Star 𝗓ᶻ @starpvvr - Tumblr Blog

11. Just as he’d finished uttering his demand to get to the school—just as he’d stepped back from his Head of Servants at the sense of warning that had so wholly plagued him through the mark at that moment—Kento’s molten, feral eyes had flashed open, the thick off scent of pure discomfort suffusing the air in the hall and nearly suffocating them both.

His Head of Servants had nearly fallen into the wall behind her at the intensity of blond’s heftily swirling aura, the surprised yelp she’d let out in covering her nose having only sharpened the omega’s focus on her even more.

Instinct had quickly built a low rumble in the alpha’s chest at that. Low, warning. Thankfully, it was enough. The omega had stilled in his hold, turned into his chest and buried his nose at the alpha’s shoulder with nothing more than a shudder.

Satoru had experienced an awful, silent relief.

Yet his heart had continued its hard, thumping tempo and cool fear had remained in his throat. Reality revisited him with a cry.

His mate. Something was wrong with his mate.

˗ˏˋ BECAUSE YOU’RE MINE [ M ] on AO3 ⇥

something-heard-before

vympr

Scientist bakes sourdough bread with yeast derived from 4500 year old Egyptian pottery

i'm losing my mind @ this thread......historie......

sassytail

also please note that this scientist is in fact the retired man who invented the xbox.

brunhiddensmusings

oh fuck i listened to a podcast that was interviewing him and the process he went through to make this bread, ologies with allie ward like he went through full on clean room levels of prep to ensure that this was 100% yeast from old egypt and had to bend over backwards to ensure everything involved was uncontaminated he then revealed that the original xbox logo...

is a sourdough boule

XII. The scent of gentle spring rains have his limbs resting in easy pliance.

It’s a good scent. The best scent. The alpha’s scent—and the alpha’s voice, too, a low, bargaining croon vibrating steadily under his ear.

If he could hum he would. Kento is comfortable. So very comfortable; as if he cannot possibly belong elsewhere or exist for more than indulging in this one spot for the rest of his existance. He is more comfortable than he’s ever been in his entire life and he knows it surely and without a sole doubt as he lays here, slowly becoming aware of his prone positioning.

He never wants to be held by another ever again.

This is—this is—

The word dislodges in garbled notes from where it crawls up the back of his throat and then onto the seat of his tongue, flying off before it can tumble behind anymore of the sleep barring his way towards hazy consciousness.

Kento croaks. “Mate.”