bright hair turns toward him. Thick blue eyeliner outlines her eyes, and smattering of freckles enlivens her pale skin.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She looks taken aback by the question.

“Sick,” she answers slowly, brows furrowed.

“Oh,” he whispers. “‘M Harry,” he says. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she gives him a quick once over, leaning her hip against the table.

“You’re Harry?” She laughs. “We thought she was making you up.”

“Tha’s...” Harry doesn’t really know how to feel about that; it’s a cacophony of pride, excitement, and little anxiety. Pride for the fact that Y/N talked about him to her coworker (and potentially even more people, since Florence said “we”), excitement from the fact that Y/N seems very interested in him, and, of course, anxiety from this stranger's piercing gaze. He wonders what Y/N said about him; maybe she talked about how awkward he is or his gauky figure or his clumsiness—

“How sick is she?”

“Not too sick,” Florence says, winking.

“Oh, tha’s not—“

He hates the fact that he actually sounds disgusted, even though he honestly doesn’t mind the thought of it. Sure, Florence is right; he wouldn’t mind being with Y/N in that way, but that’s beside the point. They have only been out on two dates, and the first one was at his work, of all places, so he doesn’t really count that one. He wants to take their relationship slow.

“I’m messing with you,” Flo laughs, crossing her arms, “Although, it is nice to see a grown man blushing.”

“‘M not blushin’,” he says, wiping at his cheeks petulantly. “Uh, is Y/N alright? How sick—” He swallows thickly. His skin heats up even more, struggling to find his words. He’s trying to figure out how to ask where Y/N lives without sounding like a stalker. Maybe he should just ask Y/N himself.

“Where, um, does she—”

“Here,” she says, chuckling. She rips a piece of paper loose from under the register box and writes down an address with looping script.

“Thanks.” He leaves the booth with a quick nod, the paper clutched tightly in his sweating palm; hopefully, it doesn’t smudge the ink.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls out. He turns. “You’re a good guy. I’m glad she met you.”

If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure as hell is now.

—

Y/N looks worse for wear when she answers the door to her apartment, eyes tinted red with exhaustion, puffy and droopy, and she sniffles, a stuffy breath slipping through her lips. She’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide slightly behind the door when she sees that it’s him.

“What are you doing here?” She squeaks.

His nerves spike again, worried he’s intruding or maybe it was too soon for him to start showing up at her house unannounced, when he’s never even been there before (he knew asking Florence for her address was a bad idea). They have only been on a couple of dates, and now, he probably ruined any chances he had with her by acting impulsively and like a total creep.

“I asked Florence,” he answers softly. “Said you were sick.” When tears fill her eyes, he’s sure she’s going to yell at him for disturbing her and tell him never to come again. He doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything so much; his skin is hot, his racing heart sinking into his stomach. “‘M sorry. I jus’ thought, since you were sick, you may wan’ some company. I’ll leave, sorry, sorry—”

“No,” she says, grabbing onto his arm before he can leave. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but…” Her throat closes, and she tries her hardest to not start ugly-crying, but with Harry standing on her front porch, visibly drained from work, arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, makes it very hard not to break. It’s exhausting having to take care of yourself when you’re feeling ill, and with Harry simply there, and knowing that he was thinking about her, makes things so much easier.

“You’re so sweet, H,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“May I?”

“But—” She hesitates, nibbling at her lip. “I’m in my PJ's,” she says softly.

“And ‘m all sweaty from being in tha’ sun all day,” he smiles. He lets himself in, thick boots thundering on the hardwood. “I came straight from, but I did pick up some soup and Sprite and tea. Hope you have honey and lemon,” he rambles, tugging everything out from the bags.

“Wasn’t real sure what kind of sick ya were, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got everythin’.” He gives her an awkward tight smile.

“Thank you,” she sighs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you wanna shower? I’m sure I have some clothes that can fit you.” She guides him to the bathroom, laying some towels and clothes into his arms. “The shower head screams sometimes so don’t be worried. It normally stops if you wiggle it a bit.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. Her shower is filled with dozens of half-filled soap bottles decorated the shelves and the little basket hanging from the shower head. The hot water is nearly all gone by the time he decides to use the no-more-tears strawberry shampoo. Her towels are warm and soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever felt before, and they’re big enough to nearly swallow him whole.

He finds Y/N in the kitchen with a warped mug, seemingly handmade, filled with steaming tea. She stares at the cap of medicine on the counter, breathing heavily. He can see the confliction on her features, one moment she’s nearly convinced that she doesn’t need it, that her body can take care of it overnight, but she also knows that if she didn’t take it, she’ll be in for one hell of a terrible night; then she remembers how awful it tasted the last couple of times she’s had to take it.

Her nose scrunches when she finally decides to down it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she says, “I was just about to head to bed.”

“Oh, uh,” he says nervously. “I don’ want to impose. I’ll leave. I jus’ wanted to make sure ya had everything ya needed.”

A part of him wanted her to invite him to be with her; that part that is touch starved and eager to be near her again wants to toss any worries to the side.

“As long as you’re fine listening to my coughing all night, I’m fine with you staying the night.”

She listens to nature sounds to go to sleep.

How cute is that?

For the first couple minutes, they were ocean sounds, but she didn’t like the seagulls; she had him switch it to rain after a little bit. She looked a little embarrassed when she started playing them, but Harry listened to music in order to fall asleep, so it’s really no different. He never thought about listening to nature sounds, but it’s definitely something he could get used to.

It takes them a bit to finally get settled together. They start on their own sides of the bed. Not wanting to push his luck and make her feel uncomfortable, Harry stays on his side, trying not to hoard too much of the blankets, with a pillow hugged to his chest. She’s afraid that he won’t like her being so close to him, given her current state of health. They stare at the ceiling stubbornly, one occasionally glancing over to the other.

Soon, the night-time medicine kicks in, and Y/N throws caution to the wind.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, rolling onto her side, one arm nestling underneath him with the other prying between the pillow. “You okay with this?” She looks at him with pleading eyes, and he smiles.

How could he say no to her?

“Definitely.”

And so, she snuggles deeper into his chest, eyes growing heavy at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, the scent of strawberry shampoo and Vix lulling the both of them to sleep.

—

Kissing her is something he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of. The feel of her soft lips over his, with tongue and teeth, aching and messy, is addicting. He never understood why people liked kissing so much; granted he’s only had five other ones to go off of, only two of them ever lead to a full-blown make out session on his bed, but still; how much fun could it be to practically suck another person’s face off?

But he severely underestimated the power of Y/N’s lips. The first time he felt them was a couple days after he spent the night with her when she was sick. It was a quick little peck he gave her when he dropped her off at her apartment, and ever since, he was hooked. It still completely baffles how much he aches for her lips when he can’t see her, and when he finally gets his fix, it feels perfect.

He finds himself craving the taste of her tongue.

How can someone’s mouth taste good?

It’s December, now, the market season long gone, and he and Y/N have been together for nearly five months. It’s more serious than any of his other relationships. Obviously, that’s not saying much since he hasn’t had many, but Harry slowly found himself opening up more toward her, which is more than any of his other ones.

He nips at the skin of her neck, tugging off her tee, and he finds the hickey he left a couple days ago, just below the collarbone, tongue pressing lightly on the tender skin. She whimpers.

“Fuck me, H,” she moans. She’s wearing a pink, lacy bra, the same one she was wearing the first day they met. He slips the straps over her shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses behind it. Her head lolls back against his, and his hand finds its way to her neck, caressing the warm skin. He can feel her heart rate pick up.

She slips her pajama pants and panties down, kicking them across the room. She slips further down the sheet, his hands firm on her hips. He tugs her frail bra up over her head. He fondles her breast for a bit before his lips trail down the valley, his warm mouth wrapping around her tender nipple, tongue soft against the pebbling skin. Y/N feels herself melt into him, skin sensitive to every teasing kiss he leaves down her body.

“Hey, babe?”

He rests his chin on her tummy, the thin hairs coating his jaw ticking her skin.

“Yeah?”

A sweet smile crosses her face at the chills that cover her skin when he speaks, lips so close to her skin, her pussy throbbing. Her thighs twitch. She runs her fingers through his hair, fingers smoothing the flyaways down. He kisses her bellybutton.

“I love you.”

He isn’t expecting that.

He chokes a little bit, his throat closing up on him.

“What?” He lifts himself up, crawling back up her body, and she cups his face. “Really?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She’s not afraid that he won’t say it back. Hell, there's a part of her that doesn’t even expect him to say it back. (There’s an even smaller part that thinks that he’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t want to think of that). She’s not afraid because she knows that she needs to be the one to reassure him, to love him, to coax him out of his shell, and she’s completely willing to do that, to put forth the time and effort, because she is wholeheartedly enamored with him.

She waits for him to process everything; she can see the confliction in his eyes. Ever the worrier, Harry is thinking of the negative outcomes that can come if he goes about this the wrong way, but he doesn’t dwell on them for too long. He thinks of the mornings that he woke up in her arms, the afternoons they spent in tje park, a new tradition for them, the evenings they spent in contemplative silence, where she would paint his profile and he would serenade her with another love song, and the nights they spent making love.

Loving her is probably the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Love you too, babylove.”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she pulls his forehead onto hers.

He wants to thank her, for being patient, for being understanding, for loving him, for just being her, really. He doesn’t think she realizes how much of an impact she has on him.

She sits up and pushes him beneath her. He leans against the headboard. It’s cold against his hot skin, sweat slipping down the small of his back. They both struggle in pulling off his pants; he almost hits her in the head. She settles low on his thighs, straddling him, and her feet tuck beneath his calves. She spits on his cock, wetting the red tip, and strokes him slowly. He moans, pouting slightly.

“No teasin’.” He tugs her forward, until their chest to chest, his hands settling low on her hips, rocking her wet pussy back and forth over the length of his cock. Her clit rubs against the head, making her hips jolt within his grasp. He easily slips inside of her, his head knocking against the headboard. She teases him, still, just barely putting the head inside before pulling out slowly. It takes a couple more tries before she sinks fully onto him, a drawn out groan slipping past his lips. He pulls her back in for a kiss, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“So deep,” she moans, her thighs twitching and quivering at his side. She caresses the skin of his belly, thumb teasing along the thin hairs.

“There ya go, baby,” he coos. “Takin’ me so well.” He sets his hand on her lower abdomen, feeling the little bump. “Can feel m’self,” he smiles. He waits for her to start moving. It takes a little longer than usual, probably from the lack of preparation, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She moves her hips back and forth, wiggling about to find that one special spot.

He thrusts himself into her, and she nearly collapses completely onto him, with a broken whine breaking from her chest. Hands gripping her fleshy ass, he moans against her neck. She tastes of sweat and cherries, addicting, and she grinds harder into him, hands gripping the headboard, which hits the wall with every move of her hips. The mattress creaks noisily beneath them, but they can barely hear it over the sound of each others’ moans of pleasure.

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

She breathes out her response, a pledge of her own love; it’s weak, but that’s no surprise, since she struggles for air when he bucks his hips, hitting the deepest part of her. The aching in her chest only adds to the pleasure, the burning fire in her stomach. Her arousal slips down to his thighs.

“‘M gonna come, babylove,” he whines, skimming his nose over hers. Her teeth nibbles his lips, riding him faster.

“Come in me, H, wanna feel you,” she says breathily. His arms quiver around her, squeezing her tight to him, his face digging into her neck. Her toes curl when he comes, his nails digging into her skin. She eases him through his high, cupping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his forehead. She pulls his head to her chest, fingers carding through his curls; his heaving breaths leaves her skin wet. She moves up, whimpering softly, but he stops her, feeling some of his cum slip out onto his thighs.

“Hm, no, lovie,” he whines, wrapping an arm around her waist. He gently moves them onto their sides, while keeping his cock nestled deep inside her. “Wanna feel you.”

She loves being so close to him, warm and full. She’s never done this with anyone. It’s intimacy at its core, with Harry holding her so tightly against him. It nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s so glad that she met Harry, so thankful that she took that leap of faith and talked to the cute guy at the baked goods booth, who had wise eyes and a nervous smile. She’s glad that she inched past that guarded exterior to find his soft, gooey middle. Harry kisses her forehead, shifting slightly, and her sensitive walls flutter around him.

“Feels good, baby,” she moans, rubbing along his waist.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she says, still at a loss for breath, her fingers absently tracing over his inked skin. Goose pimples rise in their wake.

“I don’ like kombucha.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like macarons.”

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes smut #gif not mine #credit to owner

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rezdogsyonder · 4 years

Text

Similar circumstances

I’ve stolen a prompt from @mcudarklibrary, here is the list here. All credit goes to them, and this was in no way my idea, but I did want to write using these prompts. No one notices the reader missing from the party + Reader has to stay quiet in the library.

Also I put two dresses, so you can visualise the look I’m going for and length I have in mind, I don’t mention any colors or any specific size of woman. (Besides height) But I think a dark colored dress is best suited yenno?

Pairing: Loki x Tall!Reader

Summary: There is a new member in the Avengers, everyone seems to hate him but maybe you will like him as much as he likes you.

Warnings: Dark!Loki, non/dub-con(more dub than non but she did explicitly say no), unprotected sex, superserum!reader, Loki using his powers, choking, manipulation? (It feels like manipulation to me, like guilt tripping), double penetration, oral male and female receiving, mentions a cockwarming

**********

“Are you ready yet?” Nat asked from the your bed.

“Just another coat of mascara.” Holding your mouth open while you brush your eyelashes. A weird habit that everyone seemed to have. Taking a step back to look at yourself you’re pleased with what you see.

Your dress fitting you well, your make up being so close to perfect you wonder how you managed to do it. Bold lips, and some eyeshadow to make your eyes pop, tying your entire look together.

“Let’s go, we’re getting close to fashionably late.” She stood up after finishing strapping her heals. Even with her stilettos she wasn’t even up to your shoulder, she might have if you hadn’t worn heels as well. You like heels and you aren’t going to cater to any men to make them feel comfortable.

The only exception would be Tony or Bruce, but they are mature and secure with themselves so they would never ask anyways.

Tony’s party tonight is to celebrate the welcoming of a new Avenger. He’s not particularly fond of the new addition, but he is always looking for a reason to have a “small” gathering.

You don’t know about him yet, but you know you want to form your own opinion about him. It wasn’t his fault, he was being controlled by Thanos, manipulated by the fact that he felt unwelcome in his own family. Asgardian technology or magic or whatever showed evidence of mind control. But being raised to believe he’s a monster didn’t help anything either. Your heart went out to him. He didn’t even seem to feel comfortable in his true form.

Hoping you’ll get a chance to talk to him tonight, you pull yourself out of your thoughts. Time to focus on the party, you and Steve will most likely be the ones dragging everyone back to their rooms when they’re too drunk to walk.

Getting into the elevator, you ask Friday to take you to the top floor. It was a short ride and when the doors opened it revealed a green and gold color scheme.

“Well the party is for Loki, but don’t you think they went a little overboard?” She mumbled over to you.

“Huh, yeah maybe a little bit.” You smiled and held your finger and thumb mm’s apart. “Just a smidge.”

Natasha grabbed your arm and wrapped it in hers, “Lets get some drinks, come on, I’ll make you one that I know you’ll like.” Weaving through the large crowd.

**********

I saw you walk in, I’ve seen you many times before as well. Not allowed to talk to you or the other members of the team outside of Thor or Stark. I’ve seen you covered in blood, in sweatpants with sleep still in your eyes, but I haven’t seen you like this before. You were breath-taking.

I had hidden my fondness with you so far, but with everyone else’s unwillingness to talk to me, I’ve decided not to approach you first, hoping you would come to me. I don’t want to feel your rejection, which would most definitely happen if I just walk up to you.

Besides, the red head you were with would most definitely verbally rip my throat out if I got anywhere near. Thor brought Asgardian mead the last time he went through the bifrost, and plenty of it.

Sipping on my ale, I try to gain the courage I need to be able to just be here. Even if you only say my name in disgust it will be enough because I know that one day, you will be saying it with adoration.

Just as the way I have always said your name.

**********

“Nat I don’t know why you waste the alcohol on me, it’s not like I can get drunk.”

“This,” she held up a glass bottle that looks to be an antique, “is no regular alcohol. Now quit complaining and try... this.” She finished pouring a pink fruity smelling liquid and pushed the glass your way.

You bring the glass up to your lips and it tasted like a very sweet berry lemonade. You doubted this had any alcohol in it. It tasted just like juice, and you can’t smell anything bad about it.

“Are you trying to trick me or something,” you smiled, teasing her and held out your hand, “can I see the bottle?”

She handed it over with a smirk, and you smelt it, and god it is the worst thing you have ever smelt. Rotting honey and yeast, or maybe it’s more like apple cider vinegar. You quickly hand it back, coughing a little as if it’ll get that rancid smell out of your nose.

“What is that?” You’re about to gag, so you take a drink of the lemonade.

“Asgardian Mead. Who knew even literal gods like to party?” She laughed a little looking at the bottle with wonder before setting it back down underneath the counter. “So what do you think?” She gestured to your cup.

“You actually put that in there? You can’t even tell, how?” You’re drinking it again, genuinely wondering how she did it because she’s an absolute miracle worker.

“Strawberry banana purée, miracle whip, berry inclusions, vanilla extract, and a lemonade that had a lot of sugar. Like enough to make it into a syrup.”

“I can’t even taste banana! You’re magic I swear, can you show me?” You chugged the last of it and got behind the bar with her. You don’t want to bother her for more drinks later tonight because you know that you will want many more.

She shows you through the steps and still are in disbelief when you see the mead being poured in, she used more than you thought she would. Meaning that it is stronger than you gave credit for.

You start feeling a bit tipsy as she finishes it up, “Thank you so much, you are honestly the best.”

“No problem, but you should be thanking Thor, he brought it.” She pointed behind you with a flip of her hair she was walking towards Bruce who was talking to Clint at the other end of the bar.

You look in the direction she gave and through the large crowd you see him in the back corner, surrounded by Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Loki. The man of the hour. Might as well congratulate him while you’re over there.

Hopefully you won’t make a fool of yourself.

**********

“Heyy.” Drawing out the word way longer than it needs to, you go to sit in the space between Loki and Thor. Plopping down in an uncoordinated fashion, but careful not to spill your drink.

“Lady Y/N, how wonderful it is for you to join us. Tell us, are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?” He is his usual joyful self as he brings his arm around your shoulder pulling you close.

“Yes actually, thank you for bringing the drinks, I really appreciate it.”

“Ah, it is nothing. I have heard of your problems with the earthly ale, and I thought I could be of service. To the captain and soldier as well!” He raised his cup, to which you cheered.

“Actually what is mead? ‘Cause I smelt some of it and jesus it smells so bad.”

“It is honey, water, and sugar, fermented for hundreds of years, sometimes thousands. I believe it is a 100 percent alcohol by volume in Midgard terms. The magical properties however make it stronger.” Loki answered the question, after seeing Thor’s unknowing expression. You turn to him, not realizing how close you were sitting to the two of them. You shift in your seat to face him a little better.

“Whoa... what is the regular alcohol by volume percent?” You take another drink, his eyes trained on you.

“10-12 percent for the average wine.”

“How is it that you’re not even from here, but you know more about the alcohol here than me?” You teased, your feeling more comfortable with the liquid courage running through you.

He gave a small smile, “I just enjoy reading.”

“Well, mister bookworm, congratulations on becoming an avenger. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” You held your hand out for a handshake.

“Ah yes of course, I am Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin and Freya.” He grabbed your fingers, twisting your hand so he may kiss your knuckles. His hand and lips were cold, and you feel a burn in your cheeks. Was he making you blush?

“Y/N L/N,” You said breathlessly.

“Y/N. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Your face felt on fire as you couldn’t suppress a small giggle. He smiled once more, rubbing his thumb over you fingers before letting it rest on your thigh.

“So what were you guys talking about?” You scooch into your seat a little more, the action bringing you closer to the man on your right. Which did not go unnoticed by Loki.

He couldn’t focus on anything but you, the conversation going on without him. Not that he minded. It was unbelievable that you’re were acting this way to him. Had you truly seen through his past transgressions?

**********

The rest of the night you spent talking to the group and sneaking glimpses of Loki. He has been awfully quiet, seeming to prefer listening over talking.

“Hey, are you not enjoying the party?” You half whispered over to him. Unable to fully be quiet.

“I am enjoying your company, and that is enough.”

“You said you like books right?” You reach past him to set your now empty glass on the table behind him, making you face to face, noses almost touching.

“I believe I have said that,” he nodded and licked his lips.

“Meet me at the elevator in 5 minutes?” You sat back, hand on his thigh ready to stand up.

“Of course, but the party?”

“It’s not like anybody will notice I’m gone, and I’ve got something to show you.” You stood up and made your way to the bar once more to make yourself a drink to take with you. Using a tall glass this time.

**********

You had your drink and you were walking to the elevator trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Probably failing at that since you were a little past tipsy but not quite drunk. It’s a wonder how you are still walking in heels.

Mission completed, you were at the elevator and nobody stopped you and nobody too close noticed you were leaving. With the guest of honor too.

“How punctual,” you tease once you’re in the elevator, you push the button for floor 84. 9 floors below the two of you.

“I would hate to keep a lady waiting. Now where are we going, might I ask?” You look at him and realize just how handsome he is, his black suit fitting him well, really well, and he is also a little bit taller than you with your heels.

“It’s a surprise, you’ll just have to wait and see.” You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You’re actually feeling excited for the first time in a while. While also hoping you made a new friend.

“Ok, close your eyes.” You stand in front of his and put your hand over both eyes. His hands brushed yours before putting his arms down.

“As you wish.” The elevator doors opened with a little ding.

“Ok walk forward and I’ll lead you.” You giggled, you took your hand from his face but you took his hand in yours, he followed your directions around the tables until he was in the middle of the room.

“Open.” You weren’t even trying to hide you smile anymore. You wondered what he thought of the library. “It’s a replica of the library in Amsterdam, ours is just bigger though.”

“It is indeed very impressive.” He looked around for a few seconds and let out a sigh, “why... why are you doing this?” He leans over grabbing the top of the chair next to him, he looked to you, but you’re speechless.

“...What do you mean?” You take a sip of your drink before setting it on the table beside you.

“I should have to earn your trust, you shouldn’t just give it blindly. Why aren’t you like the rest of your team?” He straightened his posture and rubbed his face; covering his mouth waiting for your answer.

“I..uh. I just thought that I could relate, being controlled, having no freewill. I just thought of what I wanted when everyone refused to talk to me, I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone who would be nice.” It makes your chest hurt hearing his voice sound so sad, broken. “And I am like the rest of my team, we know what it’s like to feel like you do right now. We just don’t know how to deal, you know?”

“You mean there was a point when you couldn’t control yourself?” He looked you in the eyes, and they were glazed over, as if they’ll start watering soon.

“Yeah, they didn’t have you go through everyone’s files when you got here?”

He shook his head, and looked away.

“Well maybe you should talk to them about their pasts, but I can tell you that I know exactly how you feel. 3 years ago I escaped from Hydra, I was their weapon along side Bucky. He escaped first, so I was left to pick up the slack on missions, some of which involved killing very important people.” You turn away. “Including good people. They took my free will away, even now if you were to say a string of words I would have no choice but to comply. I even thought I was a lost cause but the team helped me through it. I can’t even see that person as myself anymore, it was so long ago. The invasion was what? 8 years ago? That person isn’t you.”

“Y/N. I had no idea, I apologize for taking your kindness for granted. I’m sorry for upsetting you, it seems I just have a skewed image of how others perceive me.” He takes a few steps towards you, grabbing your arm. “Please don’t think any less of me than you already do.”

You hug him, burying your face in his neck, “I won’t ever think of you as less than. I mean, you are an actual god.” You chuckle trying to ease the tension.

It grows silent in the room, you stay in his embrace but lean back to look at him. His gaze growing darker. You look at his lips and it doesn’t go unnoticed as he leans closer. You can’t help but feel a pull and you begin to close your eyes. As your lips are just a sliver apart, you pull away.

“I’m sorry, it’s against the rules. We can’t.” You try to pull away but his hands are firm around your waist.

“Rules are meant to be broken,” one hand came up to cradle your cheek. “What is the meaning for such a rule if it keeps people apart.”

“The team lost a member for a couple years because of it. Fury made the rule so that we won’t lose any more..” you can’t help but look at his lips but you shake your head. “No I’m not doing this right now... but shouldn’t we at least talk to him about it?”

“No time,” and with that his lips were on yours, devouring you. You moan as he licks your lip asking for entrance, and you oblige. His other hand comes up and he’s holding both sides of your face. You pull his waist closer to you.

You want so badly to continue, but you both were drunk, and you two can get in a lot of trouble with Fury. Actually you don’t remember seeing him drink all that much. Your hands travel up his sides to his shoulders and you try to push him away, but he won’t budge. You stop responding, your lungs feel like they’re gonna burst and you push harder. He finally relented, and you’re left breathing heavily. You were able to push him away as soon as the kiss breaks

You don’t have a chance to say anything before the door opens, revealing Thor, Sif, and the Warrior Three. Loki waves a hand in their direction and it’s as if you two don’t exist.

“They can’t see us but they will hear us if we get too loud. Or I should say if you get too loud.” He whispered in your ear. Which will probably be hard seeing as they all are basically shouting at each other through their conversation.

“Loki we are not doing this, I’m going to talk Fury first thing in the morning when we’re sober, maybe you won’t even want me in the morning. This is probably the alchohol talking,” you try to reason with him and you feel yourself quickly sobering up as this conversation progresses.

You back away from him but each step you take is matched with a step of his own until you bump into the table behind you. The table made a small sound as it skidded less than 6 inches, and your glass spilling over the side.

All five of them look your way and Loki clamps his hand over your mouth. Thor’s eyes darting all over the place.

“Who goes there?”

Loki has you sat upon the table now and he’s still looking around, and you’re too busy staring at him, hoping that he won’t see you, you don’t feel Loki’s other hand slipping down to your clothed heat. Once you did realize you tried pushing his hand away. Squeezing your thighs together.

You feel another pair of hands and you jerk, trying to free your arms. You look back and see another Loki, with the same dark look as the first. He pulls you to lay you down on the table. Keeping your hands firmly in place, while also still covering your mouth. He spread your legs despite your efforts, and stepped between them.

This never happened, you were a super soldier, how is he overpowering you like this? You know Thor has this godlike strength that is almost a match for the Hulk, but does that extend to Loki? Are Jotunns just as strong as Asgardians?

“Do you wish to be caught by my brother, Y/N? What would Fury think? You don’t want to be caught breaking the rules now, do you?” He leaned down to kiss your neck, peppering little pecks everywhere. You shake your head.

“Good girl.” The Loki holding your arms said, he uncovered you mouth and released your hands before he pulled his hard cock out of his pants. “Open up my sweets.” You reluctantly opened your mouth to have his slide his cock between your lips. You close your eyes, focusing on breathing through your nose as he keeps going deeper with each thrust. He’s holding your hands down again.

Loki’s hand is under your dress, rubbing you through your underwear. A small moan escaped you, muffled by his dick, and you can tell he felt it by the way his breath hitches. He is rubbing small tight circles in such the perfect rhythm, you begin to feel yourself slowing tensing up and he stops. You almost growl as he denied you even the climb, not letting anything build.

He brought his fingers to his lips, wetting them with his spit before he begins to lower himself to your sex, pulling down your panties as well.

You’re not disgusted with his behavior, though you should be. You were more ashamed of yourself, for letting this happen, for leading him on, for every action you made tonight that led to this, even for the fact that you are breaking the number 1 rule that was instilled by Bruce and Nat. But most of all because you are enjoying this. A cock in your mouth and a face between your thighs.

It is getting easier, but he is fucking your face with no mind to if you can handle it. Thrusting slow enough that the table won’t rock, but fast enough that your choking every second. He pushes all the way in holding you there for a couple seconds before he pulls out to let you breath. The action causing your eyes to water up until the tears begin to fall, ruining your mascara.

The first Loki kisses up your thighs slowly, so slow that it is torture and you feel a small heartbeat in your pussy with each kiss that’s climbing higher and higher. You’re holding in every noise that you can, for fear that you will be discovered. You’re only about 10 feet away from Thor for god’s sake. But you thank god that he has gone back to talking with his friends instead of investigating in your spilt drink.

You feel his cool breath breath over your cunt and you’re writhing beneath him, absolutely soaked. He places an open mouthed kiss on your clit, swirling his tongue over it in such a delicious way. Sucking and licking in all the right places, he lets go of your left thigh to insert a single finger into your heat, curling it just enough to hit that spot no one else can seem to find. The difference in temperature making everything just a little more unbearable.

Your legs are over his shoulders and you use them to pull him closer. He receives the message and uses more pressure on your clit, sucking it into his mouth harshly, causing you to arch your back and bucking your hips.

You moan, and it is loud, even through the other Loki’s cock in your throat. You feel the clones hand tightening around your wrists, he thrust deeper causing you to gag silently. You freeze and he doubles his efforts, as if he’s trying to get you two caught. He lets go of your hands and you grab the edge of the table. Needing some sort of stability. The second Loki’s hands going around your throat. Feeling his dick enter your throat, making it bulge with each thrust.

Their speech slowed for a few moments as if they’ll hear it again if they quiet down. Your grip on the edge of the table making it groan, so they are now completely silent listening for anything else. Looking in your general direction.

Loki inserts another finger and he is rubbing that spot with such expertise that it has you seeing stars. He’s sucking on your clit, and you don’t even see the edge before your tumbling over. You can’t control your moan this time, your grip on the table edge tightening so much that you hear cracking until two pieces come off. You’re too blissed out to care about the other people in the room.

“Reveal yourself!” Thor bellows, now angry at the fact someone is toying with him. He is storming towards the table; you drop the splintered wood on the ground, Loki’s clone is gone and you are now able to breath. He picks you up princess style and is swiftly taking you out of the room before Thor reaches the table you have just defiled. Phasing through the door so that you won’t be followed.

Your vision had already returned and there was a slight ringing in your ears when he sets you down to stand. Outside your room it would seem, as you’re now able to take in your surroundings. You can’t get a word in before he is pushing you against the wall, grinding into you, ravishing your neck and chest. You are a mess and your muscles feel like jello.

“Wait... wait! Loki stop!” You were getting your bearings again. Knowing well enough how much trouble you are getting into right now. You normally wouldn’t be a stickler for rules but Fury scares the shit out of you, and you’re kind of angry that Loki didn’t listen to you in the first place.

“Darling, I know how much you want me,” he grabbed your pussy roughly. He lets out a low groan that goes straight to your pussy, the need evident. “Gods, you are soaking. I doubt you want me stopping now, especially when just seconds ago you were mewling and writhing in pleasure.” Each word he’s saying is making you more wet by the second, and it’s because you know he’s right.

He’s now grabbing both of your legs and supporting you on the wall. You can clearly feel the bulge in his pants twitch. He is still leaving you breathless.

“Beg for me, beg for my cock in that sweet little cunt.” You can feel the pressure rising once more as the fabric feels so good against your bare pussy.

“Please, Loki, I need you.” He raises an eyebrow at you, “I need— I need your cock in my pussy. P-please” you let out a groan as you are so close to cumming again.

“That’s my good girl,” he kisses you as he barges into your room. Locking the door behind him. He sits in the bed with you in his lap and his arms snake up to the collar in the back, ripping it off of you, not paying any mind to the zipper he just broke. Your left in nothing but your bra and he rips that off of you as well. You would be mad, but you simply can’t think.

You begin pushing his blazer over his shoulders, but with a snap he is fully nude, and painfully hard and prodding your ass. You would get down to your knees, but he flips you when you tried shifting your weight. He has you pinned beneath him and he is rubbing your entrance with his cock.

“We’re you a good girl? Do you deserve my cock?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m a good girl, please. I need your cock” you’re writhing in pleasure and all you can think of is him. He has completely taken you over.

“Good girl.” He thrusts into to the hilt, giving you no time to adjust as he’s already started a steady speed. The pain adding to the pleasure, making your eyes water. You’re sure you looked wrecked.

He fondled your breasts, bringing his mouth down to your nipple as he tweaks the other. You take your nails down his back and he arches, grabbing your wrists and pinning them down with one hand, the other going to your throat again, giving a light squeeze before going to run your clit. The stimulation has you cumming in seconds, tightening around his dick. To which he growls, thrusting harder and overstimulating you. “Oh gods you are tight, such a responsive little thing.”

The feeling has your toes curling, he’s rutting into you much faster now, and he’s still rubbing small circles into your little bundle of nerves and it has you crying out once more as you cum again. You’re sure you’re screaming now, and you’re glad for the soundproofing Tony put in.

He situated the two of you so that you were on top, and you’re trying to ride him, needing him to just move, when you feel something cold on your asshole.

“No, Loki, I can’t.” You exhaled in a breathy moan as he inserts one finger slowly. Another clone has appeared since the one in front of you is tweaking your nipples and sucking hickeys onto your chest.

“Yes you can darling.” He over the blissed our look on your face. “Ah, beautiful.”

One finger becomes two, scissoring inside you, stretching you out. It feels so good, but you need more. Your clawing your fingers down his back once more and you receive a spank in return as the Loki you’re holding arches his back.

“Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me once more? Do you want my seed? You want me to fill you up?” He inserted a third finger and is thrusting them into you faster, one hand going to rub your clit.

“Please... plea-“ you can’t get out a full sentence, just blubbering nonsense.

“What was that?” He smirked, slowing down and grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your head back a little bit.

His actions pulled a sob from you, “plea... please, cum in me.. fill me up please, I’ll be a good girl, please.”

“Such a good little slut, begging for her holes to be filled.” He removed his fingers and slapped your ass then spreading your cheeks apart, making you moan for him. He pushes his cock in inch by inch, and it is torture. You feel so deliciously full, he let you adjust this time before both slowly beginning to thrust in and out of you. Never leaving you empty, they build a rhythm.

You feel the tension inside you you getting tighter as they rut into you. You can’t hold back any moans, not even as the second Loki brings his hand around to choke you, pulling you back till your head is resting on his shoulder. Your breasts jiggling with each thrust. He’s placing open mouthed kisses over your shoulder and neck before turning your head and kissing your lips successfully silencing you. The steady slap of skin now being the only sound in the room.

His tongue expertly invading your mouth, your tongue not even put up a fight for domination. He bites your lip tugging on it before resuming the kiss. Your hands clawing at his forearms.

They start going faster, and you can’t take it anymore when you cum again. They both slow down giving you a chance to collect yourself.

“Do not cum again until I say so.” He reaches one arm around you to rub your clit again. By then you are so sensitive are so close to cumming, but you hold back. “I expect us to cum together.” The one in front of you says.

You moan loudly, “please... I can’t. I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can love,” he pulled your hair again, “and you will.”

You feel a mouth at your nipple again, tongue swirling around the peak before a small graze of the teeth. Fingers expertly tweaking the other nipple. Then he switches sides after the process.

The second Loki slaps your ass once.. twice.. three times, before holding your hips to keep the rhythm steady. The pleasure becoming too much and you think you’re about to explode. You’re holding onto him as if he’s your lifeline. Your hands traveling up his arms, around his neck and into his hair. You give it a small tug and it is met with a growl. His hips are stuttering though, so you hold out just a little bit longer. Their grunts and moans sound like heaven. His grip on your hips are for sure going to make bruises.

“Cum for me darling, now.” He practically growled, but you could barely hear it, already falling over the edge once more. He bites your neck as the other sucks on your sweet spot just above your collarbone, the pain mingling with the pleasure, cumming so hard that your vision goes black in the corners, your eyes filling back so hard it’s about to give you a headache. Feeling his warmth spill into your ass and pussy, creating aftershocks that have you twitching.

You collapse onto the first Loki and you know that you will feel everything tomorrow. Loki slowly pulls himself out of your ass, causing you to whimper. He stands up and goes to your bathroom, coming back with a warm wet wash cloth to clean you up with.

He winces as he wipes between your legs, which has you writhing. He also had a makeup wipe, washing away the mascara from your cheeks and the remnants of your makeup from earlier. He kissed your nose when your face is clean. The clone disposed of the wipe and rag and evaporated into the air.

“I apologize my sweets, I should have been gentler with our first time.” He gathers you up in his arms bringing you to lay down properly in the bed, under the covers.

Loki climbs in with you cuddling you close to his chest. You are still on top of him. Your eyes are weak, you are exhausted. His heartbeat lulling you to sleep. You realize his cock is still in you, you lift your hips but he shoves you back down harshly. Sending a jolt through you as you moan again.

“I want to be in you,” he pushed your ass down, causing him to go deeper and drawing a whimper from you. “All night.”

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his neck. Leaving one small peck before letting your eyes drift close. His hands rubbing up and down your back in a soothing gesture before coming to rest at your ass.

“We are so fucked.” You managed. He chuckled.

“Don’t you worry about Fury, my love. All is taken care of.” He kisses your forehead.

You snuggled further into him, getting comfortable, before you’re out like a light.

“You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go. Fury won’t take away what is mine.” Kissing your forehead reassuringly.

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