Dear Diary,

"Be careful with your Passion,

Don't feel guilty about it,

Passion is strong, but not wrong."

Doctrine of Tabitha, Book of Passion

Been going on about all the way Passion can fuck people up, but I really don't want to even give a whiff of neopuritanism here. It looks like my temples are legit brothels, so while I'm not gonna turn anybody away, prudes are not likely to find my temples or my congregations a super comfortable place. Like, okay, the sexiest Ace motherfucker in the world ought to be able to sit in the middle of a Revel and know that if anybody touches them, it is absolutely either an accident or to get their attention over the noise. So long as they're not actually interfering with the Revelers, I'm down for them being there, too. I mean, seriously, Saffron told me the first thing I did on taking over the Temple of Love was an act of public fornication so intense it literally took the building down.

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. You see that, right there? That's a perfect example of how insidious that neopuritan shit is. Yeah, Saffron says we fucked. We fucked hard, right there on the altar of the Temple of Love. We clapped cheeks so hard we took the building down. But let me make this very fuckin' clear, we did not fornicate. We are married. She is my wife. There's a lot of different things that means to a lot of different people, to a lot of different cultures and nations and all other kinds of shit, but one thing that's pretty fuckin' common? Which might even be the most common single thing associated with the institution of marriage? It is, in fact, a License to Fuck. Yeah, some religions put some weird stipulations around it, ones I do not want in any way associated with my Worship, like you can't be completely naked, or you gotta do it in a particular position, or you can't enjoy it or some shit, which now that I think about it sounds like absolute Patriarchal bullshit, considering I have never seen a guy spurt spooge and not look like he just got his daily dose of dopamine.

When two people who are married have sex, it is by definition not fornication, but my subconscious keeps labelling it that. Then, by extension, marking it as 'dirty' or 'wrong' or 'forbidden fruit'. Shit, I could almost understand that last one and get behind it, because if there was forbidden fruit pie, I do not think Saffron or I would ever do anything again other than me feeding it to her, just pie after pie until I had to make her the Goddess of Pie, then continuing until the end of time. Forbidden fruit is some powerfully motivating shit. I mean, seriously, I get that I'm not super into it, and Future Me seems to have an absolute aversion to it, but if on some unspecified future date, Guy Mode Saffron winds up balls deep in my ass, by Mana or M-Space chicanery blowing a load so large and intense it splurts out my nose, and his only words when he catches his breath are 'sorry, forbidden fruit too tasty'? He's immediately forgiven, and that's only maybe ten percent because he's so fuckin' hot, and fifty five percent because he's Saffron.

Yes, I can and will forgive her anything. Fuck, I can and will permit her everything, and now I'm torn between hoping she never asks nicely to do exactly that, and hoping that she does so mid railing railing.

Saffron. Always Saffron. Y'know, that could be melancholy, could be resigned, could be a lot of things, but when I say it, when I think it, it is absolutely the source and expression of a rush of peace and contentment. If I were locked in a coffin sized box, the thought of which inexplicably fills me with dread even though I'm not claustrophobic, or didn't used to be at least, when the fuck did Future Me get stuck in a box? But if I were stuck in a box just big enough for me and Saffron to be there holding one another? Like, even too small to get it on, just... to be there, together, forever? That would be the tiniest quantum of Heaven. Like, is that what I want? Not really, because the tiniest bit more room so we could not-fornicate for all eternity would be a huge improvement, for example. But if Gods have an afterlife, like if someday I'm no longer worshipped and I wind up having to drift in the desert or some shit like Om the Turtle? If I got to drift with Saffron, I'd consider that a win. A reward, a sign that whatever big cosmic force judges Gods, if there is one, approved of my actions.

For what it's worth, my Daughter, I approve of them.

Thanks, Dad. You're the best.

I know.

I... really don't think there is one. A big cosmic force that judges Gods. I couldn't even tell you why. Maybe it's my increasingly ludicrous atheism. But some part of my guts tells me there's not. Which is weird, because while I run on instinct a lot, I'm not one of those people who believe the cosmos responds to woo. Instinct is just our subconscious telling us shit based on memory and subtle things that slipped past our conscious mind. One of my science teachers told me that, and I gotta tell ya, every chance I've had to look at my instincts, when they were right, backed that up. Honestly, when they were wrong, all I can say is that it's my subconscious, so it only makes sense that it's an unreliable dumbass. The other gut feeling I've got really makes me hope this is one of those times, because on the topic of 'big cosmic forces that judge Gods', my gut says 'nom' with a side of anticipatory drooling.

Speaking of drool and nom, we got home well after dark, and Saffron dragged all of us down to the dining room in her wake. When we left the suite onto the balcony, the smell hit, and I sure as fuck had to speak past some serious salivation when I said, "what about bath time?"

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Without turning, Saffron growled out, "I missed last year, only catching the tastes of a proper Harvest Festival due to Divine Intervention. If I am not in dire need of a bath by the end of this meal, I will be sorely disappointed."

The smell hit when we hit the balcony, but the sight... a line of pies stood down the middle of the table, the one at the head already carved, with Bonnie and Larry each eating. Well, feeding each other, because of course they were. I snagged Saffron and sat her on my lap, only to have her take the unexpected step of shoving the first slice of pie in my mouth instead of the other way around.

Before I could ask, I realized why. Savory pie. Quiche. Bacon, onion, garlic, peppers, both sweet and hot, spinach, corn, carrots. All prepared to perfection, the flavors distinct yet melting together, the textures doing the same. When I swallowed, all of that got eclipsed by Saffron tongue, flickering into my mouth as she kissed me. When she pulled back she frowned a moment, then nodded. "Acceptable. You may feed me a small slice."

I scooped another slice onto my, our plate and reached for a fork, only to have her grab the pie server and cut the slice in half longways, then scoop it up and serve it directly into my mouth. Her eyes danced with laughter the whole time. After I swallowed I said, "I thought I could feed you a slice?"

She smiled, said, "I said a small slice. I'm saving room," then opened her mouth wide. Her tongue slid out over her lower lip.

I am not carrying you off to the Bed until after we've finished dinner. She scrunched up her nose as the first forkful of quiche went in her mouth. Or feeding you nothing but sweet pies.

Drat. My nefarious plan foiled by my spouse's insistence on a nominally healthy diet.

"Hey, I'm compromising with the half-slice. She's getting a whole one." I nodded to Saffron's normal seat, where Marie fed Siobhan her own slice of quiche.

"She," Saffron said before being interrupted by another big bite of quiche, needs the nutrition more than I do.

Excuse me? thought Siobhan.

Skinny, skinny, skinny. When you haven't fainted in a month we'll renegotiate your diet.

A month? I'm going to blow up like a balloon! How will I attend to my duties then?

"Easy!" my Kitten got out before I interrupted her with a crust-heavy bite. We roll you in flour and lick the wet spots! Siobhan blushed, and it only got worse when Saffron thought, my faithful Attack Dog, your next target is our sweet Ice Pop's ability to remain conscious. As you have said unto me, hit her with all your finest rizz.

As I snickered and Siobhan folded her arms under her breasts, which I suddenly realized were just a little more bosomy than I remembered from my first interactions with them, the Maids brought another wave of pies around. I frowned a little and thought, that's not really fair. When do they get to...

Marie interrupted me, nodding to the new row of pies. Half.

It took me a second, but then I watched her eyes, carefully tracking and examining the Maids. Who, despite having no evidence of crumbs on their aprons or lips, went about their duties with lips pressed together, many with their cheeks at least a little visibly full. I went to say something more about it and got a mouthful of pie.

Pork pie, beautifully savory, the meat smoky and melting in my mouth, the crust buttery and crunchy. I had no idea if this was the pork pie I'd read about in books, but it was clearly pork, clearly pie, and clearly as awesome as anything other foodstuffs my Murder Mittens ever had a hand in creating. I swallowed, and once again my clever little Kitten used my mouth as a taste testing chamber. "Hmm... lovely, but not to my liking." Then she fed me another slice.

By the time I finished with that, and I savored the fuck out of that shit, the next round of pie arrived. This time each of us got a small bowl with a six inch wide pie in the middle, and a spoon propped up next to it. I paused a second, tapping the top of it and listening to the sound. It had that perfect combo of melon thump and pastry crunch. Before I could pick up the spoon, Saffron grabbed it, thwacked the top hard, and scooped what looked like thick stew and a chunk of pastry crust and shoved it in my mouth.

"Hahd! Hahd! Hahd!" I breathed in over it until it got to a point where I could taste it, at which point my eyes rolled back. Not chicken. Not turkey, I don't think. Savory. Gamey, but in absolutely all the best ways. Vegetables. Carrots, pearl onions, some other kind of root vegetable, maybe even some kind of fruit. As I savored that bite, I thought, Mittens, this is incredible. What is it?

Duck.

Omigod, so good.

Saffron leaned in and tasted the duck pot pie from my mouth, and her eyes popped open. At which point she turned and began shoveling spoonsful into her mouth, puffing out hot air with each bite, until I snagged the spoon from her. "Slow down and savor it, sweetie."

I blew on each bite, waiting until the heat was just this side of scalding before spooning it into her. I stole a couple pieces of crust, but it was absolutely too cute watching her close her eyes and squee as she savored each bite. I think the sweetness of the fruit really pushed all her happy mouth buttons.

So much pie. Quiche. Pork Pie. Duck Pot Pie. Goose Pot Pie. Some kind of actual meat Minced Meat in a Minced Meat Pie. A Mincemeat Pie of the kind I remembered from back in Eastside. Pumpkin. Some kind of Molasses pie. Apple. Peach. Cherry. Lemon. A couple I couldn't even tell what they were, other than awesome. I got like one bite of each. Like, a big bite, but still just one that I savored while I stuffed the rest of our servings into my Kitten. By the time we finished, I could feel her belly just a little pooched out, and she groaned as I carried her up to sleep, Menace curled up on her lap.

Just as I fell asleep surrounded by my family, surrounded again by all the women staying in our suite, every one of us stuffed to near bursting with pie, I felt the sun rise.

Dreamt of my ladies sunbathing on tentacles above my Maw, melting and dripping down to fill me with soup and sauce, sweet and spicy.

Woke to the feel of the sun setting.