#Food Fantasy Vodka

[seasalt-dreams-edits]

Vodka Stimboard with white and birds stims, no long nails

For @theplxnetsystem

Icon source

 X  |  X  |  X

 X  |  O  |  X

 X  |  X  |  X

#stimboard #white #tan #hands #food fantasy #food fantasy vodka #vodka ff #ff vodka #hair stim #shiny stim #animals #bird stim #alcohol #pouring stim #drink stim #petting stim #fabric stim #visual stim #snow stim

[xx-just-c-xx]

Happy New Year 🎊🎊

I hope everyone will have a great year!!

This is all character I can voice over

Tiktok

#twisted wonderland #obey me #project sekai #pokémon #food fantasy #pjsk luka #twst sam #food fantasy vodka #twst jade #twst floyd #subway boss emmet #twst lilia #twst silver #obey me simeon #twst rook #twst vil #happy new year #voiceover

[acosmicblizzard]

I said I was gonna do more later, here I am doing more

#food fantasy #ff #ff vodka #food fantasy vodka #ff napoleon cake #food fantasy napoleon cake #ff steak #food fantasy steak #ff raindrop cake #food fantasy raindrop cake

[enigmatoyou]

Alkahic

(IMAGE ID) Two flags, the one on top has the image of Vodka from food fantasy at the top right. The flag features 6 different lines, the colors are muted blues shifting to white (END ID)

Flag color picked from Vodka from Food Fantasy Alkahic- A gender relating to or feels like Vodka from Food Fantasy

#food fantasy #food fantasy vodka #color picked flags #ff vodka

[mey-rin-is-fabulous]

Glad to see Reddit has taken a page out of Tumblrs book and made their search function well less of a function

I’m trying to figure out what the recipe for mudshake is on Food Fantasy because the one on the eng wiki is wrong but the guides on reddit won’t load past the cornbread one and the search function says there are no posts containing the words “bar” or “mudshake”

Edit; The game was indeed being broken again after their last fix it worked for me

#food fantasy #whatever the recipe is it's not 1 vodka 2 bailey 3 coffee liquer shake #it's not even 3 baileys #so i dunno

[undressrehearsal]

dare to fuck this up

summary: ever since your last game of truth or dare ellie's been avoiding you and it's time for an intervention

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs and alcohol (not used), oral (e receiving), fingering (r receiving), finger riding (r receiving), little bit of angst, afab reader, the knee thing

a/n: this took me 2 months cause i work full time and it's 10k words so. enjoy (thank u for all the love on part 1! <3) also for anyone who doesn't know the tiktok dance i mentioned i linked it. don't look under the sound you'll spend way too long watching hot women dance

part 1

You hadn't talked about it. 

You had woken up the next morning, the sun blinding you from the window that was still left open. A cold autumn breeze ruffled your curtains, pricking at your bare skin. With one foot still in a dream, you'd groaned, turning over and pulling your blanket over your head. You had burrowed your head into your pillow - it still smelled earthy, rich with cologne and the faintest smell of weed. It had made your nose wrinkle only briefly, before you had reached out, searching for the warmth of another body - but your fingers only landed on the sheets, now cool to the touch. 

You sat up with a gasp, the blanket pooling around your lap. But you had fallen asleep on top of your blankets, hadn't you? 

The comforter was laid neatly over you, the pillows on the other side of the bed propped against your headboard, unbothered. The sun was streaming through the window, filtering through your curtains and shining in splatters of light against your own bare skin. Your small room was deafeningly quiet. 

That had been three weeks ago. 

For three weeks, Ellie avoided you. You hadn't seen her when you left to take your exam that morning. By the time you got home - after classes and after your part-time job - it was dark. The door to her bedroom was firmly shut, the muffled sound of music leaking into the living room - you wanted to smile when you realized she was listening to that song you had recommended. You thought about knocking on her door; not even to talk about what happened, really, but just because she was your best friend. Instead, you ate leftover takeout - cold because you were too tired to microwave it - and went to bed. You could hear her quietly singing to the music through your flimsy wall, falling asleep listening to her voice. 

At first, you honestly thought you had dreamed it. You thought maybe you had fallen asleep, sleep deprivation and vodka drawing out this fantasy in your dreams to torment you when you woke. But when you looked in the mirror, the bruises were still there. You ran your fingertips across the one on your collarbone, pressing at the one left behind your ear; you could still feel the warmth of Ellie's mouth against your skin, her teeth grazing across your hips. The phantom feeling still sent a shiver down your spine, heat creeping in your stomach. 

Ellie was trying her best to avoid you, but she still lived with you. After three days of not speaking, you resorted to a different approach. She didn't seem to have any plan to speak with you anytime soon - certainly not about what happened - so you let your body do the talking. You began wearing primarily v-necks and tank tops - ignoring the fact that it was still fall - simply to broadcast the line of lovebites she had left, her signature written all over your skin. They had faded slightly, but the purplish bruises still blossomed along your collar. You began wearing shorts around, short enough to show the bruise on your thigh; you let the fabric sit low enough to show the one at your hip, a pretty blend of colors that made you ache. The few times you did see her - when she was scavenging for food in the kitchen or right when she got home, before she could scurry away back to her room - you could feel her eyes lingering on you, gaze like a brand against your skin, burning all the spots she had marked. 

And she would hurry back to her room, locking the door behind her. 

Fine. 

If she refused to talk about it, you thought, you'd just have to make her. 

Which is why, three weeks after your original game - three weeks after that stupid fucking night - you bought a new bottle of vodka (by the time you had found the old one, it had spilled the last of its contents into your rug. Your room still smelled of it). When you got home, Ellie’s door was shut, just as it had been every day for three weeks. You kicked off your boots, leaving them in a pile in the hall, and knocked on her door.

“Sorry, I’m busy,” she called - just as she had every day for three weeks. 

You pursed your lips and knocked again, harder. 

“I’m busy!” she called again, her voice hard. It might have stung if you didn’t know her so well.

So, you knocked again. And kept knocking, a steady, continuous rhythm that echoed against the walls. You heard Ellie curse under her breath, could hear the scrape of her chair and her footsteps, and you kept knocking. You didn’t stop - didn’t even slow - until she opened the door in a huff, your hand falling against open air. 

“What the hell are you-” 

You shoved the bottle of vodka against her chest, cutting her off. She gripped it hastily before it could shatter against the floor. 

She looked frazzled. You had seen her during several exam seasons, during harrowing projects and infuriating essays. You had seen her in the hospital, two years ago, after breaking her leg skateboarding to work. But there was something in the way her hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles as though she had been running her fingers through it over and over and over again. There were bags under her eyes, purplish splotches like watercolor. 

And her eyes…. Her eyes were completely shattered. 

So you hesitated - briefly, just long enough for her to see the stutter on your lips - before you said, “Truth or dare?”

And the game began. 

Ellie looked at you, staring for several moments that stretched into infinity. You wanted to grasp it, to wrap your fingers around that stretched thread of a moment and hold it there where it couldn't hurt either of you. You weren't ready to let it go. But Ellie was looking at you with those broken eyes, and before you could say or do anything - before you caved and took the bottle back, fleeing back to the safety of your own room - the thread snapped. 

Ellie shook her head - and kept shaking it, as if doing so would rid her of this… whatever this was. “No,” she murmured, avoiding your eyes as her grip around the bottle’s neck tightened. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m busy, okay? I have an exam tomorrow-”

She moved to close the door - shutting it right in your face - but you kicked your foot out to stop it. 

“When somebody asks the question,” you said, reciting the stupid little agreement you both had written out two years ago, the night you established this tradition, “you have to play the game to its conclusion; when you run out of questions or pass out from alcohol poisoning. Those are the rules, El. Remember?” 

And still, she just looked at you, her brow furrowed like you were an equation she couldn’t solve - couldn’t even read, really. Her knuckles were white around the bottle’s neck, and when you looked down, her hands were shaking. You wanted more than anything to put your hands over hers, to still them - to bring those hands to your lips and kiss the white knuckles until she released her fists. Instead, you dug your nails into your thighs. 

You watched as Ellie took a deep, steadying breath, clenching her fists tighter before releasing the tension, her fingers relaxing around the bottle; her hands stopped trembling. She smiled at you, but it was tight, her eyes empty of their usual mischief. “Alright,” she said, and her voice was just as tight as her fists had been moments ago - the tension not gone, only transferred. “Okay, I’ll play. But you only get an hour - I really do need to study.” 

Ellie’s bedroom was the same layout as yours, only flipped, the two a mirror of each other. Strings of lights hung crookedly along the walls, the bulbs casting a soft, warm glow amongst the room, the same hazy hue of a dream. An easel leaned in one corner, a canvas propped against it; there were only the barest scribbles of an outline, incomprehensible to you. You thought it may be a profile, the gentle slope of a nose and soft lips sketched in pencil, but you weren’t sure. 

You ran your fingers over her desk as you passed; it was in absolute disarray. Two different astronomy textbooks lay open, covered in highlighter markings and Ellie’s sloping writing in the margins. There were three different cups on the surface in varying levels of full: a mug half full of coffee, still steaming; a glass of water that was completely full, untouched; and a cup filled with murky, grey liquid. A few paintbrushes had been left to sit in that one, and in large writing along the cup was written PAINT DO NOT DRINK. You almost laughed, remembering all the times you had watched your roommate spit water out after she had picked up the wrong cup. 

It felt strange when you sat gingerly on her bed. You had sat in this spot so many times before, more than you could count. You had spent so much time lounging on this bed, your laptop open in front of you while Ellie worked at her desk - on homework or her latest painting or nothing at all. There were days laid out before you where you both at lain in a crumbled heap, eating takeout on top of the covers because Ellie didn't give a shit about crumbs, an open laptop playing whatever horror movie she wanted to show you (she was always more scared than you, hiding her face in your shoulder). God knows how many truth or dare games you had played in this room, a bottle of alcohol passing between shaking fingers. When Ellie bought it, it was cheap whiskey and you hated it; you drank it anyway. 

Now, sitting on her bed - carefully, as though you thought it might break - your skin felt aflame, a fire burning in your muscles. When you ran your fingers over the messy sheets, you could only remember how it had felt to have your fingers clutching the ones on your own bed. 

Ellie sat at her desk across from you, folding herself so that she had one foot propped up on the chair with her, her knee folded to her chest; her other foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She was looking at you, her face strategically neutral, but it was like she was looking through you; her eyes kept shifting away, unable or unwilling to settle on you. Her voice gave nothing away when she said, looking at a spot above your shoulder, “Dare.” 

You sighed, feeling the questions wanting to claw their way from your throat with nowhere to go. You knew what you wanted her to do - what you wanted to dare her to do - but the words would only cause her to withdraw further. You felt like you had to approach Ellie as if she were a scared animal, ready to flee at the first sight of danger. 

Wracking your brain for something mild, you said, “Try to recreate one of those dumb popular TikTok dances.” 

You didn't miss how Ellie's shoulders relaxed, her hands noticeably unclenching. She looked at you and it was almost like nothing had happened; like she hadn’t been avoiding you for three entire weeks, becoming a ghost in your apartment. Like you both hadn’t made what had obviously been a drunken mistake. 

The beginning of a smirk tugged at her lips as she dug in her back pocket for her phone - its case had an astronaut on it, because of course it did. The screen illuminated her face, flashes reflecting minutely in her eyes as she scrolled. She bit her lip absently - she often did when she was thinking. You tried not to stare and failed miserably. 

“This’ll be easy,” she muttered to herself, half laughing. She scrolled through a few videos, and she had the volume down on her phone, but you could still recognize the song that kept playing on repeat; you were going to fucking die. 

There were several minutes of quiet, only the music playing from Ellie’s phone. With nothing to do but wait, you brought your legs up onto the bed, tucking them under you; your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the stack of paintings by her desk, both finished and unfinished. The figurine she had of Kassandra from Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey had toppled on her desk, her spear falling in a glob of paint, the tip smudged bright yellow. You investigated the posters she had hung up of her favorite bands - almost all of them with female singers; she had a very specific taste. On her nightstand, in a frame made of macaroni, there was a picture of her and her dad, taken at the zoo when she was quite a bit younger, the blurry image of a giraffe in the background. She was holding up a peace sign, smiling so wide her eyes were practically shut. 

You turned back when Ellie stood up from her chair, placing her phone on her desk. Shoving her hands in her hair, she said, “Can’t promise this’ll be anything amazing, but you get what you paid for.” Even as she said it, she was smirking, a dangerous twinkle in her eye. 

You watched as she rummaged in her closet, shoving aside probably half a dozen flannels and at least 10 different band t-shirts. She rummaged through a bucket with a few beanies in different colors, and you couldn’t see her face, but you already knew she would be wrinkling her nose like she always did when she was getting frustrated. 

You jumped, startled, when she suddenly exclaimed, pulling her head from her closet and turning to you with a triumphant grin. She held a black belt in her fist, holding it up like a trophy. 

You shook your head at her, even as your throat closed up with anticipation. “If it took you that long to find one, it’s no wonder your pants are always hanging from your fucking ass.” 

“Hey,” she said, picking up her phone again and looking at you with mock offense; she was still smirking. “I don’t exactly hear you complaining when my ass is out.” 

You heard the stutter, heard the way her breath caught after she said the words. It was so stupid - a stupid little remark that she would have made any other day three weeks ago. She wouldn’t have even thought about it, wouldn’t have batted an eye. You would have rolled your eyes and said something mean in response - something like, “I save my complaints for when I see your face instead.” You would have laughed and then watched a fucking movie or something. 

Instead, Ellie only coughed awkwardly, ducking her head to fiddle with her phone. In the dim light, you could see the flush of her cheeks behind her bangs. You looked anywhere but at her, your eyes darting around to find something to focus on that wasn’t how pretty she looked when she was flushed pink - how pretty she looked with her cheeks red from alcohol and exertion, her lips shining wetly - 

Your brain short-circuited when Ellie started the music - only the bite-sized sample that was trending on TikTok. She set her phone on her desk and took a deep breath, waiting for the song to loop again as she positioned the belt by her hips. She didn’t look at you, instead casting her eyes to the ceiling and muttering, “This is gonna be so stupid.” 

When the music looped again, you were forced to watch as Ellie thrust her hips to the beat, pulling the belt slowly away from her hips. When she brought it up to wrap the piece of leather around her neck, pulling it taut, you were surely convinced you must be paying for some sort of crime, that this was your eternal torture. Her movements were janky, stuttering and unsure and off-beat - she had only watched the videos for a few minutes and was relying solely on memory to guide her limbs. When she tried to tie her wrists into the belt, she got stuck, her hands ending up in a knotted mess. Still, her eyes met yours when she raised her bound hands above her head - coincidentally or purposefully - and you couldn’t look away. 

This was definitely Hell. It had to be. 

When the song started to loop again, Ellie hastily tried to pull her hands from the knot. The belt clattered to the floor, abandoned, as she scooped her phone up, fumbling with the buttons to cut off the music. She nearly dropped her phone in her haste. 

When the room was silent again, Ellie sat back down at her desk. Last time you had played, you had asked her to do something ridiculous for her first dare, and she had grinned with pride, practically preening. Now, she wasn't smiling; she hardly even looked at you, fiddling with one of the many paintbrushes on her desk. You compartmentalized the image of her thrusting her hips with her hands bound over her head, saving it for later. You always did torture yourself with these things. 

Ellie was looking at that same spot over your shoulder when she said, “Truth or dare?” She sounded pained, her words strained against some invisible weight. It was like your very presence in her room - on her bed - pained her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave and give her relief. 

“Truth,” you said, hoping against hope that she would ask you fucking anything about that night three weeks ago. 

But she had never been that easy. Ellie had never been one to give you straight answers and she wasn’t about to start now - especially not now. So instead of saying anything - asking anything - about that night that she seemed keen on forgetting, she asked, “What’s the worst first date you’ve been on?” Before you could protest that you always told her about your worst dates, she added, “One I haven’t heard before.” 

So for the span of one question, you let yourself believe that you were still talking to your best friend. That she hadn’t been avoiding you for three fucking weeks and this was only your typical truth or dare game in between studying. You believed that you were simply gossiping with Ellie, who had been your best friend for several years and nothing more. In the space of one question, you let yourself believe that this was still only a game and not an intervention. 

So, in the spirit of pretend, you thought for a moment, rifling through the index of all the shitty dates you’ve been on. Ellie had already heard most of them, had been there whenever you came back home; she was there whether you were heartbroken or relieved that you wouldn’t see the person again. There were a few times where you had come home laughing, and she had passed you a joint as you told her all about the horrible date - you would take twice as long to tell the story because you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Finally, you said, “Okay, this was before we came to college. We weren’t close enough friends in high school for me to tell you, so I don’t think you’ve heard this one before. Stop me if I’m wrong.” She waved her hand for you to continue, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “I had just graduated high school so I was dating around before I left for college - nothing serious, just casually looking around.” 

“Window shopping,” she interrupted you with a grin - that same easy grin she always had with you. Your heart tugged embarrassingly at seeing it again. 

You swallowed the lump and continued, “Yeah. So, I went on a date with this guy - he was some friend of a friend’s, I didn’t know much about him. We went out to dinner at some local dive bar - which was already fucking weird because, like I said, I had just graduated high school.” 

“Was this guy a fucking cradle robber?” Ellie said, wrinkling her nose. 

You shook your head. “He may as well have been. He was either 21 or he was just really good friends with the bartender because as soon as he came in, he got two beers - the cheap shit, too. It tasted like musty ass.” Your stomach twisted when she laughed. “So we sit at a booth and I finally get a second to really look at him.” You leaned forward, bracing your hand on the bed so you wouldn’t fall, and made sure she was looking right at you when you said, “And this motherfucker was wearing a shirt that said Black Rifles Matter.” 

You reveled in the way Ellie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening. Her lip turned up in disgust, and the only thing she could say was, “No.” 

You grinned, nodding, and you had to focus really hard to not start laughing. “Yes. And I rolled up to this dive bar, fresh out of the womb, with bright pink hair freshly dyed and a crop top that literally said Femme on it in bright pink letters - which, okay, maybe not the choice to wear on a first date with a straight guy, but still. I was in this booth with a baby face looking every bit as queer as I am, and this fucking dude with a patchy mustache and a shirt that has more problems than I care to admit opens up by telling me he doesn’t like when girls dye their hair.” 

Ellie was rolling her eyes, on the edge of her seat. She leaned closer as you continued, “But fine, whatever, everybody has preferences I guess. But this guy gets three beers in, and he’s already been talking about weird shit - conspiracy theories and telling me how kids today are too soft - one of those fucking guys, right? But then he stops,” you hold up your hands for emphasis, leaning even closer, “and he leans into me over the table, and he looks me straight in the eye - you wanna know what he said?” 

Ellie groaned. “Tell me he didn’t ask who you voted for or some shit.” 

You barked out a laugh; it echoed on the walls. “God, I wish. No, this bitch looks me dead in the eyes, his breath reeking of bad beer, and he says, ‘Are you on your period? I have this weird talent for smelling when girls are on their period.’” 

You watched, delighted, as Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a choked gasp. “No!” 

You couldn’t stop laughing, pressing your hand to your stomach as you fell back against the sheets. Her laugh filled the room like helium, making everything feel lighter - easier. Even now, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was being around Ellie. And for a moment, you did forget what had happened. You forgot about the string pulled taut between you waiting to snap. You forgot that this was anything more than simply another dumb game of truth or dare.

Until you looked up and saw the press of Ellie’s lips again, the way her eyes darted away, and you could feel yourself sinking again. 

And that’s how the hour went. Ellie - infuriating Ellie - did every single dare you asked of her. She did a handstand for a minute straight, her face turning so red you thought she might pass out. She called the local pizza place you often ordered from and asked for one hundred sardine pizzas, laughing when the poor teenage boy on the other line started stuttering. Last time, she didn’t take all the liquid in the fridge and make a nauseating cocktail; but this time, she did go and find four different liquids of her choosing - apple juice, almond milk, an old flat Dr. Pepper, and the remaining vinegar in a Kimchi jar - and downed it in front of you. She tried her hardest to hold a straight face, but only ended up scrunching her eyes closed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a gag. She never chose truth. 

For your part, you never chose dare. You answered every pressing, embarrassing question she asked, ignoring the flush to your cheeks. You told her the most absurd dealbreaker for a relationship. (“What do you mean you’ll break up with someone if they don’t like garlic?” Ellie asked, smiling even as she shook her head.”) You went through the original Wiggles band and said which you would fuck, marry, or kill (“There are four of them! Do I choose to have a threesome?”) 

And you waited. Each time you chose truth, you held your breath. You watched Ellie mull it over, her eyes darting around as she thought, and prayed that she would just ask you something. You knew it was an unrealistic wish, but you still watched her lips and hoped against hope that she would give you some kind of acknowledgement that this wasn’t all for nothing. You just wanted her to stop being such a pussy and fucking talk about what happened. 

But the clock kept ticking. 

After about an hour had passed, Ellie looked at her phone and sighed, standing up. “Okay, I really have to get back to studying. I have this dumb astrophysics exam tomorrow and I can’t wrap my fucking head around this shit, so I have to -”

“One more,” you cut her off, standing up from the bed. You followed her as she walked to the door, one step behind her when she put a hand on the doorknob. She paused, her hand frozen there as she looked at you - actually looked at you, not through you. It was only a moment, but it was there; you could feel the way her eyes had branded your skin even after she’d looked away. Your voice was rushed, breathless when you added, “We haven’t even opened the bottle, so what’s one more? Just for fun.” 

Ellie looked behind you, back at the vodka bottle on her desk with the seal still intact. She sighed, but she never could say no to you. 

“Fine,” she said, and her voice was so quiet in the dark room; the word felt like a secret between you, soft against the tension stretched thin. “One more.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You tried to sound casual - you really did - but when you spoke, you found you couldn’t speak any louder than a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around you. You ducked your head, trying to meet her eyes when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

She looked at you, meeting your eyes, and she seemed to deflate, sighing out a breath that ruffled your hair - you hadn’t realized how close you were. Her breath smelled of canned ravioli and weed; it was almost enough to make you laugh. 

Ellie took a step back, clearing her throat, and answered for one last time, “Dare.” Because she was too afraid of the fucking truth. 

And fuck it if your heart didn’t stutter in your chest. You felt your fingertips buzzing, your stomach twisting nauseatingly. You felt like you were going to be sick, but you forced yourself to look up at her. You squared your shoulders, feeling like you were preparing for fucking battle, and said, the words familiar on your tongue, “Kiss me.” 

A moment of silence passed, the words suspended between you. They were tangible, and part of you still wanted to snatch them back - to swallow them and leave, to pretend this never happened - but you didn’t. You held them out to Ellie - you weren’t sure if they were a threat or an offering. 

Ellie didn’t recoil, and you weren’t sure if that was more insulting. She looked at you for a long moment before turning away, shaking her head and turning the doorknob. “I really need to study, okay? I don’t have time for thi-” 

You put your hand against the door, holding it there so she couldn’t open it. Your stomach was a mess, tying itself into knots that you would never be able to undo. And you knew - you were far too aware - that this could ruin everything. It could drive her further away, pushing her further into this little cocoon she was hiding in. Ellie might hate you for it. 

But this was too important to ignore. 

“Kiss me, Ellie,” you said again, and you could feel the bite of it on your own tongue. When you had said it three weeks ago, you had been so unsure. It had been a rush of words on a breath, tinged with alcohol and desperation. The words had been so careless, a sober idea that had made its way from your drunken mouth. 

Now, Ellie was the one who couldn’t look at you. She stared at the spot where your hand pressed to the door, willing you to let go. Her knuckles were white around the doorknob. Her voice was a rumble that you felt in your chest when she said, “I need you to leave. Please.” That last word - please - made your heart break. 

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and said, “No.” 

Ellie finally turned her whole body towards you, but she was wearing a mask; she had schooled her face into a mockery of nonchalance, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she watched you. She crossed her arms, leaning against her hip, and watched you with measured expectancy, shaking her head. She shrugged and said, “What do you want? I really need to study.” 

And it was the lack of care that broke you. 

You slapped your hand against the door in frustration, feeling the sting in your palm, disappointed when Ellie didn’t so much as jump. You shook your head at her, and you were so fucking angry you could feel tears stinging at your eyes. You blinked them away and snapped, “What’s your fucking problem?” 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening in indignant shock. “What’s my problem?” 

“Yeah,” you cut her off before she could even continue. “What’s your fucking problem? You know what happened - what we did - but ever since that night you have been so determined to act like it never happened. You haven’t even talked to me in three fucking week, Ellie!” She closed her eyes when your voice broke on her name. “You’ve hardly looked at me all night. And look,” you sniffled, feeling some of the fire in you die down, “if you regret it - if you want to act like it never happened and go back to how things were before, I get it, okay? But can you at least have the balls to fucking tell me?” 

Your voice echoed off the silent walls, filling the space between you until you couldn’t breathe. You wiped a hand roughly over your face; your cheeks burned and you hated yourself for it. The room was so quiet you feared Ellie could hear the sound of your racing heart. 

It felt like hours before Ellie spoke; her voice was so heartbreakingly quiet, tip toeing on eggshells that were already broken. “I don’t regret it.” 

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head as she still wouldn’t meet your eyes. She couldn’t even look at you. When you took a step closer, you could feel the heat radiating off of her body, could feel the warmth in your chest. Your voice had lost its fire, your throat cold and raw and broken. You could only murmur, “Then kiss me again, Els. What are you so afraid of?” 

“You,” she snapped. You jumped, taking a step back; your heart lurched when she finally looked at you. Those shattered eyes were watching you, so open and vulnerable you wanted to look away. You forced yourself to watch, to bear witness to it when she shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. Ellie pressed her lips together, blinking several times before releasing her held breath. She held your gaze like it was a lifeline and said, “I’m scared of you.” 

And just for a moment - so filled with silence it might pop - you saw it. You saw how Ellie had run from you like an injured animal, hiding away. You saw the way her hands shook around her biceps. You saw the way she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. 

You shook your head, feeling so incredibly small underneath those eyes that had avoided you all night; now they were vividly, overwhelmingly focused, broken in the hazy light and so green it was dizzying (and you couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol this time). You didn’t recognize your own voice, so small and vulnerable that the words themselves ached: “How can I fix this, Els? You want me to-” You huffed out a heavy breath, choking on your own voice. “Do you want me to act like it didn’t happen? Do you want me to leave you alone? I’ll do whatever you want, Ellie, I just… fuck. I just want my best friend back. So just… tell me what I did wrong.” 

You jumped when Ellie barked out a laugh, so dry it cracked. It may have been a trick of the light, the soft string lights making everything feel unreal, but when she looked at you again, she went impossibly soft. 

“You,” she said, so softly it ached, “haven't done anything wrong.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall; it was like all the fight suddenly drained from her, her shoulders sagging against the weight of three weeks. She looked away, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, and said, quiet as a confession, “You were drunk.” 

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head. “What?” 

Ellie ran a hand through her hair, making it even more disheveled. Pathetically, you wanted to fix it; you knew how soft the strands would be under your fingers. 

“You were drunk,” she repeated, as though it pained her; as though it explained everything. Her voice broke, the shattered pieces falling at your feet. “And I…. Fuck, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have… forced myself on you.” She heaved in a shaky breath, her words tumbling from her, broken glass cutting her throat, leaving it raw. “I couldn’t even… wait for you to wake up after. I just fucking ran - I couldn’t even look at you, and that’s even shittier! And for three weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how to fucking talk to you when I know that we - that I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Ellie pressed her hand to her mouth, taking in a shaking breath - her entire body was trembling as she fought to hold it all in. She looked ready to burst, struggling to take in a deep breath. You reached out to grab her hand - to hold her together - but she flinched away. 

“I don’t-” you started, unable to find the words. You watched your best friend dissolve, and you couldn’t seem to fit all her pieces back together. “Ellie… Els, are you saying you’re avoiding me because - because you thought you took advantage of me.” The words tasted ridiculous on your tongue, a foreign object.

Ellie was shaking her head wildly, her hands balled into fists. “You were drunk!” she repeated, like a mantra. She pressed a hand to her chest as though to keep everything in. “You were drunk, and you kept telling me no, and I just… pushed. I pushed and I didn’t know when to stop and, fuck, I still can’t believe I did that and I didn’t even have the fucking balls to face you or even tell you I’m sorry, and-” 

“Ellie.” You reached out and grabbed her wrist, cutting off her rambling; she flinched again but didn’t pull away. She looked up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable and so impossibly green. “For one, do I need to remind you we were both drunk. And that I was the one who told you to kiss me?”

She watched you carefully, guarded; her bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss it again more than anything. She took in a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks; they mixed with her freckles like watercolor. “You kept telling me to stop - to leave it alone. And I didn’t listen.” 

“Els, I told you to stop because I was scared,” you admitted in a rush. Before she could respond, you continued, “Not of you. I was scared of how badly I wanted you, okay? And that’s fucking embarrassing to admit, but I’m saying it so you know it wasn’t your fault. I was scared because… fuck.” You scrubbed a hand over your face, feeling tears on your own cheeks. “Because you’re my best friend. And I knew that, as much as I wanted it, it could fuck everything up. But I didn’t want you to stop.” 

She shook her head. Her voice was raw when she said, “You couldn’t fuck anything up. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you,” you practically shouted. “Ellie, I asked you to kiss me! Yeah, I had a few shots that night, but I knew what I was doing. You asked me how long I’ve wanted it - what did I say, Els? Tell me.” 

Ellie looked up at you, her cheeks splotchy from crying; she let you slip your hand into hers anyway. “A long fucking time.” It was no more than a whisper. 

“Yeah,” you said, gripping her hand to keep her grounded. “Not just when I was drunk. Not just when it was late. And definitely not just when you wanted it too. I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time, Els.” 

Ellie watched you, studying you like you were an equation she couldn’t figure out (she really needed to study for that astrophysics exam). She pursed her lips, nodding slowly, rubbing roughly at her damp cheeks. “Yeah.” Her voice broke again; she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Me too.” 

You took a step towards her; her body was so warm it was dizzying. You could hear her breath catch when you reached up and pressed your palm to her cheek. 

“What do we do now?” 

When she sighed, you could feel it on your lips. You felt the warmth of her hand at your waist, a steady anchor. “Like you said,” she murmured, her gaze soft; she reached up to brush your hair from your face, her fingers grazing the side of your neck. “This could fuck everything up.” 

Your heart lurched; you swallowed it back down so it could throw a fit right next to your twisted stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered, afraid to break the spell that made Ellie’s eyes watch the way your lips moved, captivated. “But….” 

“But,” Ellie repeated, leaning in so her nose brushed against yours; it was cold against your skin. 

You hardly had to move to kiss her, tilting your chin up to finally kiss that pouty bottom lip you had been staring at. You heard her breath catch again, her fingers pressing at your waist, drawing you closer so the warmth of her pressed against you. After three fucking weeks, you hadn’t forgotten how her lips felt against yours. It was just as intoxicating as it had been the first time; you were dizzy with the way she moved her mouth against yours, warmth spreading through your chest. 

Ellie broke away from you, but she didn’t stray far; she pressed her forehead to yours, and you could see that her eyes were still closed, her brow furrowed. She sounded impossibly small when she said, “Are you sure about this? I mean, what-”

“Ellie,” you interrupted; you twisted your fingers into her short hair and tugged lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from her lips. “Just shut up for once, okay?” 

You hardly even heard her replied Okay before her mouth was on yours again. Last time she had kissed you, you had felt lightheaded, floating with the weight of alcohol in your veins. Each press of her hands on you had felt unreal and distant, like she was touching you in a dream. 

Tonight, the vodka bottle sat unopened and forgotten on her desk, and Ellie was pressing against you with a sharp realness that made your breath stutter in your throat. When her fingers ran along your jaw, cupping your face and tugging you closer, they were lightning against your skin. She had the welcoming warmth of a bonfire, and you were like a fucking moth drawn to her. 

Ellie took a hesitant step forward, pressing you back, moving so slowly as though she thought you’d push her away. You let her push you backwards - encouraged her, really, entwining your arms around her neck and tugging her with you. You stumbled on the last few steps, practically falling back against the wall; Ellie braced her hands on either side of you to keep herself up, laughing into your mouth. You wanted to swallow the sound, to take it into your chest where it could curl up right next to your heart. 

The wall was cold against your back, but Ellie was quick to chase it away; her warm hands ran up your back, rucking up your shirt and scratching her nails lightly over your skin until you shivered. She was so gentle with you this time, running her fingers over your skin with such careful deliberation, as though each kiss and each caress was meticulously planned out. 

It was with this painstaking consideration that she lifted your shirt, pooling it around your chest; you raised your arms so she could pull it over your head. 

Ellie snickered, snapping the strap of your bra against your skin. “This is new.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, batting her hand away. It was one of your nicer ones, and you couldn't tell her that, embarrassingly, you had worn it on purpose with the hopeless thought of just in case. “Sorry I’m not in my pajamas. I’ll be sure to fix that next time.” 

She grinned, ducking her head to press a kiss to your jaw. She hummed against your skin, “No, I like it.” 

You didn’t talk about the implication of what you had said - next time. But the way she kissed her way across your jaw, her teeth grazing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, promised a next time. As Ellie’s tongue darted out to lick along your pulse, you could feel the words in the breathy sigh that escaped your lips. When she ducked her head to bite at your collar, she branded the words into your skin. 

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, her laughter warm against your skin. She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone; the bruise had long faded, but the phantom ache was still there.  You could feel her smile when your breath hitched. “Just had these on full display. Drove me insane.” 

You huffed out a laugh that stuttered when she pressed a kiss at the edge of your bra. “I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?” 

Ellie lifted her head to meet your eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath brushing your lips when she said, “You’re crazy if you think you’ve ever not had my attention.” 

When she kissed you again, it was with a new fire that burned bright in your chest. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer so that you could feel her body against every inch of you. Her fingers dipped below the waist of your pants, pressing at the soft skin there. You felt her tongue press against your lips; when she ran it along the room of your mouth, she swallowed your moan. 

Ellie hummed against your lips, pressing you firmly into the wall and shoving a knee between your legs. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat pooling in your stomach when Ellie gripped your hips and pulled you closer, grinding against her sweatpants-covered leg. Her lips brushed against your ear and she murmured, “Tell me to stop and I'll stop.” 

She had said those same words last time, pressed drunkenly into your skin. There was an affirmation hidden somewhere underneath: Do you still want me? Before, they had been slurred, like a sloppy kiss against your lips. Now, her hands steady against your hips, her body warm from something other than vodka, it was whispered like a promise. 

You answered by pressing your hands to her chest; she didn’t fight you as you pushed her away, didn’t hesitate as you walked her backwards until the back of her knees hit her bed. She let herself fall backwards, but she wrapped her arms around your waist as she did so. You fell into a crumpled heap on top of her, knocking the air from both of your lungs, and you could feel her laughter against your neck. 

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you glared down at her; she only answered it with a grin, lifting herself just enough to kiss you briefly. You couldn’t suppress your own smile when you said, “You’re infuriating.” 

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. She hooked her fingers in your belt loops and gave them a tug as she said, “Yeah, get used to that.” 

You kissed her again to hide your smile. You didn’t talk about the inclination of that either. 

Growing impatient, you swung your legs on either side of her, sitting up and straddling her hips. Ellie’s hands ran up your sides, captivated, as though refusing to keep her hands off you for even a moment. You idly ran your fingers over her stomach where her hoodie had risen up, the warm skin right above her sweatpants; you delighted in the way she shivered at your touch. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” you hummed, running your hand higher up her abdomen, revealing the expanse of soft skin; if you pressed just a little bit harder, you’d be able to feel the muscles beneath. You smiled when you heard her breath stutter, chest rising just slightly to meet your touch. “You’re wearing way too many clothes.” 

Ellie - ever enthusiastic - wasted no time in sitting up just enough to tug her hoodie over her head, leaving her hair an absolute mess. She tossed it across the room; you thought you heard it knock something over, but you didn’t have a chance to look before Ellie was grabbing your hips, digging her fingers into the soft skin. You gasped when she used the leverage to pull your hips down, grinding against her. 

This time, she was the one not wearing a bra - she had been home studying all day, so you hadn’t expected otherwise - and your eyes raked over miles of fair, warm skin. You wanted to run your fingers over it and watch the shiver your touch pulled from her. You wanted to press your lips to every inch of hot skin and feel the way her body arched into you, chasing your tongue. 

But she was watching you with an intoxicating shade of anticipation in her half-lidded eyes. You realized you had been staring for a few seconds too long because she had that cocky ass grin on her stupid face. 

“Like what you see?” she teased, pulling your hips down again so you had to bite down a moan. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled. You couldn’t tell her how many times you had imagined what she would look like under your hands or how you had always wondered how far down her freckles went (you couldn’t keep yourself from running your fingers down her chest, tracing them like constellations). You couldn’t tell her how your eyes had tracked her anytime she walked around the apartment in a sports bra or, sometimes, in only a towel, your imagination running away from you. 

If you told her, she’d never let you live it down.

Instead, you let your hands drift across the small swell of her chest, feeling the way her body arched into your fingers. You had to bite back a grin when your thumb brushed over her nipple, feeling her body shudder beneath you. You wanted to record the way her breath caught in her throat to listen to over and over again. Her eyelids fluttered, her lip caught between her teeth; you knelt down to kiss her, hard and deep, smiling into it when you pinched her nipple gently and she moaned against your lips, fingers tightening around your hips. 

You needed to taste her, you realized. Your mouth watered with it. 

You bit her bottom lip between your teeth, grinning when you heard her hiss. You took a moment to kiss your way across her jaw and down her neck, open-mouthed kisses pulling sighs from her lips. You couldn’t resist sucking the skin into your mouth, feeling the way her pulse jumped under your tongue and loving the moan that rumbled in her throat, her fingers gripping your hips so tightly you were sure you'd have bruises - again. But when you pulled away and saw the red beginnings of a bruise on her pale skin, a thrill ran through you. She would have to walk around with a physical reminder of how you had made her feel. 

You loved revenge. 

But you weren’t like Ellie, who had taken her sweet time in unraveling you. You didn’t have that kind of patience - certainly not now, not tonight. You had spent far too long holding yourself back - too long averting your gaze, never letting your touch linger. You had spent so long schooling your own imagination, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered whenever Ellie wandered too close. You had spent too many nights letting your mind wander, only feeling safe to let your imagination run when you could hide in the dark; you had spent far too many nights with your hand between your legs and the fleeting image of green eyes and that crooked fucking smile. 

So no, you didn’t have any patience left in you.

When you reached between your bodies and pressed your palm to her sweatpants, you swallowed her moan, drinking it in and feeling like you could survive on it alone. Maybe it would finally satiate your fucking thirst. 

Kissing your way down her chest, you pressed the words into her skin - “I can't fucking believe you though I didn’t want this.” - before pressing the flat of your tongue to her nipple. You could get drunk on the breathy moan that dripped from her lips, the way she arched up into you like her body ached to be closer to yours. She pressed her hips into your palm and you could feel the heat through her sweatpants. 

When you pulled back just enough to tug at her sweatpants, Ellie started laughing, breathy and hitched as she said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” Even as she said it, she was lifting her hips, pushing hastily at her pants to get them off faster. 

The fabric was damp when it dropped to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Stepping off the bed, you placed your hands on her knees, pushing them apart. You dropped to your knees and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin above her boxers. Her skin was hot under your tongue when you said, “Haven’t I waited long enough, Els?” 

Ellie only responded with a moan as you sunk your teeth into the soft flesh of her thigh and pressed the heel of your palm to her underwear. You grinned against her skin when she cursed, grinding down into you. You soothed the bite with your tongue and backed away to admire the red beginnings of another bruise. 

Ellie groaned, twisting her fingers in the sheets when you ground your palm into her. “Fuck, I’ve waited long enough too, right?” 

You couldn’t hold back your grin, tugging at her boxers so she would lift her hips. With her underwear around her ankles, Ellie lifted herself up on her elbows so she could look down at you. Whatever she saw - you on your knees between her legs, lips parted so your hot breath fanned over her - made her groan, another breathy curse falling from her lips. She reached down and carded her fingers through your hair, fingers soft against your temple. 

You smiled, blinking coyly up at her, and said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” before pressing the flat of your tongue to her clit. 

The moan that wracked through Ellie’s chest sent warmth spreading through your stomach, an ache pooling between your legs. You raised your eyes to watch her as you licked a slow, painstaking stripe over her slit, watching the way her mouth fell open in a choked gasp. The metallic taste of her on your tongue made your head spin; you moaned when she twisted her fingers in your hair, delicious pain stinging your scalp when she tugged. 

Ellie gasped your name like it was a promise. “Fuck - what the fuck -” Nonsensical words dripped from her lips with abandon, sweet as honey to your ears. When you ducked your head down to press your tongue inside her, a brief, hot pressure, her fingers tightened in your hair, her voice hitching when she cursed again, her words slurring together. 

You wrapped one arm around her thigh, feeling the muscle trembling as you pressed your fingers into the soft flesh. You ran your other hand up her stomach, feeling the way her breath quickened in the rise and fall of her chest. Stretching further, you flicked your thumb over her nipple and tightened your arm around her thigh when her hips bucked, holding her in place. 

You wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking it into your mouth and fighting back a smile at the keening whine it pulled from her. Her fist in your hair tugged you closer, guiding you exactly where she wanted you - and how could you resist her when she was chanting your name like a prayer? 

A shudder wracked through Ellie’s body when you flicked your tongue over her clit, lapping at her like you were starving. (After waiting so long to taste her, you might as well have been.) She groaned when you pinched her nipple between your fingers, her thighs clamping around your ears. Her legs shook when she came, your name on her tongue as though it were the only word she knew. You coaxed her through it, the flat of your tongue licking over her clit until she was gasping for breath, her hips slumping back against the bed. 

You peppered kisses over her thighs as she came down, your hand brushing across her stomach in soothing circles. Your knees ached from the cold floor, the carpet burning against your skin, but you couldn’t convince yourself to move just yet. When you glanced up at her, Ellie was looking down at you with glassy eyes; she had slumped back a little against her elbows, her limbs jelly - you tried not to let that go to your head - but she held out a hand to you, grasping for you. “Fuck, come here.” 

You both took the time to finally scoot further up the bed, Ellie's head propped on her pillow, her hair a messy halo around her. She pulled you on top of her, bracing her hands on your hips as you straddled one of her legs. When you leaned down, she tilted her chin up to meet you, kissing you lazily, licking into your mouth like she had all the time in the world - like she could kiss you forever and it still wouldn't be enough. With your elbows braced on either side of her head, it felt like you were both in a small bubble, the world left outside to wait for you. Fuck, maybe you did have all the time in the world. 

You gasped when Ellie raised her leg, pressing it between your thighs with an intoxicating pressure. She used her hands on your hips to push you down, guiding you as you grinded down against her. She broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to just look at you. Her pupils were blown, swallowing the green entirely. 

She grinned, endearingly lopsided, and murmured, “Now you're wearing too many clothes.” You whined a protest when she took her hands off your hips, but she only reached behind you to fumble with the clasp of your bra. It took her a few tries - you bit back a laugh when she cursed in frustration - and she threw it across the room when she finally got off. 

“Who the fuck designed those things?” she grumbled, fingers quick on the button on your jeans. 

You got off of her for only a moment, just long enough to kick your jeans and underwear off, but each second her skin wasn't on yours was agony. Your clothes hadn’t even fallen to the floor before Ellie was pulling you back in by the nape of your neck, her other hand guiding your hips back over her leg as she kissed you with a hunger that may as well have devoured you. You hissed when her teeth sunk into your lip, her tongue soothing over it before licking into your mouth. 

Your breath caught on a broken moan when she pressed her thumb into the dips of your hips, pressing you back to grind against her leg. The feeling of your bare pussy sliding against her thigh made you lightheaded, the dizzying pressure sending sparks through your stomach. Ellie's fingers still on the back of your head twisted in your hair, giving it an experimental tug; you felt her smile against your lips when you whined. You were pliable under her hands, your hips stuttering against her leg. 

Ellie pulled away, pulling you back by your hair just far enough away for her to look at you; her eyes raked over your body with a hunger that set you nerves on fire, looking ready to devour you. 

“God, look at you,” she breathed, raising her leg just slightly, the added pressure making your heart stop. Releasing your hair, her hand ran down your side, sliding across your chest. You moaned when her thumb grazed over your nipple, your hips stuttering; her other hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging into the bone. “So fucking wet for me and I've hardly even touched you.” 

“Shit,” you cursed when Ellie bucked her hips, her thigh grinding into you. You tried to glare down at her even though you knew your own traitorous eyes betrayed your growing desperation. Her cocky smile didn’t quite land, its impact softened by the way she watched your lips in fascination, her pupils blown - you couldn’t see the green anymore. Your voice wasn’t nearly as hard as you wanted it to be, your want softening the words: “Fuck off, Els, don’t be a dick.” 

“Am I being a dick?” she asked in mock offense, pouting up at you. “Good things come and all that shit, right?” Ever as she was teasing you, Ellie’s hand crept down your stomach, fingers warm against your hungry skin. She lowered her leg just enough to slide her hand between your thighs. You gasped, feeling lightning in your veins when those calloused fingers slid over your clit, already wet with want. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting. She slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into her, and said, “Fuck, look at you. God, I finally get to see you like this….” 

You struggled to speak past the breathy moans beginning to drip from your lips: “Finally? How - ah - fuck - how long - how long have you…?” You couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence, your thoughts clouding over when Ellie dipped just the tips of her fingers briefly inside you, gathering your wetness. 

“Like you said,” she murmured, finally pushing two fingers slowly inside you; even as she kept talking, she watched your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, “a long fucking time.” 

Your jaw went slack when she curled her fingers, gasping when she found that spot that made you see stars. She paused, as though giving you a moment to adjust, unaware of just how many times you had done this with your own fingers. 

“Shit, Ellie,” you moaned, canting your hips down into her hand. She adjusted her arm, positioning herself so that the heel of her hand pressed to your clit, pulling another breathy moan from your lips. Her other hand was still on your hip; she pushed you back, guiding you to grind on her fingers. “Ah - fuck.” 

She watched you carefully, fascinated by the way your eyes rolled back in your head, your brow furrowed; you felt her own wetness on your thigh again. Her voice was so fucking breathy when she said, “How long have you wanted this, baby?” She hummed; releasing your hip, she ran her hand up your side to knead at your tit, her fingers so careful against you. You groaned low in your throat when she flicked her thumb over your nipple. “How many times have you come thinking of me? Did you imagine my fingers inside you, angel? Did you moan my name?” 

You couldn’t even think of a snarky response; you were too distracted by the way her fingers curled inside you as you fucked yourself against her. Her rough palm slid deliciously against your clit, grinding into her with a growing desperation that made your thighs shake. Your shoulders ached from holding yourself over her but it was only an afterthought as you felt a tight warmth building in your stomach. You leaned down just enough to kiss her, moaning into her mouth when words failed you. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Ellie repeated, groaning when your hips stuttered. You were lightheaded, fucking yourself desperately on her fingers, grinding down against her palm and chasing that intoxicating warmth spreading inside. “So fucking pretty for me.” 

She kissed you as you came, licking into your mouth and tasting herself on your tongue. You pressed your clit down into the heel of her hand, riding it out, feeling the way that warmth spread down to your fingers. Ellie broke away from the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, leaving wet kisses along your skin and saving every broken moan that was gasped right into her ear. 

Ellie didn’t move as you came down, letting you ride out your high, tracing gentle circles down your side. You slumped against her, your arms giving out; your weight landing on her forced all the air from her lungs. She only laughed breathlessly. 

It was several long moments before you were able to move again. Ellie ran her fingers through your hair as you gasped into her neck; she hummed absently and you could feel the vibration against your lips. 

When you were able to, you slowly lifted yourself off of her, wincing slightly at the sudden emptiness. With gentle hands, she guided you back down to lay beside her; you curled up against her without waiting for her invitation, resting a hand on her bare chest so you could feel the steady pounding of her heart. 

Ellie didn’t wait for invitation either before she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer; she was blissfully warm against the suddenly cold air. Something tugged pleasantly at your chest at the realization that you would no longer have to monitor your own movements so carefully - you could touch her, you realized, any time you wanted now. God, how were you going to ever stop now? 

Without anything else to say, you sighed against her skin: “A long fucking time.” 

Ellie hummed, giggling at your delayed answer. The fairy lights on her walls cast the room in a warm glow; with the hazy lights around you, you would almost believe this was a dream if Ellie wasn’t so solid and warm beneath your fingers. You traced the freckles across her chest, connecting constellations you had seen her chart before. 

Her voice was so quiet in the small room when she asked, “What do we do now?” 

You hummed, feeling sleep winning the war inside you. “We can figure that out tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Tilting your head, you leaned up just enough to kiss her, warm and deep and breathless, before moving away to meet her eyes. “Just don’t fucking run off again, okay?” 

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #tlou 2 x reader #sorry for the novel #hope u enjoyed #smash that like button idk

[star-anise]

Speaking of potatoes and fantasy worldbuilding and the impact that they have on a culture: You discussed how potatoes free a society from a lot of things that grain imposed. Including how potatoes are pretty much ready to cook/eat right from being grown. That had me wondering about potatoes in various worldbuilding projects which leads me to this: Is it as easy to turn a potato into a food item that will keep, potentially for months or years, as one can with wheat (see: Hardtack/etc, for an extreme example). Or is that actually an advantage of wheat over potatoes? Because your post kind of makes it sound like once a society gets potatoes, why would any peasant choose to keep growing wheat? Or is that the point, they really *wouldn't* choose to keep growing wheat?

I think modern society's uses of the two are pretty good illustrations. We like wheat, and we also like potatoes! Bread, but also french fries! Beer, but also vodka!

So it's not always an either/or choice: Homesteads that grow for their own tables tend to have their fingers in a lot of different pies, like livestock, dairy, poultry, field crops, fruit trees, and vegetable crops. This is partly an insurance policy: If one crop doesn't make it, maybe another will. Maybe it rains so hard your potatoes all rot in the ground, but your wheat finds a way to survive—or the storm is so violent your wheat is all flattened in the field, but your potatoes were perfectly fine.

But there's also the part where we humans tend to like variety in our diets, which is partly physiological (we need a lot of different vitamins and minerals, and which ones we need can shift with the circumstances) and partly psychological (because we can get really tired of having to eat the same damn thing over and over and over. Yes, samefood crew, we exist, but we're also statistically rare.)

But if you had to choose: If you intend to eat what you grow and you've got limited land and equipment, potatoes are the hands-down winner. It's really easy to plant a pound of potatoes and get five pounds back at the end of the season. Depending on storage conditions, you can keep them for several months.

However, if you want to earn your living by selling your crop for cash, it's a little more complicated. Potatoes, though lovely, are also demanding; they are prey to literally dozens of problems that range from "potato is being eaten by an insect" to "potato is being eaten by a fungus" to "potato did not get enough water" to "potato got too much water." Even when your potatoes are technically edible, they might end up harder to store, harder to turn into food, or just plain ugly, which makes people less likely to buy them.

Also, and maybe this is just my personal perception from trying to pick three acres of potatoes by hand when I was 13, harvesting potatoes is a pain in the ass. They grow down in the dirt, so to get them out again, you have to physically dig them up and shake them apart from chunks of earth. I've never harvested grain by hand so maybe I'm just ignorant, but to me that's a lot of bending, kneeling, crouching, and scrabbling through the dirt. Like, harvesting 1 potato plant? Delightful search for buried treasure. 10? Wipe sweat off your brow and feel very satisfied with yourself. But the year I was 13 we harvested at least 100 potato plants. It was the year we studied the Russian Revolution in school and I felt the peasants had a definite point.

(And then they weren't good enough to be sold as food crops. They stayed in our garage, a giant pyramid touching the roof, for half the winter. We ate potatoes every single day until my brothers campaigned for an end to it. My parents donated 10,000 lbs of potatoes to the local food bank and my dad bought a potato picker at an estate auction the following year.)

Wheat does not make a great home-consumption crop these days, since it takes a lot of work to process into flour. In the last decade I've seen some affordable home flour mills, and if you have a combine harvester that's actually doable, but when I was a kid, the nearest flour mill to us was 1000km away. Without a combine, you still need to thresh and winnow the grain. It's a whole thing.

On the other hand, if you have the tools and facilities to process it, wheat is generally simpler to grow, easier to transport and sell, and the straw it leaves behind* is a useful byproduct. And while I do love eating potatoes, and you can technically make cake and bread out of them, I, like much of the rest of the world, prefer to eat things made with wheat flour, and am also fond of other grain products like rolled oats, rye bread, and multigrain bagels.

(*Sidenote: Straw and hay are different things. Straw is the stalk of grain like wheat or barley. It has minimal nutritional value and is used for bedding and insulation. Hay is a nutritious blend of cut grasses and plants that are fed to farm animals instead of, or in addition to, access to pasture they can graze in. In case that's useful.)

In British history there IS a whole huge thing with the Agricultural Revolution where land use transferred from smaller peasant farmers growing food for themselves, to larger farmers growing cash crops to feed a mostly-urbanized population, which was part landlords kicking people off their land so it could be used differently, and part peasants seeing factory jobs in the city as a welcome escape from the backbreaking labour of farming. While I think the landlords shortchanged their former tenants, and the urban factory owners were horrible to their workers, I think we also need to remember that the peasants who said "Fuck this hoe, I'm off to town" had a very valid point.

#agriculture #medievalism #staranise original

[urmomw4ntsme]

hello i may have asked too many but shh

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

21. obsession from childhood?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? (u ar banana to me. silly vibes)

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

72. worst subject?

83. writing or drawing?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

95. favorite app on your phone?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

mevwer too many wuestions i love answernnf

7. earbuds - headphoens hurt my outer ear :(

8. movies - love tv shows but theyre js so long it lowkey feels like an obligation to have to finish them once u start it

16. shrimp.

21. probably wanting to learn to play a musicsl instrumenr or drive (gonna learn one of these this sjmmer heheeh)

40. THIS GIRL LITERALLY BROUGHT VODKA IN AN ALUMINIUM KA BOTTLE, DRANK IT DURING RECESS AND WENT TO CLASS WHILE SHE WAS DRUNK FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE LIKE WHT DID U EXPECT WUD HAPPEN 😭 (she got suspended)

45. i wud say fantasy bit it cud change too

48. banana is my fav fruit so ur completely right. but additionally for aesthetic puroposes i wil say. strawbeby

60. i havent watched any animes ever but if its a story ur talking about then iwud want it to be about how a hilarious girlboss gets sad drops her crown meets a gorgeous gorgeous girl who picks it up for her and they kiss and fuck

61. YA BORING. do j need to say where from. also theresa bomb at thiswedding UR BUT. IS DA BOMB. also tell the stars i say hello im sorry bye

62. sirius black / james potter / leo valdez / i camt think of anyome else sory

67. its jusg the one phrase 'fuck it we ball' tjrre is nothing else

68. orange juice byt when it tastes like the litera color orange mixed with sugar syrup

72. maths

83. both depending on mood but honestly preferably drawing cus u can draw wtv u want and kt doesnt have tl make sense

86. CUPCAKES 4EVER

89. my best frjends . all of them. and if jt comes to choosing btwn them i wud kill everyone snd then mysef.

95. tumblr / tomb of the mask

97. 4 - my immediate family's (excluding emergency numbers and atuff)

THANK U FOR ASK RSOEI POSIE

#rsoei

[thestraggletag]

I just realized that there’s something very important missing from my life. And that is… The Thing!

11 years and counting, I love this fandom. Let's do this!

WELCOME TO RUMBELLE, YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I SEE YOU THERE, SO YOUNG, SO FRESH, SO WOOBIE. LET ME SLOWLY CLASP YOU TO MY BOSOM IN A MOTHERLY WAY.

NOW YOU STUMBLE AROUND, A LITTLE LOST RUMBELLE CHICK NEEDING LOVE AND GUIDANCE, TREMBLING WITH THE FORCE OF A THOUSAND BOTTLED-UP   FEELS.    NEVER    FEAR, FOR WE’LL TAKE YOU IN, SINCE YOU HAVE BECOME

ONE OF US.

WE HAVE TEA, FOR YOUR SHATTERED FEELS. WE KNOW IT HURTS, WE’VE ALL    BEEN     THERE. MOST OF USE JUST DUMP A LOT OF VODKA INTO THAT TEA.   IT’D   BE     EASIER TO JUST DUMP A TEA BAG INTO A BOTTLE OF SMIRNOFF, TO BE HONEST.

HERE,   DEARIE, ARE SOME GIFS I BRING FORTH TO YOU SO YOU CAN BLOG ABOUT YOUR FEELS, AND HOW RUMBELLE RUINED YOUR LIFE AND YOU LOVE IT. TAKE     THEM,    DON’T BE SHY. YOU WILL NEED THEM, YOUNG PADAWAN. THEY WILL BECOME YOUR NEW LANGUAGE. BE WARNED, LITTLE ONE, FOR THEY ARE OF A SPOILERY NATURE    THAT MIGHT HURT YOUR WEE EYES. THEY’RE ALSO AWESOME, SO YOU SHOULDN’T STARE AT THEM DIRECTLY.

LIKE AN ECLIPSE.

OR RUMPLE’S LEATHER PANTS.

AND SINCE THIS IS A PRETTY COMPLEX FANDOM I DIRECT YOU TO A WELCOME PAGE   SO YOU CAN GATHER YOUR BEARINGS AND EXPLORE MORE OF THIS MAGICAL     LAND     OF CHIPPED CUPS AND SEXY SCALY MEN. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS THERE      YOU’LL   FIND ANSWERS. IF NOT YOU CAN ALWAYS SEEK THE RUMBELLE TAG, AND POST QUESTIONS THERE. RUMBELLERS ARE ALWAYS THERE TO ANSWER.

ALWAYS. RUMBELLERS DON’T SLEEP.

IF YOU FEEL THE NEED FOR SOME LOVELY VISUAL REPRESENTATIONS OF THE UTTER PERFECTION THAT IS THIS SHIP I DIRECT YOU TO THE RUMBELLE ARTTAG, WHERE MANY TALENTED PEOPLE POST TALENTED THINGS THAT PRODUCE BOTH AWE AND ENVY.

AND LAST, AND THIS IS WHAT I’M KNOWN FOR…

WE.

HAVE.

PORN.

NO, NOT LIKE OTHER FANDOMS. NOT SOME PORN. NOT ANY PORN. WE HAVE ALL THE PORN.

ALL OF IT.

EVERY KINK.

EVERY FANTASY.

EVERY POSITION.

FOOD SEX, PEGGING, BONDAGE, S&M (BUT THE REAL TYPE, NO INNER   GODDESSES, ALL KINKY FUCKERY), CANE PORN, PRIEST PORN, CANNIBAL PORN, SHADOW!SEX,   DADDY!DOM, DOM/SUB, BLOODPLAY, MIRROR-SEX, PREGNANCY KINKS, POWER-SEX,   INTERSPECIES SEX, LACTATION PORN, DAGGER!PORN, RAPTOR!PORN, MAGICAL  SEX  AND MANY MORE.

IF IT'S AT ALL ANATOMICALLY PLAUSIBLE, WE'VE WRITTEN BELLE AND RUMPLE DOING IT.

I DIRECT YOU NOW TO MY FANFIC REC LIST, WHERE YOU SHALL FIND MANY TREASURES. YOU CAN ALWAYS GO TO THE RUMBELLE FIC TAG IF YOU FEEL YOU NEED MORE RUMBELLE PORN FICS IN YOUR LIFE. AND YOU WILL. AND IF YOU WANNA HIT THE MOTHERLOAD OF RUMBELLE FANFICTION CHECK OUT THE RUMBELLE LIBRARY, RIPE WITH DECADENT FICS FOR YOUR PERUSAL.

IN  THIS FANDOM WE LIKE TO CELEBRATE WITH FIC, COPE WITH FIC AND START MASSIVE FIC WARS SO THERE ARE SEVERAL YEAR-ROUND EVENTS DESTINED TO BRING FORTH MORE RUMBELLE SEXYTIMES MOMENTS, INCLUDING THE RUMBELLE SECRET SANTA, WHERE YOU GIVE THE GIFT OF PORN AS IT'S TRADITIONAL IN THIS MERRY SEASON.

MIND THE SPOILERS, DEARIE.

BUT IF YOU’RE ALL CAUGHT UP YOU SHOULD TOTALLY CHECK THIS TUMBLR WHICH WILL HOLD PRECIOUS TREASURES SO YOU CAN SURVIVE THE SUMMER HIATUS WITH MOST OF YOUR SANITY INTACT.

WE AIM FOR REALISTIC GOALS HERE.

IF   YOU HAVEN’T YET DELETED YOUR TUMBLR ACCOUNT AND MOVED TO A COUNTRY        WITHOUT INTERNET CONNECTION THEN CONGRATULATIONS, YOU INDEED HAVE THE        MAKINGS OF A GREAT RUMBELLER. AND YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT HERE.

Welcome (back) to the fandom, dearie.

#rumbelle #welcome to the fandom #thedeaddollscorpse

[dappersheep]

Hello! I don’t have an idea if this question bothers or maybe even triggers you, but if it is, feel free to ignore my message.

I’ve always been interested in mental disorders. It goes without saying that this topic is very relevant nowadays. So…

What do you think about mental disorders in the world of Food Fantasy? I mean, if I’m not mistaken, Tteokguk has a confirmed PTSD, according to his story. Is there a possibility that the other Food Souls may have any mental disorder? Do you have someone on your mind that can have a mental disorder? Of course only in terms of pure speculations, but still. We can even talk about Pasta Splatoon, why not?

Hello, the topic itself doesn't bother me so it's all good. This could get long so the rest of the answer is under the cut.

Since you're asking my opinion, mental disorders of course exist on Tierra. It's just that we have to note two things approaching this: 1) Mental disorders will not always be explicitly stated, mostly implied. A show-not-tell kind of narrative. And 2) Not all Food Souls will be able to understand the concept of a mental disorder. Most would likely prefer not to pay attention to it as just because they're human-like, doesn't mean they understand human workings. Some may even think such a thing is below them, as they're not humans and do not feel things the way humans do.

While I'm not familiar with Tteokguk's case beyond knowing he participated heavily in a war that took a toll on him, I am more familiar with others. So I can give you an example in Borscht. While she may not look it, some of her voice lines and her bio allude to her having PTSD from being hunted down in the snow, being in an environment that's too quiet, certain kinds of birds and of course, Vodka. In chapter 3 of her bio, she had a flashback that triggered that PTSD but she recovered quickly enough. I'm sure that Spaghetti did notice it, but he didn't want to coddle her, neither of them would know how to handle that and the best he could do is to cut short their business talk and let her rest for the night. For the most part, she has it under control and it doesn't affect her day-to-day affairs. The forever missing Skin Story event we never got could even offer some closure to some of the things that haunted her, then she was finally able to move on from those ghosts (no it has nothing to do with Vodka).

There's also Oyster. Mm, as far as I see, he's a classic case of neglect and abuse. This of course, stemming from the villagers and his Master Attendant, who all saw him as an omen onto their homes despite saving them from Fallen Angels. He has an aversion to being touched, trust issues and uses annoyance and anger as a defense mechanism. Spaghetti saw the signs and respected Oyster's demand that he didn't enter his space, didn't touch him but gave Oyster the choice to leave that place that has nothing good for him. He had Oyster spend more time with Borscht who let him get used to light errands that slowly socialized him with humans, and then herself and Spaghetti as the Food Soul interactions. So in a way, these two gave him a place to heal and feel some sense of normalcy, even if it's not loudly stated. And Oyster is grateful that these two gave him that chance.

Spaghetti himself is… I can't really say that he has any mental disorders. Melancholy, emotional baggage, emotional constipation and extreme spite for a certain subset of people, sure, but not any disorder. The rest of Desire Tavern doesn't quite fit mental disorders as much either. I'd put it this way: Just because they had experienced something bad in the past doesn't automatically translate to developing a visceral reaction to anything that reminds them of that bad thing, or developing a mental problem. I'd mostly chalk up their responses to range from, 'Oh she's plotting to beat you up' to 'She's not going to react at all to that'.

For other mental disorders… I'd say Souffle has a form of Dissociative disorder, kind of obvious with the existence of Dark Souffle and Souffle being unable to remember much of what happened while the other was in control.

Also Kaiserschmarrn and Whiskey definitely fall into the category of Psychopaths, textbook classics in varying degrees. As seen in the final chapters of Kaiser's event, he's made his ultimate goal very clear to everyone and is not above manipulation, threats and collateral damage to make things go his way. Even his own short introduction text states that while loyalty and safety of his companions is important, that's not the most important things on his mind.

And Whiskey… is Whiskey. We're all aware of his body count and shenanigans all across Tierra.

As for autism… off the top of my head, I don't know if B-52 particularly fits the bill for that because in the first place, he thinks he's a machine and not a Food Soul, and has thought that way for a very, very long time that it becomes a hard conditioning to get rid of. He's started to learn to be less 'mechanical' from the few cameos I've seen of him, but he's still stilted and not very good in communicating what he wants to say or the attention he gets. Again, I don't know if that fits the medical definition of autism but everyone's free to headcanon.

That's as much as I got for you. Feel free to respond again if I didn't really answer your question.

#food fantasy #ravings of a madman

[ghostly-gifts]

🎃🍷 Trick or treat! 🖤🎃

On this creepy Halloween night, @lady-guts has been haunted by the spooky ghost @wardog-of-the-endless, and they've left behind a treat!

Rating: Teen Tags: Fluff, First Meetings/Meet-Cute, Alternate Universe- Fantasy

Anakinn Theerapanyakun is staring at an absolute dive, and briefly considers the possibility that Tay’s phone has been stolen and he’s being led into an ambush. Though he’s double-checked the address twice, the modest bar beyond the window of Kinn’s Maserati doesn’t seem to be changing, for all that there’s no way he’s convinced it’s the correct location. Tay -Taechin Lerttravinont- is nearly as high in the Mafia food chain as Kinn himself, and as such is far more accustomed to dining on rooftop restaurants and drinking champagne more costly than most people’s cars. There’s no reason for him to decide that this humble hole-in-the-wall spot is the place to be, no matter what Autumn-themed event they might be hosting. 

As he scowls at the cheerful lights draped over the entryway, Kinn’s phone chirps with an incoming message. 

1 New Message

Tay: Are you lurking outside? Just get in here before you miss the show. 

1 New Message

Tay: NOW, Anakinn.

“Alright, alright,” Kinn muttered, sliding the phone away and throwing the door open. “We’re staying.”

“Yes, Khun Kinn,” Big murmurs obediently, scrambling to follow him across the street and into the bar. Most Naga are better moving on tails than they are on feet, though it can cost both time and stealth for them to shift, but Kinn’s found Big especially loses grace when he’s caught off guard. At the moment there’s not threat great enough to prompt a transformation, so Kinn lets the near-frantic movement pass without comment. 

Kinn navigates a narrow hallway, rolling his eyes when Big darts around him to navigate the blind corner into the bar itself. The group is easy to hear from the street and nearly deafening inside, for all that the space seemed small and shouldn’t be able to hold a significant audience. From the sound of things the space is beyond packed, and all of them are shouting eagerly about some entertainment Kinn can’t yet see. 

He rounds the corner when Big drifts back to nod, and steps into an audience that’s shouting as they watch the show being conducted by a trio of flair bartenders. The two shorter ones are catching bottles tossed this way and that, winging them to each other for shelving when it seems they’ve been thrown the wrong direction. The center of attention is a tall man with golden skin, laughing brightly as he throws bottles and shakers this way and that, mixing drinks to slide down the bar with flirtatious winks and air kisses. 

Tay catches the most recent drink with a smirk, tossing a look over his shoulder and beaming widely at the sight of Kinn. “Kinn!” 

The cheerful shout catches the pretty bartender’s attention, and he lines shot glasses up with miraculous swiftness, tossing a vodka bottle with a spin before effortlessly tipping it in a casual pour. He moves down the line of glasses and fills the row of shots, tossing the bottle aside when he’s half-way down the bartop, with a row of dozens of glasses between him and Kinn and Tay. 

“Isn’t he scrumptious?” Tay murmurs when Kinn’s at his side, grinning up at his friend and then looking back the row of shots. “Watch this.” 

“You brought me to a dive for the bar show?” Kinn murmurs, obligingly leaning on the edge of the bar and eying the nearest shot. It’s within reach, but he doesn’t, at least not yet. 

“It’s quite a show, baby,” Giving a flirty smile he leans down to nearly cheek to bartop, the bartender gives a flirty wink and then blows Kinn a kiss. 

A spark of gold leaves his lips, a whisper that might be flame or might be a trick of the light. Except, the first shot catches fire, then the second, flame leaping in a cheerful line from glass to glass, dancing down the length of the bar and racing to stop just beyond Kinn’s reach, burning cheerfully in the lip of the last glass. Kinn stares at the dancing blue light, feeling warmth kindle in his gut. 

The crowd screams and Tay laughs, throwing his head back and flashing the glimmer of shining silver scales that flow down his pretty neck. Though usually they can be explained away as body paint or glitter, in half of Tay’s high-fashion looks he doesn’t need to bother with explanations, and this close to Halloween he’s unlikely to keep his gifts underwraps. 

Kinn’s torn between being surprised enough that his best friend is showing his siren traits so freely in public, and wondering just what the hell is smiling at him from down the stretch of mahogany wood. Instinctively he steps closer to Tay, wrapping a possessive arm around the back of his chair and leaning down till a conversation is possible above the din. 

“Pretty, right?” Tay hums, sipping at his drink and watching as the bartender begins passing out flaming shots to those brave enough to reach for them. “His name is Porsche.” 

“Hmmm, pretty,” Kinn agrees, eyes caught on the stretch of gold skin from jawline to breastbone, easily visible through the half-open black shirt Porsche is wearing. “And what, pray tell, is Porsche?” 

“Anakinn,” Tay scolds mildly. “What a rude inquiry.” 

“You knew I would ask,” Kinn glared at him. “You dragged me in here and gift-wrapped him for me to ask.” 

“Can’t I just want to share a pretty bartender and my favorite hideaway with my best friend?” Tay murmurs, fingers idly caressing his glass. “You can appreciate the view without being rude, Anakinn.” 

“Is it rude?” Kinn muses, watching Porsche take orders and flip bottles with ease, chattering away with his fully-engaged crowd. “No scales, but he’s a firestarter.” 

“Maybe it was just flair,” Tay argues, just for the sake of it and not like he really believes. 

Kinn’s betting he knows better, judging by the way he smirks at his beverage. “Could be, but wasn’t. You know him?” 

“Just from trips here,” Tay shrugs. “He told me to cut Time loose months ago. Apparently he had a look.” 

“A look,” Kinn echoes dubiously, attention slid back to Tay at the mention of his ex. “What does that mean?”

“Some men are cheaters, sweetheart,” Croons a smooth voice as the bartender -Porsche- appears in front of them, his warmth immediately noticeable even separated by the stretch of bartop. 

Kinn feels his approach and snaps his head up immediately, eyes fixing on the flash of chest and then slowly gliding up the elegant line of clavicles and neck, the sharp cut of jaw, the elegant cast of his face. Porsche is stunning, and his smile and the gleam of his dark eyes tells Kinn he knows it. Even in the thick air of the bar he smells like sandalwood, with notes of amber and vanilla and neroli. He smells expensive, like something best experienced on a bed of silk. 

Kinn would happily take him there, pin him to the bed in his penthouse apartment… maybe against the glass wall of the pool. 

“And they look like cheaters,” Porsche continues, folding his arms on the bartop and leaning forward just enough that Kinn feels himself sway closer. “Not you though, sweetheart.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Kinn rumbles, warmth building in his chest at the acknowledgement. “So you told Tay to ditch Time.” 

“I told the most beautiful man in the room that his idiotic date was shopping around,” Porsche retorts, sharp and smooth with it. “I’m a bartender, darling, it’s practically like being a therapist. I just call it like I see it.” 

“So you saw Time was a problem,” Kinn leans on the bartop. “And told Tay to cut him loose?”

“Technically,” Porsche purrs, leaning closer. “I told Tay I would cheerfully thrash and trash his date, no charge, and make sure he made it home without any pathetic hangers on. He thanked me and tipped very well, and then when I was right he came back and told me so.” 

“Tay and Time broke up months ago,” Kinn notes. 

“Mmmm,” Porsche nodded. “Pretty Tay and I have spent quite a bit of time talking about the men that have disappointed us.” 

“I told Porsche there was only one man I could think of that never let me down,” Tay murmured, tugging playfully at the lapel of Kinn’s suit. “He demanded I produce evidence, so here you are.”

“Fairly prompt, too,” Porsche notes, sounding impressed. “Tay thought you might sit in the car for at least another ten minutes, and totally miss the Phoenix Kiss shots. He was prepared to be very disappointed.” 

“Phoenix,” Kinn murmurs, and it takes everything in him not to growl. 

The last Phoenix clan known in their world was wiped out nearly twenty years ago, by all reckoning. It both left the Theerapanyakul dragon clan as the clear dominant force in the Thai underworld, and weakened them significantly. Regardless of gender, the most powerful supernatural couple had always been a dragon and a Phoenix. Kinn’s own mother had been one, before mafia-fueled power struggles had taken her from the family. Kinn had more or less resigned himself to reigning as a solitary force, and suddenly a night out at a dive bar with Tay is changing everything. 

“Mmmmm,” Porsche grins, swaying forward even further, a flame dancing in his dark eyes. “No need to ask who you are, Big Dragon, I could smell it on you when you walked in the door.” 

“Careful, pretty bird.” Kinn growls, smiling as he watches a golden hand reach out and flick playfully at the open placket of his shirt. By some instinct Kinn raises one hand and catches the impertinent fingers, pulling them to his mouth so he can press a kiss to Porsche’s knuckles. 

“My, aren’t you a charmer,” Porsche crooned, grinning at the gesture. “Tay was right.” 

“When properly motivated, I am many things.” Kinn promises. I’d dedicate all of them to you.  

By birthright alone, half of Bangkok belongs to this man. Staring into his gleaming eyes, Kinn wants nothing more than to offer up the rest. 

“Mmmm, my work here appears to be done.” Tay notes, smiling as he slides a stack of notes under Porsche’s folded arms. “You two play nice, alright? Porsche, I expect to see you soon, hmmm? But not too soon, or I’ll be very disappointed in Anakinn. I always thought the world of him, to find out he has no stamina now would devastate that impression.” 

“Tay,” Kinn growls in warning. 

“I’m going first,” Tay cuts in. “You can have my chair, Kinn. I don’t think Porsche gets off for another hour or so.” 

“Well not unless we duck out to the alley,” Porsche smirked. “But I probably shouldn’t drag down the king of the underworld on the first meeting… People will talk.” 

“You could blame me,” Tay murmured, brushing a kiss over Porsche’s cheek before he does the same to Kinn’s. “Blessings upon you both, darlings… I’ll see you.” 

Porsche blinks, smiling faintly as he watches Tay swan back out the door. “He’s certainly something, isn’t he?” 

“Mmmmm,” Kinn hummed his agreement. “But I think, Pretty Bird, I’d rather talk about you.” 

“Not so fast, Khun Kinn, I’m not quite that kind of boy.” Porsche flashed bright teeth in a grin that was more a challenging little snarl. “Some of us have work, rich boy. You just hold down that chair, I’ll get back with you soon.” 

“Porsche-”

“Soon,” Porsche promised with a wink, sliding a glass of whiskey across the bar. “Here. Be good now.” 

“Fine.” Kinn grumbled. “For now.” 

With possibly the last Phoenix in Bangkok in his sights, Kinn could afford a little patience.

#kinnporsche #gift exchange #fanfiction #ghost: wardog-of-the-endless #haunted: lady-guts

[perennialwitness]

The Real OG(an excerpt)

Please say the following aloud:

When you’re here, 

You’re family. 

If your mind made the connection to Olive Garden just now then we probably come from a similar background. Semi-suburban– too far to take public transit into the city, close enough to drive. Forty-five minutes, with no traffic. And we all know there’s no such thing as ‘no traffic’, only varying levels of density. The freeways more like rivers than roads, their red halogen flood line rising and falling with the moon and the weather. Kept fed by a sprawl of Commuter Towns, their  farthest edges in constant creeping development.

I grew up in one of these places, vast stretches of single-family homes connected by high-speed stroads. A town with clearly delineated lines between the Blacks and the Whites, everyone else fell somewhere in between. Then there were Subsections within that for the rich(meaning they more than likely owned their home) and the poor(straight down past section 8 and into the dusty outskirts). Streets would change suddenly from one to the next. The asphalt under your feet rapidly degrading as you made your way toward the Blacker, Poorer side of town. It mattered that you knew this. It was a way to communicate things oftentimes hard to say aloud. For instance, I lived on the poor Black side and went to school on the poor White side. Anyway,

Growing up, family events that warranted a drive to the city were rare. If it was your birthday, graduation, funeral, divorce– didn’t matter, there were only a handful of places to celebrate, all of them inhabiting the same mile long shopping plaza. There was; Applebees, famous for their happy hour specials. Chevy’s, Tex-mex where they make the tortillas out in the middle of the restaurant, which had the appearance of a beach cabana. Sizzler or Red Lobster if you were feeling extra spendy(dim lights, lots of wood grain, for date nights and so forth). And then there was the Olive Garden, which was reserved for nights when you really wanted to fill up. 

“Ain’t no bigger bang for your buck than Olive Garden on a coupon,” My step-dad would say then he’d rap his overstuffed wallet against the table and let out the hoarse rattle that was his laugh. He was right, if you were smart about it you could make one dinner last three days easy. 

Truth be told the food is barely food, classic recipes trimmed down to the bare necessities as a way of cutting costs and increasing turnover. Heapings upon heapings of pasta swimming in sauces brewed by the vat. Bread sticks, soggy with butter and oil, coming out in the dozens from the kitchen like clockwork. Servers in a mad dash to ensure every table’s basket full, lest they screech about meal comps, how they were advertised endless breadsticks and how they would sue if they weren’t offered compensation.

Bigger bang, bigger buck. 

To their credit the owners of the Olive Garden had tried to keep the place classy. The walls were painted to look like the cracked plaster of a Mediterranean villa, there were “stone” columns wrapped with vine decorations, arranged by someone unconcerned with structural support. Italian-sounding string accompaniments droned over the PA to complete the immersion. It was, all things considered, a nice place to bring the kids. And my parents, swept up in the fantasy, would drink wine there, instead of their usual Whiskeys and Vodka Sodas. They’d pretend they were in love, and we-- the kids I mean-- we tried our best to behave like “family”.

In my adulthood I avoided these places. Not because I cared about the quality, I don’t have qualms with cheap bad food. My aversion was psychological. These chains represented a place and a lifestyle that I couldn’t return to. The make-believe of it all. The gamified domesticity. It isn’t simple to correct your vision, removing the blinders is painful, seeing the truth of things deteriorates the sense of self. There’s just too much comfort in familiarity. So easy to lull oneself back to sleep amongst the herd, so more than anything else what I feared was regression.

#writing #black literature #creative writing #short story #writeblr #black writers #lit fic #fiction #short stories #readers #publishing #realism #spilled ink

[madssaunders111]

Mine! An Orville fic

•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

Content warnings: Smut, cursing, mommy kink, usage of toys, praise kink, major clit stimulation, submissive reader, v penetration with toy, orgasmic meditation

~•~

Media: The Orville

Pairing: Kelly Grayson x female reader

Trope: Dom and sub (soft and rough)

~•~

It had been a long day of work. Since you worked in the engine room, you were always sweaty and red.

You walked through the ship’s halls sweaty from work. As you were deep in thought, you bumped into one of your many friends and colleagues, Alara. She was always so sweet and caring, and extremely protective. Ironic since she’s the chief of security.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you gave me a fright.” Alara placed a hand on her chest.

“I’m sorry Alara.” You placed a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to, I was just deep in thought.”

Alara linked her arm with yours. “Do you want to get some dinner at the mess hall with me?” She asked. You nodded and walked to the mess hall with her.

“Of course. I’m starving.”

As you two walked into the mess hall and sat down near a window, Alara came back with two plates of food, her favourites and yours. She held a bottle of vodka. “So, Y/N, how is working in the engine room?”

“Tense.” You let out laugh. “But it can’t be as tense as the bridge, or being chief of security.”

“It is tense, but it’s nice.” Alara took a sip of the vodka. “Especially since I have the strength of multiple superheroes.”

As she spoke, you looked over your shoulder and saw the familiar blonde woman: Kelly Grayson, the woman who starred in your fantasies. Alara noticed and smirked.

“So, Y/N, you have the hots for Kelly?”

“I-I what?” You asked. Your face was as red as a rose.

“I see your face. And I saw the way you looked at her when she came in the room.” Alara rose an eyebrow and kept a smirk on her face. “Someone has a crush.” She nudged you.

“Shh.” You giggled and took a sip of vodka. Kelly spotted you and walked over to the table.

“Hey, Alara, Y/N.” Kelly’s blue eyes focuses on your red and sweaty face.

“H-hey Kelly.” You stuttered before clearing your throat maintaining professionalism. “I mean, hey Kelly. Getting dinner?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day, I’m starving.” She sat down beside you. Alara smirked slightly while giving you a look.

As you ate, Kelly’s fingers brushed against your thighs repeatedly. You swallowed nervously catching her attention.

“What going on Y/N? You seem nervous.” Kelly asked as she placed her entire hand on your thigh.

“I-I’m great. N-not nervous at all.” You cursed yourself silently for how much you were stuttering.

“Mmm, interesting.” She whispered into your ear. “I can see how tense you are.”

Your heartbeat was all you can hear. It pounded loudly and quickly the closer Kelly got and the louder she whispered.

“I-I’m going to to head to my quarters.” You stood up and quickly walked out of the mess hall on shaky legs. You ran to your room as fast as your legs could allow.

Once you arrived, you quickly walked in and the doors shut. Your body fell onto your bed and started to shake.

“S-shit. Shit.” You muttered to yourself as you took off your uniform and replaced it with shorts and a tank top. Your panties were soaked through just simply from Kelly’s touch, voice and appearance.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. The door made a chime sound as it opened. Kelly walked in.

Goddamn, even her walk was enough to get your panties soaking.

“Hey there beautiful, you okay?” Kelly asked as she sat beside your trembling body on the bed. You nodded and inhaled shakily through your nose and out your plumped lips. “Hey, look at me.” She placed her fingers on your chin and guided it inches from hers.

Your cheeks turned pink with love.

“Wow.” Kelly muttered in admiration. “You really are in love with me.” Her hands rubbed the aching area in between your legs. “I can already tell you’re soaking.”

“How would you know?” You asked starting to get cocky. A smirk appears on your face as you look into Kelly’s eyes.

“Because..” Kelly pulled at your pants. “I can feel it.” She gave you a “may I” look. You nodded. Kelly’s fingers brushed against the fabric of your pants and pulled them down slowly and sensually.

You let out a whimper against your lips as Kelly pushed you back against the pillows lightly. She leaned in close to your ear and whispered into it. “Relax, Y/N. Breathe.” Kelly’s lips leaned in and nibbled at your cheeks, lips and neck. “God you’re so beautiful.”

“K-Kelly.” You whimpered. Tears formed in your eyes and were inches from dripping down your cheeks. They certainly caught the blonde’s attention.

“Shh, oh beautiful, don’t cry.” Kelly wiped your tears and placed her hands on your waist. “I’ll take good care of you, you need someone to care for you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes…m-mommy.” You slapped your hands over your mouth surprised by what came out.

A smirk appeared on Kelly’s face. She leaned in closer to your lips. “D-did you call me mommy?” Her lips were inches from yours. “Tell mommy the truth sweetheart.”

“Y-yes mommy…I did.” Your face got as red as a rose.

“Good girl.” Kelly kissed your lips softly. Her hands rubbed in between your legs at this thin fabric of your pants. “Very good girl.”

Your eyes caught the attention of a drawer slightly open. “M-mommy, what’s in there?” You asked curiously.

“That…my little angel…is a reward…for you being a good girl for mommy.” Kelly straddled your hips and started rubbing against you, while her hands continued rubbing in your pants.

A whimper blew out from your lips. Your body went into hard overdrive, especially since you’ve never don’t anything remotely romantic with a woman. “M-mommy…I’ve never done this with a woman before.” You said nervously.

“Just relax beautiful.” She continued rubbing against you making you wet between your legs.

Your body squirmed and wriggled underneath her. Kelly’s hand slid down your pants and rubbed against your extremely wet lower lips.

“So beautiful love.” She purred. Her hands pulled your pants down and leaned downward towards your legs. “Spread your legs for me, beautiful.”

Your legs spread apart upon hearing her pleas. Your wet pussy lips shone in the dim lightning. Kelly’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“So beautiful love.” Her lips opened and she stuck out her tongue. “Now, I’m going to eat you out until you can’t breathe.” Her tongue poked at your slit. “God, you’re so wet.” Her tongue lightly poked at your clit.

You let out a whimper. “K-Kelly, m-mommy, please, please fuck me.” You pleaded.

“So impatient darling.” Kelly’s tongue slipped against your clit. “Now take a deep breath.” As you inhaled, Kelly’s tongue slipped deeper inside. When the air left your lungs and lips upon your exhale, Kelly started sucking and licking.

“A-ah! Mommy!” You moaned as your legs wrapped around Kelly’s head. “God! You eat my pussy so well!”

“I’m glad I can do that love.” Kelly’s tongue flicked against your g spot roughly. Your fingers gripped onto the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

“I’m c-close!” You groaned. Your eyes started to close.

“Cum sweetie.” Kelly urged as she licked faster. Her tongue went the speed of light inside your tender and wet folds. A scream exited your lips as your abdomen tensed and heat pumped up your spine. You let out a squirt all over Kelly’s pink and soft lips. Her tongue swirled around, licking your sweetness up. “Ah! Yes! Good girl!” She stood up and walked to a drawer. She pulled the door open and reached her hand into it.

“What are you doing mommy?” You asked your eyes still shut from the previous stimulation.

"I have a surprise for my little girl." Kelly winked. "If you could handle it."

"Y-yes! Yes I can!"

"Good. But.." Kelly sat back on the bed behind you.

"W-what are you doing?" You asked as Kelly positioned her fingers on top of your panties.

"A little something I learned from someone."

"I'm scared."

"Don't be, honey." Kelly whispered. "Do you know what orgasmic meditation is?"

"N-no." You shake your head nervously.

"Well, basically, I rub onto your clit while your eyes are closed, sort of like meditating. It's meant to connect us as a couple."

"O-oh okay." You shakily inhaled and spread your legs slightly.

"Good girl. Are you ready?' Kelly's fingers started to rub.

Shaky moans exited your lips and into the air. Fresh wetness dripped down and onto her fingers.

"God damn baby, you're already so wet." Kelly fawned as she rubbed harder.

"M-mommy I already need to cum." You whimpered as Kelly's fingers stopped moving just as you were about to reach your release. "W-what the hell?" Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath.

"Sorry baby, but now you're ready for your surprise," Kelly whispered once again as she stood up and walked over to the bedside drawer. She pulls out a black vibrator. Your eyes widen at the sight of it.

"P-please, please please!" You started pleading and begging. Kelly leans down at you, her lips inches from your own. She touches the vibrator's button and turns it on. Once the device touches your clit, a yewl escapes your lips.

"Fuck, Kelly! Mommy! Never stop!"

Kelly's lips turn up into a smirk. Watching her little girl squirm and so desperate to cum turns her on. Makes herself wet.

You start tightening up, a sign you were about to cum, Kelly takes it one step further. She lubes up the toy and pushes it against your lower pair of lips.

"I-it's too tight mommy." You whimper. "I-it won't fit."

"We can make it fit baby." Kelly grabbed a bottle of lube. "Just have to stretch you open a bit." She doused her fingers in lube and positioned it at your lower lips. "Now, this might hurt a bit, okay baby?"

"O-okay mommy."

"Good girl. Now take a deep breath for mommy." Kelly orders. As you inhale and exhale, Kelly's fingers slip inside your extremely wet canal. They moved back and forth rapidly, almost inhumanly.

"F-fuck!" You moaned. Kelly placed her hand over your mouth.

"Shh, shh baby. Don't want the whole ship to hear you."

Kelly's fingers moved faster and faster inside you. Your abdomen started tightening, you were about to cum.

"M-mommy, I'm cumming." You whimpered.

Kelly whispered in your ear. "Cum, baby."

As you came, Kelly licked up your sweetness. "Yummy." Your body fell back from the pleasure, your back hitting the pillows.

"I-is it time for the toy?"

"Yes it is my impatient baby." Kelly picked up the vibrator again and added more lube to the round tip. She positioned it at your entrance and lightly pushed it inside. Moans exited your lips. "Ready for this part?' She turns the vibrator on.

"Fuck!" You shout loud enough for the ship to hear.

As the vibrator buzzed inside you, your body started grinding against it. Kelly's lips rose into a smirk. "Yes, keep riding it baby. Ride it as if it's real."

She leaned closer to you.

"Tell me, whose dick do you imagine inside you? Hmm?"

You remained silent.

"Tell me baby!"

"G-Gordon's!" You whimpered. "I imagine Gordon's dick inside me."

"Gordon's? Interesting. Keep imagining! Imagine him cumming inside you!" She starts talking roughly and dominantly.

"Yes mommy."

"Does his cum feel good?"

"Yes mommy!"

"Do you want him to cum inside you?"

"Yes mommy!"

A few seconds later, you started squirting all over the vibrator's shaft. Kelly smirked with satisfaction. She pulled the toy out.

"Good girl. Fucking good girl." She starts sucking on the shaft, keeping your liquids on the tip of her tongue. Your body slumped down on the bed exhausted and satisfied.

"Good job my love. I'm so proud of you."

#the orville #kelly grayson #smut #imagine #fanfic #theorvillesmut

[hezzabeth]

The lost princess, the biggest grandest portrait in the entire gallery, stared down at Revati. Amma had often said many claimed she was the most beautiful woman on Mars. Papi would then laugh and say she didn't hold a torch to Amma. Revati honestly agreed with her father; the princess always seemed to have an insipid, fragile look to her. She seemed like the sort of person who would cry when stepping on an ant. Also, her saree in the picture was a hideous combination of beige and mustard yellow.

"Drink, Ma'am?" a tourist dressed in an ill-fitting servant's uniform asked, holding up a tray.

When it became clear that everyone was going to be trapped in the park forever, people started getting creative. Revati's father had raided the tea shops on Baker Street for any easy-to-grow fruits and vegetables. Thankfully, he came across a bag of potatoes, some old lettuce, and the heads of a few carrots. By the time the supply of souvenir-themed food had run out, they had their own little garden.

"Nice to know you're using the potatoes I traded with you to make strawberry vodka instead of food," Revati sniffed, grabbing one of the glasses. Thirteen years later, Jay's vegetable scraps were now a profitable farm, guarded that Revati kept heavily under guard.

"At least it's better than the apple drink they were serving last time. I spilt some of it, and the paint melted off the wall," Aurora remarked as she joined Revati.

"True, but I was able to use it to burn that dimwit who tried to break into our rainwater supply," Revati remarked as they moved into the assembly room.

The assembly room had been designed decades ago to resemble a "cherub's paradise." The walls were covered in chipped baby blue paint, while someone had painted a mural of fluffy white clouds and flying naked babies on the ceiling. Forty or so teenagers, the children of Whistleton actors, were lined up in formal outfits with numbers on their chests. When the appliances invaded, the actors on Baker Street had fled for their lives, leaving the tourists to their devices. The actors in Whistleton, on the other hand, seemed to think Armageddon was an excuse to fully commit to their historical romance fantasy. The teenagers all bowed to each other and then began to dance in an intricate pattern. Several servants, trying their best to make music using a prop piano and several empty water jugs, accompanied them. None of the dancers were Dityaa.

"So, are you going to keep the boy or cut him loose?" Aurora asked, and Revati shrugged.

"Not sure yet, the plant thing is interesting… we could use him in the garden," Revati said, weighing her options. Other leaders firmly believed in trimming the fat; Revati, however, knew it was better to turn the fat into soap.

Bridgadeiro was approaching them now, eating a canapé fashioned from strawberries and a lettuce leaf.

"This food is fascinating! It actually tastes like it was grown in the ground," he remarked.

Aurora and Revati exchanged a confused look.

"Of course it was grown in the ground; all the food here is... or they're fried insects," Revati said, explaining. While Baker Street had potatoes and carrots, Whistleton managed to grow strawberries, pineapples, and peaches.

"Really? Where I'm from, only the very rich get to eat actual grown food! We make do with fruit made in our Creatrix," he said before taking another bite of his strawberry lettuce cup.

"What's a Creatrix, mistress?" Aurora whispered to Revati.

"One of those metal box things that makes food and clothes using sand from Saturn, my parents had one before the invasion," Revati explained, and Aurora's eyes widened.

"You mean you live on a planet with actual modern technology? That must be thrilling," Aurora cried, clapping her hands together.

"Well, technically I live on the southwest space station," he said. Revati merely walked away, taking a sip of her drink. It tasted like a mouthful of expired perfume.

A queen was sitting at the very back of the ballroom on a small stage. A majestic queen, her dark skin and towering wig dusted with gold powder. Unlike the other dancers, her ballgown was fluffy, modern, and a deep blood red. She whispered to one of the teenagers in an empire gown standing next to her. Then crisply she nodded towards Revati.

"Well, Queen Victoria has spotted you," Aurora remarked.

"Queen Victoria? Don't you mean Vicky Ditchwater?" Revati smirked.

"Shh! The last person who mentioned her old name got thrown out to the hair dryers," Aurora hissed back, and Revati just shrugged, casually walking across the ballroom, disrupting the dance.

"Mistress Rave, how lovely to see you! And in such a becoming gown," Queen Victoria said, her smile parting into a frozen smile.

"I like your dress as well, is it new?" Revati asked, not really caring to hear the answer.

"The latest design from New Singapore! It's part of a new style called robotic vampirism," the Queen replied.

"And how many of your unmarried subjects did you have to give to the appliances to get it? Three? Four?" Revati asked, raising an eyebrow.

Queen Victoria's expression froze. One thing the appliances were constantly searching for was new fresh feet. One thing Whistleton constantly strived for were "perfect matches."

"Just two, last season was incredibly successful," smiled Queen Victoria serenely.

"And I see this season you have your eyes on my sister”

Revati pointed out.

Here's the corrected version of the text:

"Well, she is uncommonly pretty, and has such a gentle personality," the Queen smiled.

"Gentle personality? Her brain is made out of marshmallows and glitter! The last thing she needs is for the Duke to abandon her in hostile territory," Revati said, folding her arms dramatically, and the Queen waved one hand.

"Oh, she'll be fine! The Duke is a lovely boy! He brought us an entire crate of heating blankets," the Queen said.

"She's clumsy! She trips and sprains her ankle at least once a month; she won't last a week in occupied zones," Revati replied wearily.

"The Duke specifically asked for her! He parachuted from the sky, insisting he was here for the eldest Sheikh sister," Queen Victoria protested, sounding vaguely annoyed.

"He wanted Dityaa? Why would he want her? How would he even know she exists?" Revati asked, incredibly confused. The only record of Dityaa’s existence came from the one year she spent in public school before the invasion.

Once Revati had asked about her birth certificate when working on a recorded list of residents on Baker Street. "Your sister was born in a refugee camp during the beginning of the war! There were no birth certificates," Amma replied.

When they were little, Dityaa would frighten Revati with ghost stories. Tales about how Dityaa’s “other mother” would visit her as a ghost while everyone else slept.

"Do I have another mother who’s a ghost?" whispered Revati, hiding under her blanket.

"No, just me. She says I have four strands of life inside of me instead of two," Dityaa whispered. The stories stopped once they found themselves stranded on Baker Street. Sometimes Revati would wonder if there was any truth to it.

While Revati helped her mother fix broken electronics, Dityaa would spin around giggling. While father and Nani dug up potatoes, Dityaa picked flowers, turning them into a crown. Dityaa wasn’t quite like anyone in the family. But then again, she did look an awful lot like Amma.

#doctor who #fantasy #nanowrimo #the Star beast #Steven universe #nanowrimo2023 #speculative worldbuilding #speculative fiction #bridgerton #jane austen #queen victoria #queenofoklahomacity #life on mars

[stargazeraldroth]

Food Fantasy fandom if you still exist, tell me your favorite Food Souls. For me it’s-

Milk, Black Tea, Pizza, Cassata, Cheese, Gingerbread, Rice, Candy Cane, Marshmallow, Hishi Mochi, Black Pudding, Stargazy Pie, Waffle, Salty Licorice, Donut, Baguette, Sachertorte, Fondant Cake, Laba Congee, Snowskin Mooncake, Vodka, and... I’ll throw Boston Lobster in for good measure

#food fantasy #ff milk #ff black tea #gotta keep some ogs #black tea is still on my team #milk was on my interface for so long #ff pizza #ff cassata #ff cheese #that trio was my main fixation #ff gingerbread #ff rice #still upset she doesn't have an English VA #ff candy cane #ff marshmallow #ff hishi mochi #ff black pudding #ff stargazy pie #ff waffle #ff salty licorice #ff baguette #ff sachertorte #ff fondant cake #ff laba congee #ff snowskin mooncake #ff vodka #ff boston lobster

[youmissedone]

“So handsome, what can I get you?” Leah smiled over at the man, her notepad in hand. She had seen him in here before, had noticed him but hadn’t bothered him until now.

Carlos had tried to get literally anybody to come up with him to Raccoon City tonight for a drink, but he didn't get anywhere with any of them. Rain and J.D. decided to have some alone time in the employee housing level of the Hive, to which he couldn't argue they were entitled, and Kaplan was off to his wife and home in the suburbs of Raccoon City. Carlos lived in housing in the Hive too, and was currently single, which meant he was alone and out of luck on this random Tuesday night. Rather than stay in his dorm listening to Yury and Nicholai get drunk on vodka and argue in Russian over cards late into the night, he decided to head up to the surface to spend some time in the city.

He didn't mind living in the Hive, really. His room and board, expenses, food, clothing, equipment, everything was paid and provided for. It was a good deal, really, as long as he did the work, and Carlos had been soldiering in one form or another since he was fourteen, so that wasn't a problem. It wasn't ideal, though. It was claustrophobic and cramped, serious as all hell, and what the hell were they trying to do with those fake traffic noises and skyline views out the "windows" on the administrative level? Was anyone really fooled by that? Everybody knew they were deep underground. Why did there have to be this fantasy that they weren't?

Nah, Carlos needed fresh air and an actual view of outside every now and then, and although his occupation didn't afford him a lot of time off, tonight was a rare exception. He put on civilian clothing, devoid of any Umbrella logos of course, and headed up to the surface to Raccoon City... and hopefully a good bar. Tuesday night likely wasn't a big drinking night for most people, but that was okay. He could always people watch if he didn't find anyone to talk to.

Walking all the way there, Carlos entered a nice looking place and, upon seeing it wasn't very crowded, he went to sit up at the bar. He was an outgoing, friendly sort, so when the bartender struck up a conversation, he eagerly took the bait, grinning as he did.

"You wouldn't happen to have cachaça, would you?" he asked hopefully. "If not, it's fine, I'll just take any kind of molasses-based rum on the rocks for now, thanks." He settled onto a stool somewhere in the middle of the bar so this very cute young woman wouldn't have to run all over creation to get drinks to him. "Slow night?" he asked her, looking around.

#mxrvelouscreations #carlos rp #{ we’re expendable assets } ᵘᵐᵇʳᵉˡˡᵃ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ