and lamb roasts

Dinner

Request from anon: Can you do a story where you (a muggle-born Hufflepuff) go to dinner with the Malfoys, but they’re a little rude and snarky and Draco defends you?

Thanks for requesting anon, may I please note to you all that requests are in fact closed and I am writing requests from the queue. I hope you all enjoy:)

Originally posted by potters-broomstick

It was one of those summer nights, the ones where it doesn’t get dark until 9pm and everything feels light and happy and infinite. You were smiling as you were walking with Draco hand in hand; you didn’t think anything could ruin the light feeling of the soft wind rustling your hair as the gentle sun glittered down. That was, until you stepped inside the manor. 

To say you weren’t what Draco’s parents were expecting would be an understatement. You’d finally convinced Draco to let you meet his parents after nearly a year and a half of dating; he said he didn’t want you to get hurt and over the course of the dinner you understood. 

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Always & Forever (One Shot)

 Summary: It’s your 6th wedding anniversary and Bucky wants to surprise you with something special. Only problem is, he’s absolutely clueless. Time to call in the Cavalry!

Warnings: NONE

A/N: This is my first one shot. I’m truly a sap for Bucky Barnes and romance. Happy reading!!!

7 years. That’s how long you and James Buchanan Barnes have been together. 2 years dating and 5 years married. No one knew the impact [Y/N] had on the brooding super soldier. She managed to creep inside his scrambled mind, knock out the darkness and replace it with happiness, self-worth, and unyielding love fierce as a lion and gentle as a lamb. That’s why Bucky knew your upcoming anniversary had to be nothing short of amazing!!!

However, one MAJOR obstacle stood between him and the coveted “Husband of the Year” award…….James Buchanan Barnes didn’t know diddly-squat about planning an anniversary shindig!! Sure picking out flowers and candy were easy, along with ordering pizza or going out to dinner at ‘The Cre8tion Station’, a quaint little bistro [Y/N] loved, specializing in mouthwatering sushi, a vast array of soup and delicious chicken salad.  

But your wedding anniversary wasn’t some mediocre occasion and everything had to be on a grander scale. Bucky wanted to have the dinner on the Tower’s rooftop!! In order to make this elegant evening come to life, he enlisted the help of some real heavy hitters; Pepper for her event planning expertise. She knew the best decorators, florists and caterers in the world! Nat and Wanda volunteered for shopping duty. They knew [Y/N’s] taste in clothing and Bucky trusted their flair for fashion.

Let’s not forget Daddy Warbucks himself, Anthony Edward Stark. His fondness for her meant nothing was too expensive. That made Nat and Wanda simply giddy because running amuck in New York with limitless credit was every woman’s dream.

[Y/N], Steve, Scott, Thor and Rhodey were on a 5 day mission, scheduled to return on Friday. This afforded Pepper, Nat, Wanda, and Tony time to plan without interference. It would be a total surprise!!! Tears pooled in Bucky’s azure blue-grey eyes simply thinking about your wedding anniversary. Never in a million years could he have dreamt love would overtake the demons in his mind and ground him. He loved [Y/N] with every fiber of his being and wanted nothing short of perfection to make this night memorable!!!


*******************

By the time Wednesday rolled around, ‘Operation Anniversary Surprise’ was in full effect. Bucky checked the weather forecast for the 100th time. Nat and Wanda’s tasks were complete. [Y/N’s] dress was stunning; a charcoal grey Kaufman Franco Studded Sleeveless V-Neck Cocktail dress, paired with black stiletto’s to accentuate [Y/N]’s long legs. Although Bucky wanted to see her dress, Nat and Wanda forbid him from peeking until Friday.

********************

Bucky and Tony visited “DuBose & Son Atelier.” Francois chose a Charcoal grey fitted suit, deep purple tie and pocket square. He said it brought out Bucky’s blue eyes. “Monsieur Barnes, c’est magnifique and might I add, no outfit is complete without a pair of black shoes.”

Tony pointed to a pair of black Hugo Boss Italian Leather shoes. “Excellent choice Monsieur Stark.” Bucky stepped out of the fitting room. Tony and Francois were absolutely floored. “I gotta admit Buckaroo, you look dashing. Not as handsome as I am, but it’s a close fifth.”

Turning his gaze towards the full length mirror, Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes. Gone were the shadows that outlined his scarred body; gone were the voices that ran rampant through his thoughts.

“Hmmm, not bad Barnes,” he mumbled.

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Proper Hello

IMAGINE: John, Mary and Sherlock are at (Y/N)’s house for dinner. What happens when John and Mary leave?

[gif is not mine. ooc of sherlock (sometimes)] 

warnings: none

word count: 740


“What is that?” Was the first thing Sherlock said as he walked into her house. “And why is it looking at me like that?” Sherlock felt a nudge behind him and he respectfully moved.

“It’s a cat Sherlock, haven’t you seen one before?” John asked as he put down his coat. “And it’s looking at you because he’s interested.” He rolled his eyes before walking into the kitchen, “Now come along, she’s waiting for us.”

Sherlock and John walked into the kitchen and was instantly filled with a delicious aroma. “That smells good, what is that?” Sherlock asked as he saw her mixing something in a bowl. He saw her hips move from side to side and gulped. ‘Don’t even think about it.’ He mentally said to his nether regions. ‘Now, is not the time.’  

“It’s lamb roast but with my father’s special ingredient,” she turned to face him and wink, “and hello. Sorry I couldn’t answer the door, I was a bit preoccupied.” She turned back around and started mixing.

“It’s okay, where’s Mary?” John asked as he looked for his wife who was around 25 minutes earlier than them. She nodded to the bathroom and John went.


“You got a furball on your leg.” Sherlock pointed to her leg, where a cat was rubbing up against it.

She stopped mixing and picked the cat up, “Him? Oh yes, I forgot to tell you I got a cat, his name is Gale,” she rubbed noses with the cat and Sherlock smiled, “he’s a bit serious sometimes though, always seems like he’s thinking. Quite like you actually.” She let Galen back on the floor and walked over to him. “Hey.” She wrapped her arms around him and smiled.

Sherlock almost instantly put his arms around her, “Hello. How have you been?” He kissed the top of her head, it may have seemed like a friendly gesture but between them they knew it meant a lot more.

“Good, now that you’re here. What about you?”

“It’s been going alright. There’s been a case that Mycroft wanted me to look at. Quite boring actually.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he relaxed into her arms.

“Can you tell me?” She pulled away and looked at his face.

“Sorry, can’t. It’s top secret.” he winked and pulled her closer. She laughed against him and he felt the vibrations. “I missed you.”

“I know, I’ve missed you too.” She went on her tip-toes and kissed him briefly on the lips. They held on to each other, comfortable in the silence.

“What have we missed?” Mary asked as she entered the room, they quickly both pulled away. “How’s the food? Is it burned yet?”

She laughed as she walked over to the oven, “I’m glad that you have so much faith in my cooking Mary. Supper is almost ready.”

While they waited for the lamb to finish cooking, she poured everyone a glass of wine and began to talk. They talked until they heard a beeping, signalling the lamb was done. “Oh, look at that. Isn’t that a beauty?” She awed as she pulled out the lamb from the oven.


Dinner went by quickly and soon enough Mary and John had to leave. “I’ll see you both tomorrow maybe? Down by the cafe that we all like?” She inquired as she walked them over to the door.

The couple nodded, “What about you Sherlock? Wanna catch the cab with us?” John asked.

“No, we have to talk about something,” he gestured between him and her, “I’ll catch one later, or I might stay in here for tonight.” John and Mary both nodded, a grin on their faces.

“Well have fun! Both of you, and we’ll both see you tomorrow.” Mary yelled as she got into the cab.

“Don’t be late!”

 As soon as Sherlock closed the front door he was roughly pushed into her lips, which he eagerly kissed back. “You have no idea how much I have wanted to do that all night.” Sherlock left kisses all over her face, her neck and her chest.

 “I think I do,” She rubbed herself up against the bulge in his jeans, “now, let’s have a proper hello.” She pulled his head and smashed their lips together, her hands quickly removing his shirt.

“Here?” He asked breathlessly as she began working on his belt.

“Yes.”

“Little vixen.” His words were choked out as she began removing his underwear.

It’s that time again.

Springtime. The Paschal season. Aviv.

The season of rebirth, renewal, and too much bleeping rain.

The time of flowers blooming, bears waking, trees budding, eggs hatching, and Jews frantically cleaning their homes and screaming this crucial message into the void:

No, Christians, you should not have Passover seders.

“But why?” comes the eternal reply. “The Old Testament is part of our tradition too! Jesus celebrated Passover! Why can’t we?”

Read on, and I’ll tell you.

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anonymous asked:

34 FOR IRENIDES PLEASE AND THANK (IT WAS SO HARD TO CHOSE ONLY ONE PROMPT BECAUSE ALL OF THEM WOULD MAKE AMAZING IRENIDES PROMPTS)

Ok, here we go! Thank you for your patience, anon, I hope it was worth the wait! Also, two things: one, a reminder that I haven’t read Thick as Thieves yet (it’s coming tomorrow–I’m dying inside). I doubt that has any real bearing on this small story, but just in case; and two, I’m changing the prompt “It’s not like I missed you or anything” just a bit, because, while the sentiment is so Irenides oh my gosh, I can’t imagine either of them saying that exact phrase. Hope that’s ok. And, onward!


A servant set a large platter down on the table in front of the Queen, a whole lamb roasted to golden brown perfection sitting upon it. Attolia raised both eyebrows. To her immediate right sat a loaf of crusty bread, and a dish of soft, spreadable cheese. 

She stood, nearly causing the serving girl behind her to drop her amphora of wine. 

“Your Majesty?” One of the barons sitting closest to her asked, standing hastily. She paused to give him a cold smile.

“Please, eat,” she ordered, gesturing to the feast before the assembled court. Then she swept out of the throne room and down several successive flights of stairs, her attendants and guards chasing after her like a disorderly flock of ducklings. 

Attolia arrived in the kitchens with a gust of icy fury, garnering the immediate attention of a young woman who was elbows deep in soap, scrubbing dishes. Her mouth fell open, her round face immediately turning pink.

“Your Majesty,” the girl said, drying her hands on her apron. She dropped into a bow that made up for any gracelessness with enthusiasm. 

“Did you assist in preparing dinner tonight?” Irene asked, straightforward in her displeasure. 

“I did, my Queen.” The girl’s face blanched. “Was it not to your liking?”

The Queen ignored her question. “Why was no food provided for the King?” 

The young woman’s fingers twisted in her stained apron and she bit her lip before answering. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I didn’t know he was in the palace.”

And he wasn’t. Attolis had been gone for three weeks, and would surely be gone for a while longer. That didn’t matter. 

“And are you so familiar with the king’s schedule that you can predict what meals he will or will not be partaking in?”

The serving girl paled further. “I just thought you might like to eat something that you usually can’t because he’s here.” 

Attolia raised her eyebrows again, her mouth pursed in a white line, lovely and furious. The girl bowed again, realizing her error.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she pleaded. “I was wrong to assume.”

Irene huffed in quiet vexation, but she answered with significantly less fire in her eyes. “Every meal is to be prepared and served with the King in mind, regardless of whether he is in the palace or not. Is that understood?”

“Of course, my Queen. Shall I prepare some more suitable food now?”

“No.” Attolia turned on her heel, her attendants parting before her like water around a rock. “I’ve lost my appetite.”



The thief slipped into the room quietly, his soft soled boots muffled by the expensive rugs that decorated the floor. There was no moonlight tonight, but he didn’t need it to know the layout of the bedroom. He slipped around the large desk, pulling his over-shirt off as he did, casting it onto the chair to his right. Both boots came off next, kicked over by the door. And finally, the prosthetic hook, making up for his missing right hand, was dropped without ceremony onto the bedside table. 

He crawled onto the bed, pulling down the elaborately embroidered coverlet, and slipping underneath. And again, he needed no light to reach forward and wrap his arm around his wife, gently stopping her wrist as she instinctively grasped at the knife under the pillow.

“Eugenides,” she murmured softly, releasing her grip on the weapon. She rolled over to face him, the dark complete but unheeded as she lifted a hand to brush against his cheek. 

“My queen,” he whispered, kissing her fingertips when they ventured across his lips.

“You said ten weeks. It’s been thirteen.” 

“I know,” Attolis answered, truly repentant. “I’m sorry.” 

There was a warmly textured silence, heavy with sleep and worries, too long present in their minds, slipping away. 

“How was court?” Eugenides said, turning over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. It had been a long time since he’d slept in an actual bed. 

“Peaceful. There was not one scene, shouting match, or declaration of war without you to spur it on.” She carded a hand through his too-long hair.

“You missed me terribly, then?” 

“Of course not,” she lied, pulling her hand away. He scoffed into the pillow, and they both slept.


Eugenides slept through sword training the next morning, arriving on the balcony for breakfast tousle haired and grumpy, rubbing at his eyes like a child. He sat down across from his wife, blinking down at the meal laid on the table.

“You had the kitchens alerted of my return,” he observed coolly, reaching for the bowl of honey to stir into his runny yogurt, the figs and dates sitting next to his cup already cubed, the bread torn into small chunks with a bowl of oil for dipping. 

“No, I did not,” Irene remarked placidly, sipping from her glass. Her husband gave the smallest hint of a smile.

“I see,” he said. “You did miss me.” 

She did not answer. His smile grew.   

harrvwells  asked:

in part 1 of the bad beginning for the Netflix show, the lamb Justice Strauss brings over has a mint jelly, something they found necessary to have her state. Mint and peppermint are closely related, and as they both have menthol (the usual allergy inducing element), I was wondering if it is significant in any way? Especially since this was a scene not in the books. love your theories <3

Ah! That’s hilarious, Olaf wasn’t being rude, he had to eat the lamb by himself so the Baudelaire orphans wouldn’t get terrible allergies!

I don’t know whether that “allusion” was intentional because roast lamb with mint is a very common recipe. Are the Baudelaire orphans allergic to mint in general or just peppermints? It’s never made clear.

But Justice Strauss serving the Baudelaire orphans a mint-based recipe would tie in with the running theme of guardians providing the children with well-intentioned yet inappropriate education (such as Jospehine offering toys they wouldn’t like).

Thanks for your readership, @harrvwells! Come back anytime.

The Suriel - Flower Girl (fanfic)

@fireheart-cursebreaker - As requested and promised. A fan fiction of the Suriel as the Flower Girl at Feyre’s wedding. I had to decide if I wanted to make this funny or serious. And I had to choose if the Suriel would enjoy the experience or loathe Feyre for all eternity because of it. In the end, I tried to stay as true to the Suriel’s character as I possibly could, which led to some very interesting content. And there’s a little twist at the end that I hope you love. Enjoy!

@acourtofrhysandandcassian @nikkgeo12 @zoev1623 @elentiya-white @rhystrashforever 

All rights to the story and characters belong to SJM.          

~

          There was too much bustling about for Its taste. Too many people running to and fro with fabric and flowers, jewelry and crowns, platters laden with honeyed tarts and other disgusting, foul smelling delicacies.
           Blood. Fear. Screams of agony. The pleas of the dying for mercy. That is what the Suriel longed to feast upon. It had been in this damned city far too long. But It had made a promise. And the Suriel never broke Its promises. Whether they were promises of eternal torment, or promises of truth and friendship.
           Friend. That is what Feyre had called It the day she once again trapped It deep in the Illyrian Mountains. It had smelled her coming long before she arrived, and was curious to hear what Feyre-Cursebreaker, Defender of Velaris, High Lady of Night would wish to ask.

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Easter || Buttercream

Originally posted by shopingsta

Requests are currently [ CLOSED ]

Masterlist can be found [ HERE ]

Word Count: 800+

Summary: In which you are obsessed with easter, and never fail to stun the boys with your new additions to your hunts and trails. 

A/N: I wrote this in a few minutes and so it’s not the best but it’s so appropriate and i’m vv happy with it and omg that gif made he laugh so hard my stomach hurt. the more you watch it the funnier it gets. 





Easter was perhaps one of your favorite holiday out of them all, not just because the spring season brought around a newly found sense of beautiful scenery and a happy atmosphere to match; but because you had seven boys waking up at six am every easter morning, each as excited as the next for your annual easter egg hunt.

The first time you ever did your traditional easter egg hunt for them, they were all in awe at the detail and time you put into each and every aspect of it. They insisted that there was way too much chocolate hidden, that they’d still be finding eggs at Christmas; but at the end of the day, as you all sat down for the lamb roast you’d prepared, none of them could wipe the smiles off of their faces.

You could tell that it brought back a sense of childhood magic, especially since you set up the whole thing at three am when you knew they were all asleep. For two years running, they’d all spent easter weekend at Joe’s apartment: watching easter movies and being forced to make chocolate cereal nests with you.

Joe’s apartment had proved the perfect place for an egg hunt, the stairs were littered with mini eggs and you had grand prizes at the end of each trail; gigantic handmade eggs with their names engraved into them. This year though, you decided that you wanted to make things even more crazy than usual. And so you spent the two weeks leading up to easter hiding your bin bags full of eggs under the bed in Joe’s guestroom, you spent hours at your computer printing out and laminating easter banners and arrows for the hunt.

You laid in the guest bed, staring up the ceiling and itching to jump out of the bed and start preparing the trail, but you knew you had to wait or else the boys would wake up and ruin the surprise. As a child, you’d always hated surprises, and so since you were young you took on the role of creating the surprises, and since then you’d been obsessed.

When your phone began to vibrate at three am, you throw yourself out of bed and smile widely, leaning down and slowly pulling all of the huge garbage bags out from under your bed - eyeing all of the colourful chocolate and piles of laminated clues.

You sneak out into the hallway and make sure to check that all of the boys are asleep before you do anything, not risking one of them walking in on you setting it all up by any means. It took you about an hour and a half to set everything up perfectly, to sneak up next to all of them and placing little baskets down beside their heads with three little eggs and an energy drink in each to start them off.

When you could look in any direction and spot at least twenty eggs, you smiled proudly and pulled out your phone, keeping your voice down as you explain what you’d done and showed everyone your hard work. You end the vlog clip by giving them a cheesy smile and a thumbs up before yawning and making your way back into the spare bedroom, snuggling down into the duvet and wondering what time the boys would have you up this year.

At ten o'clock, you were woken up by seven grown men running into your room and body slamming you, baskets in their hands and amused smiles on their faces. You scream as Joe reaches out and begins to tickle your hips, unable to stop squirming and screeching until he stopped and you were finally able to sit up. You grin widely and run your hand through your hair. “You didn’t start without me, right?”

“Course not!” Oli exclaims as you push yourself out of bed and re-adjust your shirt; glancing back at them all over your shoulder as they all stare at you intensely, as if waiting for you to give them the go ahead. Chuckling, you turn around and tilt your head to the left. “The grand prizes at your end have your names on them, to save the arguments we had to conquer through last year.”

They all smirk and nudge each other, and you pull out the special edition Rolex you’d had made especially for this. They all stare at it with wide eyes, before looking up at you with their jaws dropped. You smirk and wave the watch in the air. “First to get to the end of their personal trail gets the Rolex. Ready? Set? Go.”

Cigarillos

Silver was asleep, his arm covering his face. He was dead to the world, sleeping like a man who had not closed his eyes in months. His hair was longer, a subtle sign that, indeed, time had passed. She always thought of his hair as a representation of his mind: dark, but still able to reflect light. She looked for his braids and found them oddly fresh. He had been fumblingly redoing them without her help and this, made her teeth chatter. Their love was born from violence, in a space where kindness, sensuality, or even grooming oneself were acts of disobedience to the ways of nature. This “civilized world” who had branded him a criminal, and her, a slave. She knew that he had kept his braids as souvenirs of her hands, as souvenirs of her.

“Where was I again?” she whispered to herself.

After she had grabbed his hand when he was battling fever and the effects of Fremah’s efficient, but torturous, ointment, the need to touch him had never really faded. Indeed, it was still alive, in the space between her fingers, in the middle of her palms, in the bed of her nails. She remembered the night she told herself she would never stop touching him.

After the war council with the captains, she was exhilarated and terrified by her new duties. They all looked at her as if a crown had organically grown from her very skull. The air was heavy with the smell of rain and, in the distance, a concert of drums celebrated their victory. The camp would not sleep tonight. The maroons were going to drink and dance to forget death, to push away the English soldiers and the promise of chains they represented. They were going to dance for the wounded, the dead and for her father too. As she walked to her quarters, she saw Béno, standing next to a roasting lamb, wearing only a soldier’s red coat held together by a belt, her large breasts threatening to escape it at every move. They locked eyes when she wiped her greasy knife on her sleeve and they both snickered. She realized that many of her people were wearing the red coats. They were trophies. A few feet away from the fire, Maria was wearing hers as a skirt, her hips exposed, her chest covered by a ripped white shirt worn as a corset. It was still covered in blood. She wondered if the white pirates would be shocked by their behavior.

Good if they were.

When she crossed path with Maria, she held her hands for a moment.

“I know you can’t dance tonight because of mourning so I made gift for you princesa.”

She turned her head as she spoke, exposing a cigarillo tied to one of her thick curls. Madi pretended to tuck Maria’s hair behind her ear to slowly retrieve her offering.

“Since you don’t need my husband tonight, I will go and use him now.”

She was grinning so hard her eyes were tearing up. Madi mockingly rolled her eyes in response and left, Maria’s laughter caressing the back of her neck. She was walking opposite a flow of people going to the riverside to dance, they all smiled and nodded, openly acknowledging her new condition. She had been a princess since childhood, but a warlord, only for hours.

She entered her empty rooms and nonchalantly changed into one of her father’s long sleeved white shirts. She sat on her small library’s floor, tucking her bare legs under her, rolling Maria’s gift between her fingers. That woman was still Cuban to the bone and laced her cigarillos with the perfect balance of tobacco and marijuana. The two of them would sneak into her mother’s quarters, lay at her feet and smoke with her. She loved watching the smoke dance in the air while Maria’s plaintive voice sang songs about women who died of love.

She put her cigarillo on a candle’s flame and took a long drag, her eyes closed, listening to the drums, to the screams of overexcited children and to the chants of women. She recognized Béno’s creole twang. “Stare death in her red eyes and say: not today” she repeated after them. She wished Silver was there. They had been side by side all day and she felt oddly off balance now that he was gone. Earlier, when Blackbeard asked why Silver was sitting with them and not standing behind his captain, like the red woman was, she calmly answered that it was her table, and that she chose the number of chairs around it. All those terrifying white people had playfully accepted her response except Silver, who was already staring at her anyway.

When she opened her eyes, he was standing at her door, a surprised grin on his face, gazing at the smoke sipping out of her lips. Madi wondered for a second if she was hallucinating.

“Come smoke with me.”

He sat next to her and she handed him her cigarillo.

“There is nothing in there which can make a man like you say or do anything he doesn’t want to.”

He chuckled, brought it to his lips and finished it, blowing away perfect rings of white smoke.

He was about to say something when she dug her fingers in his hair, just above his ear. He froze, then slowly leaned into her touch. He was breathing so heavily that she felt she had to put her other hand on his chest. He kissed her. They both tasted like Maria’s gift.

She wondered as he moved from her mouth to her neck and back again, how other women knew that a man would be the last one they would ever kiss.

The only man they would ever love.  How did they know “oh, this will be the death of me?” (She needed to ask Maria.)

The rain crashed on the ground with violence when his hands closed on her breasts. She had the curious feeling the two events were connected.

“I want him.” she said softly to the rain. He didn’t hear her. She ran her fingers through his beard. He stopped moving.

Appearances and duties. The men. The Walrus. Flint. He too wore a crown made of bones after all.

She let him go.  

The next time they were alone again, she wailed her voice hoarse. Her chest never really felt the same after it.

           She had been to war since and, instead of being paid for her military service, like the white soldiers were, she had paid her uniform by handing over the girl she had been then, the girl who thought Silver’s tongue was going to drive her insane, the one who cursed like a pirate when he held her down. She too had been chained and thrown below deck. She had escaped that tenebrous place only twice. The first time, on that beach, when he didn’t come back from the sinking ship, she wanted to find the sharpest rock and smash her face into it. The other one, when he came back to her, she wanted to get on her knees to worship two gods, him and the other one.

But she was gagged when he asked if he would be enough for her, her mouth sewn shut when Woodes Rogers threatened him. The warrior and the lover couldn’t exist in the same place. At that time, only the crown was enough.

Now, she was a warrior without a war and Silver was a lover with no one to love.

Maria’s fierce despair forced her to see that, perhaps, one was more painful than the other.

She had to come back from the battlefield.

On the cliff, maintaining her distance, she had just asked him if he would join her this night. He had nodded softly, like a boy who didn’t fully recognize a distant relative.

She went to Maria afterwards to tell her that she could not do it. She had changed her mind. She could not go back to him. She wanted her to see it too. Her childhood friend then told her a story. The story of the day she almost poisoned Koffi and Béno, of the day she almost hung herself. You don’t know the kind of lover you are until the day love tries to drown you.

When Silver came to her, she made love to him barbarously, in a manner she didn’t know she would like. He was naked and she wasn’t. She baptized herself in her own sweat and moved so hard blood ran out of her nose, coloring her front teeth a soft pink. She felt like she was picking the lock of her own home, desperate to get in. His blue eyes looked as black as hers, drowned in both bliss and sorrow. Inside her head, the starved lover was laughing. Madinké Scott, her father, the man who had masks for the world but showed her his true face, seemed to laugh with her too. In his culture, your masks weren’t lies, they were part of you. Silver shared this trait with him. She did too. The first time they spoke to each other, their masks were both firmly in place, playing pirate and princess seamlessly, fighting with their words, circling each other. Behind it, waking up, a woman simply wanted to ask a man: “What’s your name?”

Sedated by her orgasms, she wiped the blood from her lips and looked at her red fingers. She had not bled the first time they had been together. She had never experienced discomfort with him. In a way, she was the most carnal of the two.

As she fell asleep, she decided: the villain would not make her story. The lovers will.

anyways before i go to bed here is the beginning of the genie au probably

The smell was overwhelming.

With every step Natsu took, his nose would catch another scent, and often it would either make his mouth water or his stomach churn. The air was full of indefinable spices, the heavy, thick smell of fruits, burning myrrh, the stench of raw meat browning in the sun, sweet tea, dirt water, frying vegetables, excrements, perfume, things he couldn’t even begin to define or pick out – they all blended together and created a sensual overload.

Natsu thought that if he didn’t soon sit down in one of the little stalls to drink a jug of over-sweetened mint tea and eat an entire roast lamb, he would probably pass out. The narrow, packed alleyways stretched endlessly, each turn leading him further into a maze he wasn’t sure he could escape. There was nothing left to do than walk onwards, to be pulled along with the crowds and drink in the sights and ignore the vendors shouting into his ears and touching his shoulders. There was chaos all around him.

Natsu felt alive. There was no place on earth he could compare to a bazaar. There was nothing that compared to the exhilaration of travel.

i kinda expected from the outline that charls’ story would give us insight of the political situation post-books, but DAMN, that was great. and intense.

laurent insisting on being crowned at marlas. slavery already abolished. the alliance of kings being so widely supported to the point of kyroi shunning any randos (sorry merchants) who are said to dislike it.

my nerd sons laurent and damen still deciding that some problems are best resolved by a group of ten or less, in secret. I MEAN. they are not going to let that go any time soon, thrones be damned. they are addicted.

and then there’s shit like laurent hitting someone with a side of roast lamb and laurent and damen handing a rabbit back and forth and being like “wow if only we werent clueless royalty and could feed ourselves just now”

terminallycactus  asked:

n the spirit of easter: dragonjack au: rhys wants to celebrate easter w his kittens but theyre not v excited about finding the faberge eggs (dad has a bajillion n his hoard) rhys hid around. jack solves the issue by stealing a whole chicken hutch's worth of eggs and he n rhys hide them for the babbins to sniffer out n chomp down on and schmootz yolk and egg shell all over their faces. rhys is like okay this is kinda gross n they gotta take baths now but theyre havin a good time so its worth it<3

god I love this prompt a lot so I had to do something for it


Rhys hadn’t got much enthusiasm from Jack when he’d suggested that they try to celebrate Easter with the kittens. Dragons typically existed outside of the realm of most human customs, usually too busy with their own devices to pay much attention to trivial mortal celebrations. But Rhys had long been eager to impart some of his own traditions onto the kittens, and truth be told he missed the massive feast and hunt and celebration that his parents had thrown every year inside of the palace.

However, his first idea to celebrate the holiday had ended in a bit of a failure. He’d seen various bejeweled eggs scattered about Jack’s hoard, varying in size and shape and how heavy with gems and precious metals they were. Rhys had thought he’d had a brilliant idea when he decided to hide those eggs around the lair and get the kittens to find them, but sadly the eggs just didn’t stand out against the splendor of the rest of the hoard. The kittens were too used to seeing the fancy eggs as apart of their home, so they weren’t particularly interested in hunting them down, and just ended up playing with each other rather than look for the eggs, much to Rhys’ disappointment.

The young man had sat down amongst the furs and silks that made up his bed, frowning to himself as he crossed his arms over his knees. He had looked sulkily over to the kittens, who were blatantly ignoring what he’d tried so hard to set up for them.

Jack, to his credit, was the one who ended up finding the solution. He’d left Rhys alone for a few minutes with a kiss to the forehead and an assurance that he’d “fix everything, honeycake, don’t you worry,” before clattering out of the lair and taking flight. In no time, the dragon had returned, surprising Rhys with both a freshly slain lamb and a clawful of large, fresh chicken eggs.

“If I’ve learned anything from rearing a clutch of kittens, it’s that they respond better to food than anything else.” Jack chuckled as he laid the dead lamb out for later, changing into his human form as he unloaded the warm eggs into Rhys’ lap.

It was a bit of a task to get the six squirming kittens to hide under the silks while their parents hid the eggs about the lair, but tucking a couple of pieces of venison jerky into the folds of the blankets kept them busy enough that Jack and Rhys could tuck the hen’s eggs into places both easy and more difficult to reach. As soon as all of them were properly  hidden, they returned to the wiggling bundle of kittens, lifting up the blanket. The kittens were almost instantly off, some tumbling out of the little nest as they followed the scent of food to the hidden eggs. Once any of the kittens found one, they pounced, easily breaking the fragile shells with their teeth and claws. They quickly buried their snouts into the innards of the eggs, lapping and suckling at the yolk and making happy little snuffly squeaks. Their little tails wagged up in the air as they ate, licking the shells clean before they scampered off to find more eggs.

“Aww….it’s gross, but cute…” Rhys couldn’t help but coo even as his kittens ended up practically covered in gooey yolk, licking it off their snouts and claws and even each other as they hunted down and ate every last egg. Before, as usual, bounding back to get kisses from Rhys. The young prince let out a small laugh as he laid back against the furs of his bed, letting the kittens crawl all over him, their little tongue lapping affectionate against his face as they cuddled up against him. After a couple of moments each kitten found a nice little nook to curl up in against Rhys’ body, soon taking a quick nap with their tiny bellies full and satisfied.

“Well, that went well…” Rhys chuckled, not daring to move and possibly disturb one of his now napping kittens. They definitely needed baths now that their snouts and claws were all covered in egg yolk, but he figured he’d let them sleep for the time being. He turned his head towards Jack, who was watching the whole thing with amusement and affection. Rhys smiled softly at his mate, absently stroking the head of one the kittens who had fallen asleep on his chest.

“So I’m kind of um…occupied…think you could start roasting that lamb for when they wake up?” Rhys asked, rubbing the little nubby horns on the kittens’ head. Jack grinned, crouching down to press a kiss to Rhys’ forehead.

“Sure thing, sugarplum….and you’re welcome,” Jack rubbed a bit of yolk clinging to Rhys’ cheek, chuckling before sucking the finger into his mouth. “That was fun.”

“Come Dine With Me” competition!

For a lovable anon. Where I am from we actually don’t have “Come Dine With Me” show but we have similar “Tables set!” (Wikipedia says “Spread!“ but let me tell you that’s some ugly translation) For those of you who don’t know this show at all: You gather 5 amateur cooks and each day one of them hosts a dinner for everyone. Their rivals give them points (1-10) and after five days the person who has the most points wins some prize, usually money. The dinner consists of appetizer/soup, main dish, dessert, and an activity. (Yes, I know that it is usually appetizer followed by soup but listen, I’ve just came up with 20*3 unique meals and 20 activities. And speaking for myself, I have problem to fit into myself a dinner consisting of two dishes, so 4 feels too many.)
I had our leaders randomly (I used dice) sorted into groups of 5, so we will have 4 winners in the end.

Group1:

Vol’jin: Raptor egg soup, tiger-burger with mashed potatoes, exotic fruit salad with ice cream, and bone carving.
Thrall:
Spring rolls, beef goulash, 7 flavors rainbow pudding, and candle making.
Mekkatorque:
Garlic spread and spicy bread, scrambled eggs with sour cream and gammon, caramel cream puffs, and make-your-own-firework with later firework display.
Garrosh:
Spring carp soup, clefthoof kabob, Terokkar pine-nut cake, and Hine’n’Seek with his 37 ghost children (unintended).
Genn:
Tartare, slow cooked turkey with dumpling, various cupcakes, and cupcakes decorating.

Winner: Vol’jin. Warchief, more like Warchef.

Group2:

Falstad: Open (vegetarian) sandwiches, escalope of three meats with baby carrot, macaroon, and playing darts.
Baine:
Sweet corn seeds in spice, chicken tikka masala in flatbread, grilled fruit, and painting on leather.
Tyrande:
Spicy cinnamon rolls, sweet rice with pineapple and crunchy chicken bits, mascarpone cheese cakes, and beauty makeover.
Velen:
Small fruitcakes, jungle stew with bread, ice cream, and ice cream making.
Gallywix:
Creamy tomato soup, trout a la creme, tiramisu, and mini golf.

Winner: Gallywix. If you bitch about people’s cooking, you better be a good cook yourself, that’s his motto.

Group3:

Sylvanas: Mushroom cake, roasted lamb with stuffing-cooked-aside, olives and creme cheese in spring onion (presented as eyeballs), and mirror labyrinth.
Lor’themar:
Especially spicy devil clams, saffron-and-curry rice with sweet deer, various baked cheeses with cranberry sauce, and fire dancing.
Ji:
Ramen, noodles of thousand flavors and grilled vegetable, sweet rice cakes and Hearthstone tournament.
Muradin:
Thin mint-and-chocolate cookies, hare stew with potatoes and homemade cornbread, small grilled cheeseburgers, and ale tasting.
Aysa:
Sweet-and-sour chili soup, crispy breaded chicken strips with orange sauce, vegetable sushi rolls, and painting on silk shirts.

Winner: Lor’themar. The sweet victory was worth staying sober for five days straight.

Group4:

Anduin: Creamy fish soup, potato pancakes with beef, cheese fondue, and 5-man version of Jihui.
Varian:
Onion soup, pork tenderloin with pasta and spinach sauce, blueberry cheesecake, and opening champagne with a sword.
Moira:
Homemade pates with dwarven shortbread, sweet dumblings with strawberry stuffing, chocolate-vanilla butter roll, and visiting her lava-heated glasshouse.
Taedal:
Radish salad with sour goat cheese, skewered warp stalker bits and exotic fruit, open sandwich (danish style), and pearl-hunt diving.
Lady Deathwhisper:
Gazpacho, risotto with four meats, frozen cream puff ball surprise (varying flavor and a nut inside), and ice sculpting.

Varian: Hold on, hold on. Lady Deathwhisper? What is she doing here?
Lady Deathwhisper:
You see, there was one competitor needed for this group and the Lich King thought the Scourge should be… More positively represented.
Lady Deathwhisper:
And Kel’thuzad is a miserable cook, so…

Winner: Anduin. The living proof that less sometimes means more and simple and traditional is always good.

Cooking with Tom

Author ladyoftheteaandblod

 

And now on the BBC “Cooking with Tom” 


The voice over lady seems to be having a rough day.

 (Strike up the theme tune and away we go. I could have done the voice over for any show and I get this, every week the torture of watching him, the god of the apron, strut his stuff….shit time to speak)



Ladies tonight on cooking with Tom, Tom will cook up a lamb shanks, with baby Roast potatoes, spinach and baby carrots.

( Shit nearly said Shag instead of shank, but let’s face it who really gives a toss what he cooks. As long as we get to look at those long fingers handling the food, twirling his utensils and chopping things up nobody cares. If he licks his body fingers like last time I’m done.

Oh god the camera man’s gone for the butt shot as he goes to the fridge. Bloody sadist, that shit does it on purpose. Last week he zoomed in on Toms rear as he bent to put his spotted dick the oven)

For this week’s dessert he will be whisking up a  raspberry mousse with sponge fingers on the side.

(Fuck that means he’s using cream. Whipping cream!

The thought of him and me with that bowls content and all the things I would really love to do with that white fluffy stuff. How I would love to lick it off his….. Maybe I should just do the voice over for country file.

Look at him running his hands over his neck as he explains how to make those sponge fingers, he bloody knows what he’s doing. You should be on the porn channel you bastard!)

As ever Tom will have one lucky lady from the audience to help him hold his equipment, as he beavers away in his steamy kitchen. She will get to see close up his amazing talents in the kitchen.

(Who writes this script? I bet it’s him. Mind you last week’s girl burnt herself stirring his hotpot, and by the way this one’s looking at him she’s about to go the same way.

He was so sweet about it, he kissed her burnt fingers and looked into her eyes as he apologized, then gave a speech about safety in the kitchen in that chocolate voice of his. The lady that cleans up after did say there were some very odd prints on the work surfaces after filming last week, I wonder what they got up to?

Look at this weeks girl all eyes and boobs Keep your eyes on the food you lucky bitch.)

Tom will help take you through tonight recipes so when your man comes home, he’ll have something hot and filling to look forwards to.

(Yes it’s me on heat and as for food it will be a meal for one from the freezer because after doing this, all I’m good for is being bent over the work top and shagged and that only happens if hubby has nothing else is going on, on his Facebook page. Oh god I need that man and his dipping sauce) 

Tom will give you tips on how to whip your cream to perfection. Just look at that hand action ladies, this is what you are aiming for to get the perfect consistency.

(Trust me I’m watching that hand action and my cream is already whipped)

His sponge fingers are firm to the touch but soft on the inside, this means they have a little resistance when you bite into them, of course some of us use them to lick off the mousse first but that’s up to you.

(I demand to know who wrote this I’m gonna kill him! Get Hiddleston off the telly I need to be able to think again….shit look at his tongue wrapping found that sponge finger….don’t you dare lick off the cream that just ended on her nose…….OH SHIT! THATS IT I’m out of here that bitch did that on purpose)

Next week on cooking with Tom he’s going to show you how to cook and eat asparagus in Parma ham. Sticky barbecue, ribs the kind that you eat with your fingers as the sauce drips down your chin and chocolate covered strawberries. So to help you get through that make sure you have yet another set of batteries ladies because I’m off to my dressing room right now for some me time and I am sure you are too!

(Yes I know I’m sacked I should have stuck to news night….I need a lie down get me my rabbit!)


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picture not mine I just played with it and the thoughts it started.