#I appreciate the puttering around inside the garage

[wafflesrisa]

Something very endearing about the Merc engineer seeing Ted and the Sky camera puttering into the garage, and surreptitiously stretching his hand over some data papers on the counter like 👀🤚🙂

[garbria]

Cor opened the door to Cid’s house and stopped just inside. Quiet met his ears, so Cid and Cindy must be out at the garage working on something. For the best, probably. Cid had given Cor free reign of the kitchen today, but it would still go better without an audience.

Nyx was with Libertus and Crowe, supposedly strategizing but more likely getting yelled at for not taking care of himself. Cor trusted them to keep an eye on Nyx and make sure he didn’t push himself too far. It wouldn’t hurt for him to have a reminder of what happened when he worried people, either.

It was the perfect opportunity to make Nyx’s favorite stir fry for him. Takka had managed to get the meat in for him, and he’s managed to scrounge up the rest of the ingredients through judicious use of favors. The first time Nyx ended up on medical leave after they moved in together, Cor was determined to make things as palatable for Nyx as possible. That meant cooking for him while he was laid up. Cor was a decent cook, thanks to Wesk’s tutelage, but he didn’t have practice in cooking Galahdan dishes. It took many weeks of Nyx yelling instructions from the couch for Cor to be satisfied with his versions of Nyx’s favorites.

Now it was tradition. Whenever Nyx inevitably did something that ended with him hurt, Cor cooked for him. It soothed his desire to help, when there was nothing to be done but let things heal. He knew who Nyx was, and he loved him for it, but he was a protector at heart, and he needed to do what things he could for those he loved. Even if it was as simple as making sure Nyx stayed fed with things he enjoyed.

Nyx was always properly appreciative, too.

He puttered around Cid’s kitchen, the familiar motions and smells calming him. Relationships between people like him and Nyx were bound to be stressful for all involved, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

He was just finishing up as he heard the front door open. He silently congratulated himself on his timing as he pulled out some plates.

“Is that what I think it is?” Nyx asked, entering the kitchen.

“I see you’re still in one piece,” Cor said, ignoring the question.

Nyx rolled his eyes. “Eventually they’ll get tired of yelling at me to be more careful.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Cor replied, handing Nyx a plate. “Here, you can set the table.”

Nyx took the plate, glancing at the stove. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I wanted to.” 

Nyx leaned over the plate to press a kiss to the corner of Cor’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Cor said quietly to Nyx’s back. “Always.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content. 

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses. 

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.” 

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.” 

[kindahoping4forever]

You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You // Ashton Irwin

This concept started a while back as a prompt fill and then I got stuck, used the prompt for a different piece and then that allowed me to get unstuck. (Yay!) Thank you to @cal-puddies​ for cheering me on while I figured it out (no jokes about it being too long, only clown emojis so you KNOW shit’s about to go down tbh) and also to @ashtonangst​ for her rallying when I gave her a sneak preview. 

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash (back to basics, pals), what I can only describe as Domestic Thirst, Gardening!Ash, Hammock!Ash, literally so much thirst, brief reference to exhibitionism and bondage, unprotected sex in an established relationship, oral sex performed on a male

Word Count: 3707

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

You walk into the kitchen and sit your breakfast dishes in the sink, smiling to yourself when you see that Ashton has already swooped in and washed the pans you left sitting on the stove “to soak.” It was a rare occurrence for you to be up before him but you were working from home on deadline and had gotten up unreasonably early to finish up a project in time. 

With your responsibilities out of the way earlier than usual, part of you had hoped you’d find your boyfriend still in bed so you could sneak in a few extra zzzs, maybe some cuddle time. But as you survey the kitchen, you spot his keys and sports bottle on the counter, indicating he’d already been out for a run, which is typical. You fill a glass with ice, pour some coffee over it and pad off in search of Ash.

You’re not surprised where you find him: out back, indulging in his newfound favorite pastime: gardening. You’re not sure how or why this hobby started but he absolutely loves it and you've come to appreciate it too: it’s hard not to get swept up when he’s excited about something. He currently appears to be in the middle of a heated confrontation with his green beans so you decide not to bother him just yet and you settle into a chaise lounger with your coffee.

You close your eyes, lean back in your chair and bask in the morning sun for a while until you reach for your glass and feel an empty table. You frown in confusion and open your eyes to see Ashton standing over you, happily taking a sip while checking his phone. 

“Well good morning to you too, THIEF,” you jab. “You know, there’s a whole pot inside if you want coffee.”

He shrugs and takes another sip. “Don’t want coffee, want your coffee.”

Undeterred by the offended look you’re giving him, he sits on the edge of your chair and rubs your thigh. He asks you how your work went and you chat about your mornings, passing the iced drink back and forth between you until it's finished.

Ash sits the glass back down on the table and leans in to give you a quick peck before resuming his work. You attempt to deepen the kiss, throwing your arms around his neck and trying to pull him closer but he chuckles against your lips and breaks free.

“The clouds are starting to move, baby, I need to finish up before it gets too hot,” he explains, gesturing at the sky.

You run your hands over his arm as he gets up to leave. “But I missed not getting my wakeup call this morning,” you whine playfully. Since you started working from home, your favorite part of the day had quickly become seeing which one of you would be the first to suggest the morning start off with a little fooling around.

“Gotta get those stakes in the ground for my tomatoes,” he replies, squeezing your hand as he stands next to your chair, selecting a new playlist to accompany his work.

“You’d rather pound wooden stakes instead of your own girlfriend?” You tease, mockingly striking a sexy pose.

“Well especially now that you’ve referred to my sincere lovemaking as ‘pounding,’ ” he deadpans. You playfully kick at him from your chair but you’re a split second too late and he’s already walking back out to the garden. 

You leave him to his work and return a while later with your laptop and another coffee, planning to get some work done while enjoying the nice day and your boyfriend’s company. But as you sit your things on the table, one glance over to the garden makes you realize you’ve walked into quite the distracting environment. 

Judging from the pair of 8 foot wooden poles that are now protruding from the ground and the amount of sweat soaking through the back of his white t-shirt, Ashton has been hard at work. You're impressed by his progress but as he climbs onto his step stool to place his last stake, you realize it’s the perfect stage for you to drink in all the things you love about the way he’s built and you find your mind and eyes wandering. 

You watch closely as he stretches his body to reach the top of the post and when you see the way his t-shirt is pulling between his shoulder blades, you’re reminded of how you were deprived of dragging your nails down his back that morning. Your eyes travel down and you consider how much you love his ass in light wash denim and how tight the material fits over his thick thighs.

Before you get too far fantasizing about bouncing on his thigh, Ash begins hammering the stick into the soil and your focus is drawn to his arms flexing with each strike; the rolled up sleeves of his t-shirt leave his glistening muscles and tattoos on display. You shift in your seat when you notice his long fingers curling around the rod and you start thinking about how much you wish they were wrapping around something else, like your throat or his own cock.

Your filthy daydream is shattered by the vibration of your phone, alerting you to a text message. You manage to tear yourself away long enough to type out what you hope is a coherent reply and when you look back up, he’s almost done tying the vines of his plant to the newly installed stake. He furrows his brow and you can’t help but recognize it’s the same look of concentration you saw on his face last week when you watched him tie your wrists to the bed frame.  

You zone out until you see he’s on his way to return the toolbox and stool to the garage. You feign interest in what’s on your computer screen and somehow manage not to watch his ass as he walks away.

When Ash returns 10 minutes later you nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of your situation. He’s traded his jeans for a loose pair of athletic shorts, lost his shirt entirely and is heading towards you with a giant bag of soil effortlessly hoisted over one shoulder and a large ceramic pot on the other.

“Just about finished there, handsome?” You ask, hoping the desperation you were feeling doesn’t come through in your voice.

“Not quite,” he says, oblivious to your need and instead bubbling about his project. “Those lavender seeds you picked out were delivered this morning, I wanna pot a couple of those for you.”

Your body is frustrated knowing you’ll have to wait longer for his attention but your heart sings at how happy this all makes him and how eager he is to share it with you. “Sounds good,” you smile at him. “I have a couple things to finish up and then maybe I'll make us some lunch.” 

He sits in the seat next to you, beaming, setting up his supplies at the table. You both get to work but it takes less than five minutes for you to let your eyes wander over and observe him leaning over his pot, working with his large hands.

You feel a varied wave of emotions watching him. In one moment, seeing his hands firmly pat the soil with an open palm, you feel the urgent need to have him recreate that action on your ass. But in the next, the gentle way he’s handling the seeds reminds you of how his hands tenderly dance over your skin when you’re laying in bed, satisfied and talking softly to each other. 

Ashton feels your gaze on him and looks up, eyes sparkling. “This’ll be so much fun when it blooms, baby, you made a good pick,” he exuberantly chats while you gather up your things. “Soaps and teas and candles… we’re gonna make so much fuckin’ cool shit.”

You smile fondly at his excitement and lean down to hug him from behind as you pass by. “You’re cute, you know that?” You press a kiss to the tattoo on the back of his neck and head inside.

You putter around the house, doing mundane things like plugging in your computer and seeing what's available for lunch but you can't keep your mind from wandering, filling with thoughts both erotic and soft. You thought this started just from disrupting your usual morning routine with him but it’s spiraled into the most distracting thing of all: you're horny but now you're horny with feelings.

You poke your head out the backdoor to ask Ash if he’ll be ready to eat soon but he’s not at the table where you left him; you laugh when you walk further into the yard and see him sprawled out in his hammock with his eyes closed.

“The second I leave, suddenly you’re done working. I’m starting to think that was all just a show for me,” you joke as you get closer.

He smiles at the sound of your voice and opens his arms, swinging one leg out of the hammock, placing it on the ground to stabilize it, indicating for you to get in.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty, though,” you tease as you carefully climb in.

He snorts as if to say “yeah right” as you curl up into his side and rest your head directly on his bare chest. He strokes your hair, you draw designs on his skin with your fingertips and you both lay quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air and the presence of each other. 

“Everything’s looking great out there, Ash,” you break the silence to compliment him. “You’re really working hard and it shows. I love that you love it so much.” You lean down to press a kiss to the coin tattoo on his side.

You can feel the pride and appreciation radiating from him as he kisses the top of your head. “Thanks, baby. It’s been a lot of fun exploring something new.”

“I can tell... And watching you out there today kinda made me want to have some fun exploring too,” you say with a flirtatious edge to your voice, your hands starting to dance down his chest.

He giggles with delight, “That’s so fucking lame!” He cradles your chin up to him and kisses you sweetly. “You only get that cheesy when you're really worked up; I thought I felt you eyeing me out there but I didn’t know it was that bad, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to react, all sweaty and muscle-y and shit,” you playfully slap his chest and defend yourself. “I’m sitting there hoping you’ll be done so I can shower with you and instead you want to plant something for me? How am I not supposed to be dripping?”

Ashton laughs heartily and it reverberates throughout your entire body as you lay on him. You love the sound but you love the taste of him even more so you press your lips to his again. The two of you lay there, cuddled up together in the hammock, lazily making out for a lot longer than you would’ve expected, given how badly you’ve been wanting him all day.

Eventually, his hand ends up under your t-shirt and your hand finds its way down his shorts. Neither of you are in a hurry to speed things along; he leisurely palms your breasts, occasionally twirling a nipple. You lightly stroke his cock, enough to get him hard but not so much that he’s eager for this part to be over. It’s a comfortable, casual groove you fall into; enjoying the feeling of each other’s bodies and the desire that mounts with each murmur escaping from both your and his lips.

You continue like this for a bit longer until his hand travels down your shorts and he feels how wet you are for him; the groan he lets out against your lips makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck, baby, you do need it, don’t you?” He teases you, fingers dipping in and out of your folds. “Poor thing, have you been soaked like this all morning? Think I’ve spoiled you, can’t even go a few hours without me.”

You moan into his kiss and together, you get yourself out of your shorts and panties. Ash tosses his own shorts to the side and you can tell he’s trying to mentally run the logistics and figure out which position is best suited to hammock sex; you’ve admittedly spent a fair amount of time thinking about this and you spring into action, cautiously rearranging your bodies, aiming to get on top. 

The bed starts swaying as you move and he instinctively puts his leg on the ground to stabilize it like before; you nod your approval and are able to safely straddle him. He rubs your thighs affectionately and offers, “This seems a little ill-advised, let’s go in and I’ll fuck you in the shower like you said.”

You lean down to kiss first his lips and then over his jaw and neck. “You’ve done so much work today, babe,” you reply, already a bit breathy. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You sit up and slip him inside you; you take a moment to close your eyes and savor the sensation of him filling you, stretching you out. He’s right, you must be spoiled. You had him just last night and yet you’ve been craving this feeling and you’re so relieved to finally be experiencing it again.

You tentatively start moving on his cock, trying to test the limitations of your current location; he swings his other leg out the other side, giving you a bit more steadiness to work with but you still pay close attention to your movements. A couple bounces has the hammock making questionable noises so you decide on a kind of slow, rocking motion to start off with.

“This good for you, Ash?” You check, biting your lip to hold in a moan, wanting to get an honest opinion from him.

“Mmm hmm,” he murmurs, hands running all over your ass and thighs. “Don’t kill us, don’t kill my hammock and I’m good with anything, baby.” You roll your eyes at his noncommittal attitude but judging by the way he’s licking his lips and his fingers are digging into your skin, it seems to be working for him just fine. 

You lean back, bracing yourself on his legs to get a different angle; you close your eyes and moan as he hits deeper inside you, causing you to arch your back. You feel his hands trying to pull your shirt up but he can’t quite reach. “Wanna see those pretty tits, baby,” he rasps. 

Ashton holds your hips, helping you balance as you sit up and pull your top off. You look around slightly, considering your surroundings as you throw the clothing to the ground. You lean in and lowly ask, “That wall is high enough that no one can see, right? I’m not trying to give a peep show to the neighbors.”

“Oh sweetheart, they’ve definitely already seen the show when I’ve had you pressed against the upstairs window before,” he jokes, massaging your breasts now that you're close enough.

You shake your head amusedly and resume moving. You circle your hips a few times but the bed shifts a little more than you’d like so you try a slower grind. You discover you’re able to achieve a wonderful friction on your clit if you keep at it while you’re leaned in to him and you can’t help the sounds that begin pouring from your lips.

Ash pinches your nipples, watching with rapt attention as you work yourself up. “Love seeing you like this,” he breathes. “So hot watching you use my cock to get what you need.” 

You scratch your nails over his chest and he hisses; you whimper softly in return and lean in more, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. “Want you to get what you need too, handsome,” you pant against him, increasing your pace a little.

“What I need is for us to get off before one of us gets so rowdy we end up flying out of this hammock,” he cracks, desire and amusement lighting up his eyes.

His hands roam from your chest to your ass and he grips your cheeks tight. He experimentally rocks up into you, causing you both to gasp. He gently moves against you again and you slowly follow his pleasurable rhythm while remaining careful not to upset the hammock.

The languid pace makes for a torturous buildup to your orgasm but you do feel it building. You can tell that Ashton isn’t nearly as close as you are so you attempt to slow your hips again but he grabs your ass tighter and drives his cock into you deeper. “Go ahead and cum, baby, I know you need it,” he encourages. 

You moan softly and arch your back again, finding that friction you need. He sneaks his hand between your bodies and presses his thumb to your clit and it only takes a few rubs to set you off. Your eyes close and your mouth wordlessly babbles as your body tenses and your pussy throbs around him; his touch both intensifies and soothes your feelings as he quietly intones, “Good girl, baby, yes. Fuck, look at you. Such a good girl.”

You bask in the pleasure you’ve been waiting all day for and eventually your body begins to relax; you brace yourself on his chest, taking a moment to collect yourself. He tenderly rubs up and down your arms and you open your eyes to grin at him warmly, silently thanking him for his patience.

You bend down, kissing along his jaw and you euphorically chirp, “Love your cock… love you.”

He chuckles at both your words and at your kisses tickling his skin. “I won’t take offense to the fact that my cock ranks first on your list.”

You smirk at him and slide gracefully down his body, letting him slip out of you; you promptly use your tongue to begin cleaning the evidence of your release off his cock and he curses under his breath appreciatively. You take him in your mouth and bob as enthusiastically as your location will allow. 

You can immediately tell by the way his breathing has changed that this will be more than enough to finish him off and it’ll be relatively soon. You pull off and rest your head on his hip as you stroke him steadily. “Feeling good, handsome?” You coo, enjoying the way he seems to shudder under your touch on every downstroke.

“Love your mouth… love you,” he quips, in a voice that is somehow simultaneously amused at his own joke and nearly blissed out from how you’re working him.

You giggle at his wisecrack and lean over to take his balls in your mouth; your tongue dances over the seam and he yelps deliciously, hands rushing to grip your hair. You pull off with a pop. “That’s what you get for being a smartass while I’m trying to make you cum.”

Before he can protest, your tongue is on him again, licking over the drops of precum that have dribbled down his shaft and he’s groaning your name. You brace your hands on his thighs and start to sink down to swallow him into your throat but he’s pulling you back up by your hair before you get very far. “Too close, baby,” he warns.

Heeding his advice, you decide to instead suckle at his tip and jerk him off again; you open your mouth and flit your tongue along the ridges of his head and as you run over his slit, he makes an obscene noise you can’t get enough of.

Ash alerts you of his orgasm with a squeeze to your shoulder and a strained chant of “Baby… baby… fuck…” and it’s enough for you to quickly get your mouth back on him in time to feel his cock twitching against your tongue as he starts to cum. He grunts quietly in time with your head’s movements and you cheer him on with an eager “mmm” for each spurt you swallow down.

His breathing begins to slow and you contentedly hum as you release him from your mouth and peck your way back up his body. You rest your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat settle and he plays with your hair, satisfied and lost in thought. 

A minute or so passes before you pop your head up, inquiring, "Ready for lunch now?"

Ash lets out a gleeful cackle. "Got what you wanted, now you're ready to move on, huh?"

You shrug, carefully navigating your way out of the hammock and collecting your clothes, tossing his shorts to him. "Thought you knew by now I'm only here for your body," you smirk as you get dressed.

He stands up and steps into his shorts, pulling you in to him as soon as he's done. "Same," he teases, managing to both smack your ass harshly and also kiss you lovingly.

Ashton swings his arm around you and you turn to walk towards the house together; you've only gotten a few steps away when you hear a cartoonish metallic crash. You both whip around to see the bed of the hammock freely swinging off of the frame that has both collapsed and become uprooted from where it was secured.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, waiting to see how he'll react.

Ashton puckers his lips and shifts them from side to side as if he's contemplating how irritated to be. Finally a devilish look crosses his face and he quips, "Well… I guess the good news is: if just watching me plant things got you this horny, it'll be fun to see what you'll want to do to me after you witness the actual hard work I'll have to do repairing this."

—-

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[anogete]

In Between

Hi, folks.  I’m sorry I have nothing to offer as far as fic goes.  Things have been... ::sigh::  You know, I don’t know what things have been.  Not good, not bad.  Just... things.  I wanted to talk--get things out of my head--this morning, but I realized I don’t have a person/outlet who can accept these things right now.  So, I will put them here for anyone who cares to read them.

1) My car blew up.  Well, the engine did.  I was on my way back home with groceries last Saturday, and I lost all ability to accelerate and brake.  So, I puttered out on the side of the road and waited to be saved.  The issue may be covered under the warranty so I had it taken to the dealership.  They’ve had it for a week and still don’t have answers for me besides an offer to lend me a car for free until they can figure out what to do with my car.

2) This deserves it’s own point, though I almost included it on the first point.  I’ve never bought a car without my grandmother.  She was under five feet tall and had a tendency to wear sweat pants and Christmas sweaters year-round.  She smoked Winston Lights and carried a purse covered in rhinestones.  The car salesmen didn’t know what hit them because she wasn’t at all the sweet old lady who would roll over and accept their first offer.  She was hard to read and she wouldn’t give an inch.  She also wouldn’t tell them what she was willing to pay.  No counter offers from her; she’d just tell you to “do better.”  Anyway, she worked her magic when I bought all three of my cars.  When I realized the problem with the engine was serious and might require me getting a new car, I went into a mental tailspin.  Yeah, yeah, I was worried about fitting it into my budget and all that, but mostly I couldn’t seem to cope with buying a car on my own without my grandma there to hold my hand.  I’m almost 39 years old and the thought of doing this without her had me sobbing in the floor.  Except, I didn’t realize my tailspin was due to my grandmother at first.  At first, I just thought I was incapable of handling stress.  Maybe that’s still accurate.

3) While we’re talking about expensive-ass shit, I knew the air conditioner and furnace on this house needed to be replaced sooner rather than later when I bought it last February.  It looks like the time has come.  I managed to find a nice man with very odd hair (think a longer version of the Prince Valiant hair-do, but bright white) through my boyfriend’s dad.  He does this for a living and said he’d give me a discount and do for $5,000 what other places were telling me would cost $9,000.  So, that’s happening next week.  I have the money, but the idea of writing a $5,000 check makes me want to puke.  Ugh.

4) The days are running together.  I’m working from home.  I can’t complain, though.  I’ve got it better than most.  I’m alone all day.  I have a library with a desk.  I can go downstairs and make tea or lunch in my own kitchen.  I’m getting paid my full salary with bonuses.  I can pretty much make my own hours.  The company I work for is taking the pandemic seriously and has told us that we can all work from home until we feel comfortable returning to the office.  Their timeline for “normal” is months.  I don’t think I’ll be back in the office until late summer, if that.  Those who want to return are permitted to, but they can’t use the public areas (kitchen, conference rooms) and have to abide by some strict safety requirements.  And they can choose when and how often they go into the office, working the remainder of the time at home.  So, better than most.

5) I’ve been doing this social distancing thing since March 19th.  It’s not difficult for me.  On good days I’ll exercise (I have a Peloton) before logging into work around 9am.  On not-good days (which seem to be more often than not), I’ll skip the exercise and just log into work early.  Work keeps me busy and I spend a decent amount of my day on the phone with clients.  I go to the grocery store once a week, but I order for pickup.  Someone else does the shopping for me and loads it into my trunk.  This is nothing new.  I’ve been shopping that way for years.  Now it’s just harder to get my usual pickup slot because everyone else has joined the party.  I do miss taking a break from work and leaving my office to grab a coffee and sit outside on a bench downtown.  I guess I could do that outside my own house, but it just doesn’t feel the same.

6) A few months ago, a husband and wife who are clients came in to meet with me at my office.  They’re in their 80s and both were having trouble walking.  They parked in the garage next door and couldn’t find the elevator to exit.  I walked over and escorted them to our office building.  They were both struggling with walking and the wife (Rose) had been fighting lung cancer for a couple years, so I suggested they wait outside and I’d valet their car once we were done.  The thought of making the trek to their car alone was painful to me because it was a monumental struggle for them to walk down a hallway.  Their daughter-in-law called me two days ago.  Rose passed away two weeks ago.  The husband, a former literature professor for a university, was in the hospital with four broken ribs because he’d fallen shortly after Rose’s passing.  He was a Jewish child in Nazi Germany during the war.  He’d told me stories about hiding from the Nazis, surviving off of tree bark and whatever he could find in the forests.  He also jokingly told me that he’d live until he was 120.  Now, it looks like he won’t survive the year.  He and Rose would tease each other all the time, but you could see all that love between them. Whenever I’d call him, he’d ask me in that wonderful accent to wait while he got “the boss” on the phone as well.  Rose thought it was silly that she was “the boss,” but she humored him.  You know, they’re shorties, too.  Five foot, nothing.  Just like my grandma.  Hearing that Rose was gone and Dr. (he’s a PhD) was likely soon to follow just broke my already fragile heart.

7) Fragile heart, huh?  Yeah.  After the car situation and the realization that one day I’m going to have to do big life things without having my grandma to help me, I was feeling pretty raw.  But I’ve been trying to be responsible and do things I’ve been putting off lately.  So, I gathered up all those medical bills from Ferguson’s illness last September.  (Ferguson was my soulmate little chihuahua mix that I had for over 13 years.)  I had pet insurance on him and hadn’t bothered to make the claim because I couldn’t handle it.  But it’s been almost a year so I pulled out the invoices, which were over $2,000, and logged into the website and starting inputting the info to file the claims.  The little box asks for a description of why I took him to the vet.  And answering that question just brought back all that shit like a wave.  I remember reading this nice description of grief and how it is like waves.  At first they’re big and they knock you around and you can’t breathe.  But over time they get smaller and you learn how to navigate them.  Still there, but manageable.  Filling in that box resulted in a bit of a tidal wave that knocked me on my ass.  My boyfriend came home to find me sobbing at my desk like a lunatic..  He’s... not so good with emotional shit.  And I usually keep it bottled up so that no one knows what’s going on inside me.  But some days...  Some days it just overflows.  So, after confirming that nothing terrible had occurred and that I was reliving September 2019, he slowly backed out of the room to leave me with my grief-wave.

8) I want to be one of those succulent people.  You know, the ones who have succulents lining their windowsills.  The dining room and kitchen windows are full of this oddball little plants.  The boyfriend hates it, but I told him he’d have to deal.  I’ll die on this hill.  I’m a succulent lady.

9) I’ve been reading memoirs or, rather, memoirs through collections of essays.  I don’t know if it’s the mental state I’m in or if social distancing has got me subconsciously reaching out for life beyond my head, but I can’t seem to read much else.  I loved Liz Phair’s Horror Stories.  I’m reading The Book of Help by Megan Griswold right now.  I’m determined to procure a signed copy of What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Blacker by Damon Young.  He did a virtual event for a local bookseller recently and they have signed copies available for purchase.  I just need to muster up the will to call them and ask them to hold one for me.  The little snippets of their life and experiences via these memoirs through essays bring me some measure of comfort.

10) I tried to watch Euphoria on HBO.  I managed to make it through the first episode, but I don’t think I can watch more.  I can’t relate, but that normally isn’t a necessity for an enjoyable story.  Maybe it’s just too depressing for me right now.

11) I binged Dollface on Hulu and wish I had more to watch.  Parts of it hit me hard.  I’ve always had trouble maintaining friendships, period.  But maintaining friendships while in a relationship has been damn near impossible for me.  Just like Jules.  Except, I’m not nearly as cool or gorgeous as Kat Dennings.  And I have no friends in this city to go back to.  Just friends at work. 

12) I haven’t worn makeup for 2 solid months.  I’m starting to miss it.  I found old selfies I’d taken in which I don’t recognize myself.  Did I ever look like that?  I must have since here is photographic evidence.  I look like shit now.  I’m forever in yoga pants and a hoodie with half-wet hair from the shower.  Maybe putting on a pair of jeans and a cute shirt and some makeup will make me feel like a human being again.  Maybe I’m not doing as well as I thought in quarantine.  Huh.

13) I hope you all are well.  If you’ve sent me a message, I’m so sorry for not responding.  My mental state has been delicate lately and the silence from me has nothing to do with your kind words.  I promise I read and treasure and appreciate anything that is sent to me.  I’m also sorry for having no offering of fic or a promise of something to come.  I haven’t written since last summer.  It’s been almost a year.  I guess I’m in a dry spell.

14) Since I’ve been struggling with loss/grief lately, I’ll leave you with a quote from Philip Pullman, taken from his novel The Amber Spyglass.  It’s about death, I suppose.  Or maybe just a transition to something else entirely.  It’s nice to think of my grandma and Rose and my sweet, sweet love of a dog falling in the raindrops and riding on the wind through tall grass.  If it wasn’t raining, I’d take my computer outside right now.

“Even if it means oblivion, friends, I'll welcome it, because it won't be nothing. We'll be alive again in a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves; we'll be falling in the raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze; we'll be glittering in the dew under the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home and always was.” 

[mermaidxatxheart]

Paint Me a Memory Chapter Fourteen

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted in this story. I hope you like this chapter, it’s going to be text mixed in with pictures. (Edit: I suck. additions are at the bottom. Eek.)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Mood board made for me by @captainsteveevans​

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of crying, the usual suspects.

Series Master List

Chapter Fourteen

 I try not to crowd you, I try not to hover, but it’s hard. Being around you is addicting. I left you last night with a heavy heart, full of regret at not kissing you. 

 But it wouldn’t have been right. You were distracted by something on your phone, and although I think you flirt, I’m not sure how serious it is. You’re important to me and if I’m given the chance to do this, I want to do it right.

 “Bucky?” You start, looking over at me. Your face full of worry.

“Yeah?” I ask, pulling up in front of my studio. 

 “Did you mean what you said yesterday? About my stuff being good?” You ask and I frown. 

 “Absolutely. I don’t...” I park and look at you. “It’s hard to believe, when you feel the way you do right now, it’s hard to believe the good things. Our minds are constantly trying to bring us down, make us think we’re not good enough.” I cup your face gently, hoping you’re really listening. “But I promise you, you are good enough. I did mean what I said. You’ve developed your talent into an amazingly impressive skill. You’ve mastered more mediums, more styles than anyone I’ve met. And you keep pushing yourself to do more. If you keep going, you’re going to catch up to Da Vinci himself.” My thumb strokes your soft cheek. “I promise, I’ll never lie to you about anything. I’ll always give you an honest opinion about anything you want.”

 Your hands clutch at my wrists as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Thank you.” You whisper. I carefully kiss your forehead and pull away before I do something to make a fool of myself. 

 We head inside the same as before and this time you get right to work. You strip out of your coat and pick up the mallet and chisel. 

 Something feels different today. You were excited about the snack, but then you turned into this stress ball. I could boil it down to the rejection letter you got that prompted all of this, but I feel like there’s more to it. Rejection is a part of this business and I don’t feel like you’re the type of person to let that get you down. Maybe it’s whatever is going on with your professor. I don’t like the thought of you doubting yourself. Let alone someone else making you doubt yourself. I’ve seen your work, and you basically called that stuff your bottom tier work. If those are your worst displays, I’d love to see your best. I bet it would be like standing in front of the Mona Lisa herself. 

 I set my playlist, a softer collection of songs this time. It seems more fitting, considering your mood. I wish I could help you. 

 “How do you feel about pizza for dinner?” I asked, leaning against the bench next to you.

 “That’s fine.” You shrug. 

 “Sausage and mushrooms?”

 “And spinach?” You ask apprehensively. 

 “You got it. How do you feel about wings?”

 “Hopeful.” You reply. 

 I chuckle. “Understood.” I wander away, letting you work. I putter around, avoiding any actual work. I wander up to the loft and do some pushups to work off some energy, but the whole time I’m listening to you work. 

 Yesterday, you sang along with every song that came on, but there’s no humming from you today. I walk back down just as you stop hammering. Your shoulders are hunched, hands braced in front of you. 

 “Y/N?” I start, coming around to see you. “Did you hit your fingers again, doll?” I ask, but I didn’t hear any swearing. You’re usually louder when you do that.

 “No.” You grumble. 

 “What’s wrong?” I gently take your elbow and you twist towards me. Your eyebrows are pinched together, your chin dimples as you crush your lips together. You look ready to cry. 

 “You don’t have to work on this today, sweetheart. We can just hang out, watch movies and talk.” I say. You nod, your lower lip starting to tremble. “C’mere.” I hold my arms out and you step between them, pressing your face into my chest. Your arms tighten around my waist as I hug you tightly. I gently rub your back, but that only seems to break the dam a little bit more.

 “Come on. Get your coat.” I tell you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

 “Where are we going?” You ask, wiping your eyes. 

 “My place. I have a TV there, we’ll be more comfortable.” I say and you nod, turning to grab your coat. I notice your phone on the counter light up with a phone call from PQ.

 “Your phone’s ringing,” I call to you.

 “Decline. If it’s that important, they’ll leave a message. And my roommates text in the group chat so everyone can know my business.” You sigh. 

 “Have you told them what’s going on?” I ask.

 “They know most of it. How I keep getting rejected.” You shrug, flipping your hair out of your coat. 

 “How about the part you’re not telling me? Anyone you feel comfortable with talking to about that?” I ask, handing your phone to you and you flush red.

 “You know about that?” You ask.

 “I know enough about you to know you’re not telling me everything. And that’s okay. It’s your business. But I think that you should talk to someone. Maybe they’ll have some insight and advice on how to handle it. You don’t have to carry the weight of this alone.” I say and you gesture me closer. I smile, leaning towards you, and you peck my cheek.

 “You’re really smart. I don’t care what anyone else says about you.” You grin and I roll my eyes.

 “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” I mutter.

 “I’ll talk to Gamora. She’s the most level headed of my friends. The one voted most likely to listen first, ask questions second and shoot third.” You admit, following me over to the front door. 

 “Good. I hope she can help you.” I unlock my car and you climb in quietly. Your phone lights up in your lap.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to answer that? They seem really persistent.” I aim my car towards my condo.

 “Positive. It’s just my professor. I yelled at him today, told him basically to fuck off and leave me alone. I understand he’s trying to help me, but honestly, the sight of his name on my phone makes me want to cunt punt him across campus.” You shake your head, rubbing your face. 

 “That’s a new expression.” I chuckle. But inside I’m seething. I’m liking this guy less and less with everything you tell me about him. “What’s your professor’s name? Has he published anything? Maybe I’ve heard of him.” I say and you roll your eyes. 

 “Peter Quill. And I doubt you’ll have heard of him. If he has anything published it was way before my time.” You mutter.

 I park in the garage and wait for you to join me on the other side. You link your arm with mine, head resting on my shoulder. 

 “Thank you.” You say softly. 

 “I didn’t do anything, doll.” I shrug. 

 “You aren’t judging me, and you didn’t get mad that I didn’t want to talk.”

 “I’m here to listen if you want to, and of course, I won’t judge you. But I also realize that we haven’t known each other long, and I can appreciate that you might not feel completely comfortable talking to me. I’ve met enough artistic people to know how tight-lipped they can be.” I look down at you, jabbing the button for the elevator. “You don’t owe me a thank you for being a decent human being.”

 You make a little noise in the back of your throat as we step into the elevator. “Bucky Barnes, you just may be perfect.” You mutter, burying your face in the fabric of my coat.

 “Nah. Just raised right,” I say, but my face flushes at your words. Your phone dings again and you glance at it for barely a second. “Him again?”

 “Roommates. Talking about what’s for dinner.” You shrug, turning the sound off before it can ding again.

 “You don’t have to mute it,” I say, leading you out of the elevator towards my door. 

 “It’ll get annoying. My three idiots can never agree on anything. Pete wants Mexican always, MJ wants Chinese, Mora wants something completely different. They’ll argue back and forth for a while until I jump in and remind them that they can each get their own thing delivered.” You roll your eyes and I laugh. “They’re a mess.”

 “They sound like fun. I’d love to meet them.” I say, unlocking my front door and letting you go in.

 “I’m sure you will. They won’t let this one go. And I’m sure Pete will love the chance to threaten you.” You shrug out of your coat and I hang it up on the coat rack. 

 “Make your self at home. Movies are over on the shelf.” I tell you, heading for the kitchen. “Want anything?”

 “Do you have coffee creamer?” You ask and I look at you curiously. 

 “You want to drink coffee creamer? Like, by itself?”

 You laugh, face scrunched up in the most adorable way. “No, but if you have some, I’d love some coffee.”

 “Ah. That makes much more sense.” I grin, pulling down the coffee grounds. 

 “Do I wanna drink coffee creamer?” You scoff. “You’re a strange guy, Barnes. A strange guy.”

 I chuckle, glancing back at you as you move around my space. I like seeing you here more than I should, probably, for having known you for such a short amount of time.

 “You have three copies of each Lord of the Rings movies.” You say, pointing at the shelf and turning to look at me. 

 “I do, limited edition, ultimate edition, and the anniversary edition,” I say with a grin. “They’re some of my favorite movies.” 

 “The art is stunning in it.” You agree and I swear I could kiss you. “I know what I want to watch.” You say, pulling the Fellowship off the shelf. 

 “You’re a goddess,” I mutter. 

 You grin and set it on the back of the couch. “Bathroom?”

 “Down that hallway. To the left.” I start cleaning up my dishes from this morning as you walk away, humming Beyoncé’s Irreplaceable. I chuckle to myself. 

Chapter Fifteen

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[andavs]

I wish you would write a fic where Derek is turning 40, and it's not like he really cares, but come on, someone from the pack would remember and send a text at least right? And maybe someone is planning a little something?

Sidenote: I played this song on repeat while writing this. Also that little sigh on “I can hardly catch my breath” does things to me. Just get past the corny “drip drops” at the beginning, and enjoy.

It was an unseasonably warm winter, so instead of festive and cozy Christmas snow flurries, it’d just been grey and drizzling all day. It matched Derek’s mood perfectly.

Stiles would mock him mercilessly if he could see him, puttering around town alone in his Camaro, glaring out at the Christmas decorations. It was sad, he could admit that to himself, but he’d already spent too much time moping alone in the house so he went outside for a bit. He’d thought that maybe walking through town and seeing the decorations would help lift his spirits. He and Stiles had done that before, it was worth a shot.

Nope. Doing things alone that he enjoyed with Stiles just made him more miserable.

The pack’s Christmas celebration had been the night before, as it was every year. That way they could celebrate together and with their individual families, which was perfect, because December 25th was Derek’s birthday. Christmas Eve was for the holiday, but once the clock struck midnight, carols stopped, gingerbread cookies got shoved in a cupboard, and the birthday party hats came out.

Stiles was adamant about having no overlap between the two whatsoever—militant, even. Kira wore reindeer antlers past the midnight alarm one year a decade ago, and she was almost banished from the house. No one had made that mistake again.

Derek always insisted it wasn’t necessary, told him to chill out, that he was overreacting, but he really did appreciate it. Growing up, he’d always hated getting the joint “for birthday and Christmas” presents while his siblings got two distinct gifts, and even as he got older, he couldn’t fully shake the annoyance that Christmas stole his thunder.

So normally it was a full day with Stiles giving him plenty of attention and cake and gifts, and making sure the flurry of the holiday didn’t penetrate their little bubble, but this year Stiles was gone. He was off on another continent spending the day with people Derek only knew through stories, and Derek was alone. Letting Christmas carols play on the radio as he drove through town with the windshield wipers going to keep the rain at bay.

He’d only lasted maybe half an hour before giving up and turning back towards their empty home to mope through an angsty book and go to bed early.

The rain had only picked up as he turned onto their winding driveway, and even the front porch winking through the trees was dulled through the weather.

The Jeep was the only car parked in front of the garage, exactly where Stiles left it a month before, but when Derek go out of the Camaro, he could smell that the rest of the pack had been there recently. There were tire tracks in the gravel, Lydia’s perfume in the cold, wet air. They were trying to be subtle and surprise him, but they weren’t doing a very good job. The wards hid the heartbeats inside from being heard, but everything else was broadcast loud and clear.

Derek rolled his eyes and headed towards the front door. Even after all these years, almost twenty, they were still about as subtle as…well, as they’d ever been. It wasn’t exactly a surprise when it came out that most of Beacon Hills more or less knew that the supernatural existed, to put it kindly. Redheaded banshees screaming into the night and teenage werewolves with rage issues streaking down main street didn’t go as unnoticed as the pack liked to believe.

The curtain on the front window rustled as Derek passed, a light turned off somewhere deeper in the house—but he stopped short when he noticed the sparkles on the front steps.

It was sparkly metallic confetti, glinting in the glow from the porch light. Leading towards their door.

It wasn’t a distinct trail, nothing intentional, but definitely a path of confetti, like a bag from a party store had been leaking. A few were shaped like 40th and were pink and gold, so it clearly wasn’t for Christmas.

He couldn’t be too annoyed. They’d clearly gone all out this year for forty, probably trying to compensate for the fact that Stiles was stuck in Warsaw on an assignment. The pool of FBI agents with extensive knowledge of the supernatural who also spoke Polish was pretty small, it turned out, and a spouse’s birthday wasn’t actually a good excuse to leave.

Derek wasn’t really bitter; it was impressive that at thirty-four, Stiles had become so indispensable to the FBI and was doing so well, but he was just…bummed. They’d planned to be together this year, Stiles had insisted that he’d be able to make it back in time, but then a vampire got a complex, and then there were six more vampires, and things escalated, and the ABW needed a few extra hands…

It was an honor that they’d asked Stiles to stay, but still. Derek was bummed, and as nice as the intentions were behind it, confetti wasn’t going to cut it. Right at that moment, all he could think of was the little 40th’s getting caught in the vacuum with all the wolf fur and blocking things.

A curtain moved again as he climbed the steps, and Derek briefly considered turning right back around and driving away again. He couldn’t deal with a birthday party, with people, not after the miserable, lonely day he’d had. He just wanted to have a quiet night and go to bed early. He did, actually, turn around for a couple steps before he realized he was being ridiculous.

It was his house, it was his pack, he could do this for a few minutes before asking for some privacy. They knew him, they wouldn’t be offended. They’d understand.

He braced himself, took a solid minute to put the key in the lock, but he finally convinced himself to enter his own home, to find…Stiles. Standing alone in the empty foyer, surrounded by more confetti and holding a pączek with a candle stabbed into the top. There were no other heartbeats in the house, no pack members hidden behind corners waiting for a cue to jump out…

It was just them.

Stiles smiled quietly, tiredly. “Surprise,” he shrugged, and lit the single candle on the pączek with a shitty, pink Bic lighter that took a few flicks to light.

Derek fought back a grin for a second, then let it come out in full, and Stiles’ smile widened to mirror it.

“You’re a dick,” Derek stated, pulling off his damp jacket and letting it drop to the floor. Stiles has done the confetti and curtain rustling on purpose.

“Yeah, well you’re the guy who almost ran from his own fake birthday party, so guess we’re meant to be after all.” He held out the dessert. “Make a wish, asshole.”

Derek stepped forward and blew out the candle immediately. Stiles frowned.

“That wasn’t a wish.”

“I don’t need a wish,” Derek countered, pulling him in by his hips. “You’re home.”

Stiles smiled again, and leaned in for the offered kiss. “You’re the corniest motherfucker on the planet, you know that?”

“You’re the one who brought me a pączek from Poland.” It was adorable, and thoughtful, and it smelled a little stale, but he was so happy to see his stupid husband, and relieved they didn’t have any guests…

“I got it at the airport, actually,” Stiles started to ramble, “because I didn’t know I was going to make it back until I got through security—oh, also if you were expecting birthday sex, we’ll have to delay it for a while, because it’s like five in the morning for me and I think I’m seeing two of you right now.”

“You can make it up to me in the morning,” Derek murmured, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding him, breathing him in, filtering out the smells of airport and strangers and travel.

“Ehhh,” Stiles squeezed him back tightly, leaning on him heavily like standing took too much energy. “I’m not twenty anymore, we’ll see how it’s going around noon or so.”

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Longest Week

Okay, so here’s chap two. I was happy to write this, and had a lot of fun, while trying to put myself in someone else’s shoes. To @porkchop-ao3 I know this is not enough dear, and for now this is what al I can give, but I hope you like it. Thanks to @hoodoo12 and @xerxezra who are very lovely to talk to. Oh, @councilofrickfics I made a movie mention that had been inspired by a lovely fic of yours. Please enjoy!

_______________

Chapter 2

You couldn’t do it, and if you made one wrong move, you’d kill his babies. Zeta-7 had demonstrated how to cut crossover branches and hangover branches, but you preferred just to clear away the dead leaves instead. Rick puttered around, lovingly pruning, whispering sweet nothings. It was both adorable, and sweet.

According to gardening for dummies, the practice of cleaning up the flower beds, dead plant debris, and clearing the ground, prevented mold growth, spores, and deterred pests. Rick kept his plants happy, healthy, of that you were sure of, but was mold really all that bad? For the plants, probably, but there must have been some that that weren’t. Thoughts of Florey and Fleming came to mind, and their scientific pursuits, as well as the scandals behind those names, but what did that have to do with mold?

Funny, the places your mind would go if you allowed it to wander. Why, if you wrote a story about Rick, he would be the protector of a locked garden, a creature of the day, who retreated to the branches at night, twisting, and curling himself, until he was nothing more than a bud. Not so much a beauty and the beast sort of story, but of friendship, of the melding of minds, of spirit, and whoever would come to love this creature, would be one with the garden. A story of two souls, symbiotic, lost to each other, and built up in love.

Rick came around, checked on your progress, and swept away the debris. This brought you back to the real world, and you were determined to do a good job. With a small dustpan, you cleaned up the little pile you had made and dumped it in the marked bin. When you turned back around, you found him staring at you. The lines about his mouth deepened, and whatever he thought about made him sigh happily before he returned to his activity.

It was a simple gesture, but you were appreciative of it. When he was at peace, it was like there was an extra sun in the universe. Everything smelled better, you felt prettier, and in his shared world, you had a taste of paradise. You fed the turtles, Rick fed the fish, every so often you poke him to remind him you were there, and he laughed wholeheartedly when you pouted, because he had been overly affectionate with the hydrangeas.

When you had finished, you passed by the old bird cage to find the rose bush bare. Oh no, why this one? Hmm, Rick must have dried the roses for tea, and before you could receive one of its beautiful offspring. Perhaps one could read too many novels, and with your girlish dreams being crushed by this revelation, you swept, even if it was already clean around it. You sighed, since another disappointment had been added to your list of disappointments.

You heard the clatter of a fallen broom, and then all of a sudden a pair of arms were around you, and he asked what was the matter. Your cheeks felt warm, his breath feathering your ear.Whatever it was you wanted, he said, he would do for you. Zeta-7 wasn’t normally this affectionate, and blame it on the magic of the garden, it’s warm temperatures, and earthy scents, it’s singing plants; his version of paradise, this was where he was most himself.

You leaned into him, taking advantage of his brief confidence. A part of you had craved this sort of attention, and the current of his happiness, made you very warm in your soul, and comfortable. Lips bitten, you thought over the consequences of telling him, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt. In a small voice, you told him how you had wanted a rose. Resting his chin on your head, you felt his voice reverberate through you.

There was something he had to show you.

________

In the garage, there were several small pots with different sprouting plants. Each one had tags with words written in Latin, each had a shade of colored light on them. Zeta-7 had been experimenting with gene splicing, and the effects of light. These were the ones which had survived. One had straight stems, another was twisted like a pigs tail, two were ghostly white, and the rest were in varying shades of green.

While you were sure they were all going to be lovely, they weren’t the blue roses you had seen. From the cabinet, he took out a small, glass bottle shaped like a rose, and gave it to you. It was the concentrated essence, a perfume made from his beloved roses. Knowing you enjoyed scents, he had made it, and you wanted to cry. You had been distressed over flowers, words, and stones, and here he goes being darling, and what had you done?

You ignored him for a week, even though he was only one call away. How could you accept it? You hadn’t earned it, but he insisted, and listed all the reasons as to why you did. Whatever ability he had in seeing the best in everyone, you wished you had it too. You wanted to be more like him, because there couldn’t possibly be anyone this good, perhaps because he was the only one.

The unattainable or the mysterious, like the single blue rose he handed you, is what he was. There was so much you wanted, so much you wished to understand. The blue rose, frozen in its peak of perfection, you turned in your fingers, finding all its thorns had been cut off. He told you how it had been dipped in a chemical which would prevent it from wilting. And as happy as you were, there was still that seed of self doubt, that there was someone out there more deserving than you.

___________

It was cold when you two went back inside. You settled yourself on the comfy side of the couch while he made some popcorn. You flipped through the channels until you found some alternate version of You’ve Got Mail. The crown jewel of rom-coms, you knew the lines by heart.

When Zeta-7 returned, he smiled when he recognized the Jerry on screen. Jerry? You have heard of Jerry Smith, though you had never seen him in person. This particular Jerry was an actor, and personally you thought he wasn’t cut out for the role, but it made Rick happy. Perhaps he knew this particular one. You had seen a few photos of a Jerry in Ricks house, though you hadn’t really paid attention to the likeness.

Considering you two had shared the bowl of popcorn, it was only a matter of time before your hand found his at the bottom of the bowl. You moved the bowl aside so you could snuggle up next to him. It was charming to watch as Zeta-7 blushed terribly as he slowly draped an arm around you, and pulled you a little closer. Really, after all the attention he had bestowed on you for a better part of the day, there was no need for all this shyness.

Still, such deep rooted behaviors didn’t change in a day. Oh, but this was not the time to ruminate.  With his warmth all around you, and your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes for what felt like a few seconds. However, when you woke, you were in your own bed. Had everything which happened been a lovely, delusional dream?

You called for him, and wondered if you had dreamed it. Hmm, you were still wearing your minion pajamas, and your hair still braided. Moving the blanket, you noticed that about your shoulders, was Rick’s labcoat. No, this was proof that it couldn’t have been a dream. Again you called for him, and he came in, the floorboards squeaked under his weight.

A cup of warm tea he set on your bedside table, before he took a seat on the nearby stool. What had happened? You asked. When you had fallen asleep, he didn’t want you to sleep improperly, so he brought you back home. Not knowing what else to do, he waited.

Rick looked ready for a nap, and you asked if he’d like to go back home, but he didn’t want to, so you told him to make himself comfortable. There were plenty of books, your living room TV, or he could tinker with any one of your appliances if he cared to, as long as he was comfortable. Yet, before you went back to bed, he encouraged you to drink the tea so you would have a restful sleep. It didn’t smell very good, but with his hands placed over yours, you had the courage to down it. Knowing his comforting presence was in the house, you felt a calm no sedative could provide.

You tugged his lab coat tighter, and lost yourself to restful thoughts, and vanilla scented dreams.

_________

Later, you found Rick in the kitchen, with the disassembled parts of your vacuum cleaner. Lately, it had been doing that thing where it was spitting out dust. After he had taken apart one of the brush heads, you were a bit sheepish to find that the problem had been caused by an earring; thankfully it was not a favorite of yours. While he was reassembling it, you set about making breakfast and giving him one word answers to his questions.

By now, you thought you would have been over the whole outbid thing, but an early morning email had reminded you all over again of what you had lost. Yesterday, with all the lovely activities you two did together, you’d thought you would have forgotten. And when you no longer answered any of Rick’s questions, he stopped what he was doing and patted your back. You just looked at him, his smiling face, unassuming, curious about your cooking technique. It hurt even more to think that you wouldn’t get the chance to see that wonder, and the curiosity when you handed him the stones you had mentally picked out.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

There was so much which had been building up, and you had tried to forget it all, but it only made you feel worse. Rick waited for you to speak, and when you did, you poured out every stupid little detail. You set aside the unfinished set of pancakes. Right now, all you wanted to do was leave, and go back to bed. Oh, but Zeta-7 took you in his arms, rubbed your back while you sobbed.

It hadn’t just been about the crystals and gemstones, or being outbid. You were all sorts of stressed out, about work, and just had too many things on your mind. This was when he offered to take you somewhere. Of course, you were going to need to dress much lighter, and put on a pair of walking shoes.

__________

Everyone had their version of paradise, but this place, it….it reminded you of places you had only read about.

The brightside of the Moonstone cast a calming, ethereal, blueish glow. The Sunstone and it’s weak, yellow light casted a soft warmth. Downhill, arum lilies sang praises, waving about to distract you two. Quickly you two passed them, then stopped again, your eyes drinking in all you could for a moment. This, it couldn’t be right, you had just seen an armadillo made out of citrine walk by.

You tried to adjust your goggles, but Rick’s firm grip stopped you. On this planet, you had to wear protective eye wear or risk going blind, as well as protective gloves. It was easy to forget at times that even aesthetically pleasing places could hold dangers. You were sure to stay close.

On one side, there was a vision of the sea, calm waves, which even a child would not fear. No boats of any kind, no seashells on the shore, but the sweet breezes which kissed your skin were cooling and refreshing. The purple sands clean and smooth, it’s dunes covered with cotton candy maiden grass. In another direction, white peaked mountains were partially disguised by the oncoming storm. You took his offered hand, careful to tread quietly, but you felt no danger; it had been a long time since you had felt that way.

Rose colored clouds drifted by in the cerulean sky. Zeta-7 was quick to point out the shapes he saw, before you two ran for dear life as chunks of violet Apatite rained down. You mimicked his action to tug on the gloves, which activated a deflector shield. With this safety precaution, you were free to admire their loveliness.

_______________

According to Rick, the introduction of certain invasive species had caused some of the wildlife to lie dormant until the conditions were favorable enough for their return back to the surface. The road, a single, well traveled road glittered, it’s many misshapen stones made for a colorful walkway. How had it come about you wondered, but Zeta-7 confessed to have done it. It was a funny story actually, which involved a dragon, a princess, and Geologist Rick.

There were many details which were classified information, but as you understood it, many years ago, there was a rock Geologist Rick had wanted. The princess was the rock and the dragon it’s protector. In order to protect what he loved, the dragon scattered the shards of the princess in such a way that it was everywhere and in everything. When it was all said and done, a once thriving, and beautiful land was now a dangerous, but still very beautiful land, that could not sustain human life.

The road in question had been made by Zeta-7 who over the years tried to piece together the whereabouts of the princess, and who had unknowingly had attracted various creatures to follow his trail, only to die along the way. A handful of gravel showed pieces of cats eyes, rough bits of crystal, fool’s gold, fire opals, and fine purple sand. My how lovely, but he flashed a special light on them, and they began to crawl, while others flew away. What the hell?

As Rick explained, the wildlife were made of living gemstones. And when they ceased to be living souls, they became dust, their leftover organs becoming crystals or stones. However, it was hard to tell what was living, or what was dead. Oh, but you could spend hours here, gazing upon them, curious as to what they were before, who they were before. Still, there was somewhere else he wanted to show you.

__________

Everything on this side of the planet was dead.

You had your pick of all the stones you wanted, but you had a different opinion now. How many lives had been lost because of one person’s careless actions? Why was there such a drastic change in the environment? There was so much you didn’t understand, but one day you hoped you would. Perhaps, if there was ever enough time, Rick could teach you, show you his ways, so that in some way you could understand.

Every so often, when he did take you off world, to some distant planet, or to some different dimension, your universe expanded. The more you learned, the less you knew, and unless it was all fixed, like it suddenly all stopped somewhere, then the literal universe was ever expanding. With Rick, would there ever be enough time to see it all? Only time would tell.

_____________

Curious as to why the creatures here had died, you drew your own conclusions which were not too far off from the truth. Due to atmospheric changes, the air quality on this side of the planet was not sufficient to sustain any life, which was why you two had to wear breathing masks. The crystalline plants left standing were also dead, but you would never be able to tell. Everything was more muted here, a lot more greys, and earth tones, and there was more than enough stones to pick from. However, you weren’t here to take what was dead, but to learn.

Appreciate what you had, before it was taken away.

Alright, perhaps there was no moral to the story, and you had been searching for meaning where there wasn’t any. Knowing Zeta-7, he brought you here because he wanted to show you something beautiful, something you loved, and in some way share what he loved with you. The scientist he was, saw everything fascinating, even if melancholic. Who knows what power the princess had which allowed a utopia to fend for itself against the elements, but that was beyond you. All you saw now was your own piece of paradise as he brushed away some dust, collected small samples of various stone types.

You found a suitable place to sit, while Rick scanned some geodes. His face brightened when he cracked a few open to examine their formations. The loveliest you would say was one with multiple layers of colorful agate and a crystal-filled central cavity. Each colored band represented an episode of agate formation due to chemical changes in the ground water.

Along the side of your goggles, he pressed a button which allowed you to view the chemical composition of whatever it was you looked at. Charts and lists of known chemicals made it a bit hard to see, and when you stared at Zeta-7, it went crazy, words flashed, lists, charts, even a snazzy little jingle played. You pressed the side button, which deactivated the function before you had a seizure. It made you wonder what secrets he was hiding, but then again it might have had something to do with all the places he had to visit during work hours.

For a while, you made shapes in the sand. Later, not wanting to disturb him, you dared not stray too far, and settled with circling about the group of crystalline Juniper trees. They were terribly sharp, and perfectly shaped like figurines. Why, if you were to touch their very tips, would you not bleed? As tempting, and as stupid as it would have been, you backed away, and took plenty of photos instead.

This wasn’t the time to test the theory of whether or not you were a Disney princess.

Even here, in the desert plains, the Sunstone and the Moonstone were easily seen. Was it possible, that the princess became the moon and the dragon the sun? Ricks eyes widened to this idea, and he thought about testing your theory, but then stopped. There was some things better left unknown, and this place had been through enough.

Perhaps, you were smarter than you thought, and that somehow, someway, this place could be perfect again.

_________

Zeta-7 brought you two back to his garage before his portal gun lost all its charge. You were fast to sit by the roses, whose heat lamps kept you warm. To the smallest of them, you told the story of a very special man. And in your heart, you hoped that this one would grow to be the strongest, and even more beautiful than the rest.

In the corner, Rick had placed every sample in a chemical bath. When he was done, he removed his gloves, and scratched the back of his neck. The crystals would take about three days, while the stones about two weeks. Rick knew how to form rocks and grow crystals?

From all the samples he had collected, why he could grow you a garden of gems, shape them to your heart’s desire. He rubbed his arm, eager to please, waiting for you to say the word. He would do it, why he would do almost anything if you asked him, but you pressed a finger to his lips, and shook your head. No, he didn’t have to. This was enough, you admitted, you already had your perfect gem right here. With Rick, you had more than enough, and he would never not be enough.

[rachelisnotatwork]

Iceland: finally we see the light!

The worst bit about flying to Iceland, or I should probably add flying to Iceland when you are too cheap to pay for a decent airline, is that you have to dress like you are going on a solo trek to the South Pole in order to reduce the weight in your suitcase. Luckily it was quite cold the day we left but we were still glowing, red-faced, as we headed to the airport wearing snow boots, scarves, big coats, all our heaviest stuff in our hand luggage etc.

The flight there was pretty uneventful and it was a beautifully clear day, which meant for good views over the sleeping tourist by the window. When we arrived we just had to pick up our car and go.

Now by this stage in the “life of constant holidays” game, we are pretty much Hertz deluxe members which means what normally happens is we book a smart car and turn up to be upgraded to a minibus. Often we have to scale back the excesses of the upgrade because we don’t want the hassle of trying to park a giant car/fuelling up a giant car. So we were pretty confident that whilst we’d booked a tiny and shit car, that wouldn’t be what we were given. Well that smugness came to an abrupt end when we collected our tiny and shit car. Turns out that Iceland isn’t one of those free upgrade locations...and car rental is expensive here so they had no desire to give us a freebie. So we puttered into town in our tiny and shit car, a journey made far more stressful than it needed to be by the fact that Marcel’s phone is an early adopter of Brexit and the GPS locator dot on google maps only seems to work in the UK. After a lot of swearing we did make it to our surprisingly chilly airbnb. It was in a converted garage and the host had made the interesting decision not to install an extractor fan but instead keep the windows open 24/7 (in Iceland electricity is pretty much free so no one cares about their heating bills). We closed the windows because the humidity definitely wasn’t our problem. 

We decided in the evening we’d go to the Pizza Restaurant we liked, so we headed into town, struggled to park (there’s a lot of snow, which means getting a tiny shit car into a space is quite hard) and skittered down the pavement in the -10c weather to the restaurant. Only to find it had stopped being a pizza joint last week and was now trialling its new menu. I wasn’t hugely keen as they didn’t have much of a vegetarian selection but Marcel didn’t want to re-park or go out walking in the cold so decided to stick with it.

I asked for a pearl barley dish, without the lamb that was supposed to be on top of it. Marcel selected their rutabaga dish. I advised him not to select this as vegetarian is always interpreted in expensive restaurants as “on a diet”. He said I was being silly and it would be a decent portion. He ended up with a palm-sized dish of pureed rutabaga with some crispy slices of it on top. Didn’t want to say “I told you so” but felt I had to, because that’s what life is like in a long-term relationship. 

The next day we headed out of town after a delicious breakfast somewhere that looked like a construction site, but was actually a decent cafe. We had quite a long way to drive so we decided we’d drive straight out to Vik and lunch there. As we headed out of town, the roads got pretty icy and once the wind picked up there were drifts of snow on the road. Always reassuring to see some people digging out a 4 x 4 that’s skidded off the road when you are in a tiny 2WD city car with about 4 inches of clearance.

We had lunch in Vik, which has got much busier since the last time we were there (it has 2 places you can lunch now rather than one) and went for a quick but windy walk on the beach, before setting off again.

We wanted to visit Jökulsárlón the next day in the morning and since there’s not much in the way of accommodation in those parts we had booked into a place called the Fosshotel Glacier Lagoon. It was surprisingly busy and we had to park right the other side of the car park. In my business putting on my gloves, I completely failed to notice Marcel getting out the car and immediately falling over on the ice, but thankfully he was uninjured and thus was able to complete his usual suitcase duties.

Our room had a pretty nice window seat overlooking the view down to the sea so we snuggled up on there and read books before dinner. The only option was the hotel restaurant and I decided I didn’t want to know how much I was going to pay for dinner so refused to do the conversions. It was an...interesting meal. My starter involved so much horse radish I spent the rest of dinner constantly wanting to sneeze. We’d decided we wanted to go hang out in the sauna after dinner so were slightly impatiently waiting for the bill, which they were tardy bringing. The delay was soon compensated for though by the announcement from the staff just after we’d paid our bill that the Northern lights were visible outside. We immediately stampeded onto the balcony to see a very impressive green streak of light across the sky.

We were torn between “this could disappear any second” and “I’m really cold and I want to go get my coat” so in the end we made a mad dash for our room, layers and my camera. Maddeningly, I almost always bring my tripod with me on holiday, but this time pressed for space and weight and with so many unsuccessful trips behind us I’d not bothered. I’m not sure I’d have photographed things much better with it though, because I hadn’t really appreciated that there’s nothing really to focus on through your view finder when what you are trying to photograph is green shimmering light on a black background. I tried though.

It did look amazing. We walked out to the front of the hotel (which incidentally involved us and a bunch of other guests stampeding past the sauna full of confused nude people to get out the quickest exit) and stood in the snow, watching the green waves slowly undulate and shiver across the sky. I hadn’t really got a grasp on the speed of how they move before. Sometimes they seemed like they barely moved at all, and indeed for at least an hour there was one solid green band across the sky that didn’t really change. In other areas you had to look at the edges to notice any movement at all. But occasionally something rapid would furl and unfurl and move across the whole sky in 10-20 seconds.

The other thing that I hadn’t anticipated is that I guess the light in the atmosphere warps our perception of the light from the stars so they looked very unfamiliar. Much bluer than normal and Sirius was swapping between flashing blue and orange so rapidly we thought it was a plane for a while.

Eventually we got cold so went back inside and sat on our window seat and watched it until about midnight. After that it had got pretty dim and we decided we’d better shut the blinds or neither of us would really get any sleep.

The next morning we rose with the dawn and headed over to Jökulsárlón. We did not want to pay 28 euros a head for breakfast in our hotel and we’d vaguely remembered there was a cafe there, so we decided to eat there. I don’t remember the food options being so basic last time. It has also got considerably busier so the indoor toilet is no longer open to visitors and we had to go out to the (thankfully perfectly clean) portaloos in the car park which were absolutely freezing. Climbing up a small hillock to look over the lagoon exposed us to such lacerating winds that my phone promptly went from 98% battery to 9% from the horrors of the cold. I had to tuck it inside all my layers to keep it alive. It was beautiful though.

There are two things to see at Jökulsárlón- the lagoon where ice bergs calve and you can see cute seals pop in and out between them and the so-called Diamond Beach where the ice bergs meet the sea and often get washed up on the shore. Last time we’d driven between the two sites but with the thick snow on the ground we didn’t dare take our car to the beach and instead plodded through the deep snow and strong winds over there.

It was beautiful, especially since unlike last time the sun was out and was glittering through the ice. However the wind was so cold it burnt my face, which ended up really painful and weirdly bright red on one side by the time we returned to the car.

We had gone to Jökulsárlón quite early because we had another 5 hours drive ahead to our Airbnb in Seyðisfjörður. The only reason we’d come back to Iceland was we’d loved our airbnb in Seyðisfjörður so much the last time we’d been there that we resolved we’d return one winter and just hang out there. And this was our plan.

The views as we drove east were spectacular. 

The road conditions driving out east were….pretty appalling. After Jökulsárlón, there aren’t many tourists which means there really isn’t much traffic. I think we saw more reindeers than cars as we fishtailed on ice and wondered why in the hell they only had crash barriers off the side of some of the roads that hooked around cliffs over the sea. At one point we drove past an abandoned van on it’s side with “accident” tape around it. By the time it was getting dark there was such a high wind driving over one of the passes you couldn’t see more than the 5m road marking pole in front of you. Which is when you really rue your car rental choices of a Kia Rio.

The winds had at least calmed down a bit by the time we arrived in Seyðisfjörður. All we had to do was get up our drive to our airbnb overlooking the valley. I said to Marcel I hoped the car would make it. He said he wouldn’t mind if we got stuck in the snow now because we could walk to our airbnb. He had to say that...seconds later our car gently skidded off the road and into the huge snow bank on the side of the drive.

Our hosts had apparently been supposed to email saying meet them in the town because the drive way had been blocked by a lot of snow, but they hadn’t. However they did use their monster truck to spend the next 45 minutes extracting us from the snowbank, so swings and roundabouts. In the end we ended up leaving our car at their house in town and getting a lift up to our cabin with our stuff. Thankfully we’d already done a shop and planned to self-cater so we could recuperate from the long and slightly terrifying drive with a soak in the hot tub and dinner.

Our hosts had been very emphatic that we could ask them for lifts in and out of town whenever we wanted, but a combination of Britishness and embarrassment about disturbing their dinner to get them to dig our car out meant that we decided to walk into town instead. It was a pretty gentle and pleasant 2.5km downhill and we felt very smug especially when we saw some locals “walking” their dog by driving slowly as the dog chased the car (later saw the tracks of someone who’d been driving their snowmobile to exercise their dog). 

The supermarket in town was...weirdly British. There were McVities digestives (Marcel discovered the chocolate and caramel ones on this holiday so I ended up having two packets wedged in my pocket for the journey home). Suede was playing over the tannoy. And a woman, who turned out to be the owner with a very strong midlands accent on the till. Apparently she met her Icelandic husband in Nottingham.

We pottered back up the hill (slightly less pleasant walk against gravity and into the wind when it is -12c outside) and spent the rest of the day living the dream eating biscuits, reading books and popping in and out of the hot tub. Just as good as I remembered it.

The next day we got slightly more adventurous and decided to go on a little snowshoeing adventure. It was -14c out and REALLY windy so I decided I didn’t want to venture far. Marcel wanted to go on the ridge behind our cottage but I said it looked avalanchy so we continued along our level of the valley a bit further. I love snowshoeing but our tracks were getting covered in seconds with the waves of snow blowing across the ground and it was incredibly cold so we only stayed out for about half an hour. When we got back Marcel said he was going to ask our hosts if it were safe to go up higher into the mountains but his conclusion was that it couldn’t be an avalanche risk area or they wouldn’t have built the town there. A quick google later and we discovered that the town is the site of Iceland’s worst ever avalanche tragedy with 24 people killed at the end of the 19th century and a factory flattened at the end of the 20th century. After that we decided to stick to the hot tub in safer activities.

The next day, despite stocking up on enough chocolate digestives to last several lifetimes, we had to go back into town to start our car because we’d forgotten that car batteries don’t really like it brutally cold. So down to town we pottered. Problem was, Marcel forgot that key fob batteries also don’t like it cold and he’d left the fob in an outer pocket. So when we got to the car we couldn’t remotely open it. We had to manually open it with the key in the lock, which triggered the alarm to go off. I think our hosts, whose house we’d parked outside, were fairly sure we were actually handicapped when it came to motor vehicles. We drove the car around a little bit and then tried to park it again, only to find ourselves menaced by a goose. I know this sounds like a joke but it was hanging out in our parking space, wouldn’t move and then tried to get inside our car. We had to lure it away with crisps (not sure if salt and vinegar crisps are good for geese. If anyone found a dead goose later that day, sorry[ish]). 

We pottered back up the hill and settled down to the rest of the day; an exhausting cycle of hot tub and reading in our beautiful cottage.

By the night time it had started to lightly snow. We decided we’d have a really long final hot tub soak so lazed in there like hippos. I was trying to catch some snowflakes on my tongue (sod’s law, none seemed to fall in my mouth but they kept repeatedly landing directly on my eyeballs) and suddenly we saw the northern lights again. Which was incredibly luck considering the night was reasonably cloudy. They whirled around for about 5 minutes and then disappeared, which was a very nice last evening at our cottage.

The next day we nervously checked the road conditions and headed off. Going south there was a huge storm forecast and the road was pretty much out of bounds. Luckily we were heading back to Reyjavik via the northern route. Step one of the journey was get over the pass to Egilsstaðir. No problem. The next step of the journey, which was between Egilsstaðir and Mývatn, is the least driven part of the circular road around Iceland, Route 1. We drove for about an hour. All was well. Then we noticed some cars slowing down ahead to find that the snow had drifted across an uphill portion of the road, where a little car had skidded and got stuck on the opposite side of the road (not dangerous, because there’s about 10 cars an hour on this road). This was unsettling to us in our tiny Kia as we clearly couldn’t turn around as the Southern roads were out, there is no other road ploughed at this time of year to get around this, and our car was clearly no better suited to it than the skidded car that a jeep was now trying to rescue. Marcel got out of the car and walked the hill to better look at it. We had zero phone reception (annoyingly we did at most places along the route but we had none there) to call the roads number to see when the next snowplough was due. So in the end we decided to risk it. We skidded and skittered but we eventually made it through!  Which was both good and bad as now we were aware that if we hit any further bad road conditions we’d be really screwed as we’d be unlikely to be able to go back the way we came as the snow was continuing to drift. We did however make it to Mývatn okay, which was good because after that the road is a bit more used so a bit more ploughed.

We had lunch in the cow restaurant we’d been to before and ate rye bread cooked in a lava vent and looked out the window at the 3ft of snow piled outside and debated thermal baths over further snowshoeing. 

There was however a road that wasn’t ploughed in winter but led up to a caldera, which we thought might be nice to snowshoe on as would have a level terrain under the snow and a decent end point. So we drove down there….only to find that some extremely optimistic/dim tourist had decided to drive their 2wd small car on what was clearly an unploughed road with several feet of snow on it and got stuck, and now the entrance to the unploughed road was filled with vehicles trying to rescue them. With our plans to snowshoe thwarted, we decided to head to the Mývatn baths.

The downside of this is that they turned out to be in a selectively extremely windy spot. We got out the car to find a wind speed best described as “scouring”. We are made of stern stuff though so headed bravely onwards. The pools are obviously hot, but the wind was so strong it was generating waves in the pool (fine) and then breaking those waves into spray in the air. Which meant the only tolerable thing to do was float on your back with only your nose and mouth above water. Unfortunately I suffer from a terrible affliction known as “extremely buoyant legs” so struggled over the next hour to stop them surfacing and exposing my feet and knees to a little light hypothermia. I ended up tucking them under Marcel’s legs which are incredibly unbuoyant (how lucky that of all the people in the world I found my leg buoyancy opposite).

We eventually got out and drove onto Akureyri. Our accomodation was right in the middle of town on a steep hill. So steep and so badly gritted (which I feel is a strange thing for a road in a pretty big [for Iceland] town in a very snowy part of the world to be) that our car got stuck trying to get up it. Eventually we got enough traction to make it into the car park of our hotel, but we decided to limit dinner choices to “restaurants within walking distance”. Luckily there was a burger joint in our street that we could totter carefully to.

Our final day was 6 hours of driving to get to the airport in time for our flight. Which was pretty stressful. Not going to lie. There seemed to be an uncanny (given how empty the roads were) link between where the snow was thickest and most slippery and the sudden emergence of a large lorry barrelling along in the other direction (the ring road is a single lane in each direction for about 99% of the road). But we made it! With just enough time to collapse with nervous exhaustion and eat some sandwiches before our flight home. Despite the terrors of driving and the discovery that renting a tiny car in winter is only a good idea 75% of the time, it was an amazing relaxing week and also FINALLY we got some decent northern lights!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Can we please have some more "Our story?"

What happens after Claire calls Jamie in “Our story?”

anonymous asked: When will we get a continuation of “Our Story”, this is a really great fic and I can’t wait to discover if Jamie and Claire will finally meet after all these years apart. Thanks to all the writers, you’re each doing a terrific job with your own world and creation. Keep up the great work :)

[December 24th, 2007]

When another deadline flies by, Jamie is flying at 10,000 feet, Boston-bound with a mouthful of pretzels. He can almost see Geordie in his Glasgow office, fat fingers typing misspelled threats into a text: droppING representaton, beach of contract, an etc. etc. dripping with career-ending venom. But no matter. How could anything matter, when the sea is a sheet of blue glass below? When a woman—his woman—is waiting for the sound of his knuckles on the other side of her door?

Later that evening, Jamie’s rental pulls up outside Claire’s home. He does not move from his seat, but waits, wanting to see what fragments of life he can snatch from the trees, the waft of peanut butter from the swaying pinecones. The house is large and painted brick, with a mismatched patch of white above the garage. Roman Column instead of Lily of the Valley. (He imagines a man, Frank, on a ladder; Claire looking up, shielding her frustration from him and the sun). The grass is freshly cut, and Jamie knows that if he wanders to the back, he will find a garden. Marigolds sleeping until spring.

Jamie thinks, with a certain sense of awe, This is the place. This is the place and that is the yard and that is the door. Inside, there is the kitchen where she has eaten breakfast, the table where she’s done her taxes, the mirror that has fogged with her breath when she leans close. (He remembers being that close, once.)

Finally, he gets out of the car.

The slats of thin metal clank when Claire pulls at the blinds. She sees Jamie striding up the pathway, looking as impressive as he does on glossy paper, or in the intricate webbings of her late-night brain. She smooths her curls and her skirt to tame whatever has burst inside her. (Loneliness, that old friend—just a puff of smoke.)

The first thing Claire says when she opens the door is, “You broke your nose.”

There is no intonation at the end, implying doubt, or criticism (“You broke your nose.”). Rather, there is only quiet evidence that Claire has not forgotten, still knows Jamie and the once-sharp bridge of his nose, through and through.

And Jamie, seeing Claire, says, “Aye, and you’ve gone a bit gray.”

Similarly, it is not a question or an insult (he thinks she looks wiser, wants to see what she’d look like in all white), but merely a quiet recognition that time has passed, they are older, and he does not care.

“I’m assuming there’s a story to go with it.”

Claire squints, trying to mine the story from his face. The possibilities: a horse, riled by the teeth of flies. An angry lover, whose palm soars, its heel shoved outwards and up. It’s unsettling, almost, how Claire can only fill these blank spaces with assumptions.

“Aye, there’s always a story,” Jamie says.

With her face pinched this way, Jamie can read the years in the crinkles of her forehead. He sees the spot where the furrow is at its deepest, the place where she probably wonders, “What other parts of you have broken?” He wants to put his lips there, tell her about every splinter and fracture without speaking them aloud. 

Claire’s eyes travel downwards until they sparkle. Apparently, she has found something in the cut of his jaw because she puts a hand to her chin, saying, “I’m going to assume…an unfortunate encounter with a mountain lion? No. A bear. A grizzly. Are there grizzlies in the Highlands?”

“Nay, unless ye count Rupert,” Jamie replies and, as if on cue, a roar comes from a nearby porch. A man staggers towards an idled taxi, all hairy haunches and pale flanks in the streetlight. “Merry Christmas!” he shouts to no one, voice ringing with booze. He draws up when he spots Jamie and Claire across the way, and his lips are spit-shined when he puckers them, cooing, “Now kissssssssssssss!”

Jamie laughs quietly, so that Claire must work to hear it once the engine putters awake. (When she moves a bit closer, she does; decides it is still the best thing she’s ever heard.)

“Well, there appears to be a small population of them in Boston,” she jokes. “Now’s your chance. I’ll hold those flowers while you two go at it.”

Christ, he’d forgotten the flowers. 

“Thank you,” he says, placing them in her arms (the pulse of an old grief when she cradles the roses). “Make sure ye dinna crush them, mind. The woman I’m taking to dinner wouldna appreciate crushed flowers.”

“Better crushed flowers than a crushed date. Not much you can do with that.”  

Whether either of them realizes it, the four feet between them have become one, and if Jamie were to extend his arm, he could wrap it entirely around Claire’s waist. Instead, he jerks his head towards the car, and she follows him.

“But if a ghastly beast did break your nose, I’d love to hear about it.” 

“The story’s not as exciting as all that,” he replies, opening the passenger door, taking an extra second to admire the clumsy way she ducks inside. “Just a rugby match against the Mackenzies.”

“Beasts enough,” she says, once he’s in his seat. “Was it worth it?”

Already, the new-car smell has been replaced by hers: that fertile spring scent, moss and rain and opening flowers. Jamie rubs his nose and wonders if, after all these years, Claire’s green thumb would set it straight by simple touch. Crunch, click, wholeness.

“A broken nose in exchange for Dougal on his arse, doing the splits for all king and country? Worth it, I’d say.” 

“Oof.” Claire cringes. “Think I could die happy without that one.” 

“Aye, there’s a few other things I’d rather see…” Suddenly bold, Jamie lets his words become a suggestion. A flush blooms across Claire’s cheeks as she reaches toward the dashboard. 

“Easy there, lad.” 

Jamie notices how her fingers waver in the air, seem to yearn for the knob of his knee. But Claire freezes, suddenly self-conscious, and only turns the radio dial. When Joni Mitchell sings through the speakers, she hoots, “You’re still listening to this stuff?”

“Always,” he wants to say. 

“Better than what’s on nowadays,” he says instead, tapping the cracked CD case on the consul. “And my iPod broke.” 

“Broken nose, broken iPod…” Claire looks out the window and hums. (What other parts of you have broken?)

It’s as though the music is dragging them from Jamie’s car, pushing them into a crooked Edinburgh flat where a needle crackles and the record spins. The soundtrack of their newlywed bliss, “Blue”—forever playing in tune with the creak of their cot, the groan of the pipes behind their heads. Lying awake at night, they had dreamt aloud of the 70’s—of history—believing they’d both been born late, two souls adrift. (“If you could be anyone, who would you want to be?” they had asked each other. But whatever time or place, the answer was always, “Yours.”)

“So where exactly are you taking me?”

“That’s for me to ken and for you to find out.” 

“I do hope it’s at least remotely interesting,” Claire replies. 

“Jury’s still out. Awaiting yer judgment.”

“Hope you remember I’m a difficult one to please.”

“Not as difficult as ye think,” he says. Another suggestion. Suddenly, Claire remembers bubble wrap and a weightlessness where there was nothing but the flutter between her legs. Jamie remembers her face, gone slack, and her heavy-lidded sighs above him.

“No,” Claire says, “maybe not.” 

And when she smiles, it is just as Jamie remembers (the most beautiful, the best thing). He feels himself wrap and wind, like a red string, around her finger.

Jeanne’s, the place is called, a tiny French joint where a glass of water costs $2 and the tablecloths feel like spider silk. It is a short walk from Jamie’s hotel and a much longer drive to Claire’s home, out in the suburbs. Both of them silently agree to ignore the implications of these distances, shunting away thoughts of alabaster shoulders and muscled calves under a hotel bedspread. 

“So tell me,” Claire says, their meals ordered, “why this place?”

“You have to promise ye won’t laugh.”

“Promise,” she says (though she will giggle halfway through, a teenager’s star crossed giddiness). “I won’t laugh.” 

So this is what Jamie tells her: that he’d once looked up restaurants in Boston, and found this one. That he’d used it as a reference—a stage set in his mind, which he could place Claire easily inside, see her occupy. That, in knowing the menu and the wine list and the painting near the bar, his memory of her could be something more than memory. Something just short of real because there she’d be, ordering from the menu and the wine list, sitting beneath the painting that he’d memorized from the bookmarked Yelp page. (This, Claire understands. It’s why she used to read the articles, why Frank shredding her collection seemed like the greatest theft.)

There’s a synchronicity to their movements as they eat. When Claire reaches for the salt shaker, Jamie’s hand is already there, passing it to her. And when Jamie spills his whisky, Claire is already advancing with a napkin, blushing as she grazes his lap and feels a hardened promise in his trousers. At one point, there is a crumb at the corner of Claire’s mouth, and Jamie does not feel shy about telling her it is there, about flicking it away with his finger (but God, does he wish it was his tongue) when her own cannot seem to find it. 

“There.” 

They talk about everything: Sorcha the horse, the online forum, Laoghaire, Frank. The random moments when they were reminded of each other: a particular slant of light on a penny, a navigation system set to British English. They smile, they laugh, and begin to think that a span of fifteen years is no significant thing. No time at all.

But for all their honesty, they are skirting around the great, fat elephant. It squats in the middle of their table, fattening itself on the bread basket, until it grows too large to ignore. A breathing wall that Claire considers hopping, sticking one brave limb over the edge; testing, testing. Are ye sure about this, Claire? 

Their conversation halts when a fight breaks out beside them. A couple, much younger than they, lips curling with their fists. Everyone—Jamie and Claire included—braces for the smack of a cheek or the slosh of drink, but a waiter intercedes and guides them out. The combatants rush into the night, huffing a trail of hate that only lovers know.

Claire seems to wilt then, her shoulders and eyes lowering. The last bite of coq au vin is left untouched.

“I suppose we should….” She pauses, bullying a lone mushroom onto the table. “We should talk about some things.”

It is then that Jamie realizes what is to come and that—no matter how hard he wishes it wouldn’t—it must. He straightens himself in his chair, gives a noncommittal, “Mmm.” And only after Claire’s lips tremble does he realize his mistake: like so many years ago, he has not said the right words. 

“Ironic,” she says. “You seemed to have a lot to say about it in your books.” 

He stares at his plate. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” 

“Not here, no.”   

“Ever?” 

Jamie’s gaze falls further, to the floor. The hardwood is darker than in the pictures, he thinks. More mahogany than chestnut. Suddenly, he feels betrayed, like his picture-perfect stage was built from rotten planks all along.

When he finally looks up, he sees Claire’s empty chair, spots her back as she spins through the revolving door. 

“Wait!” he shouts (A word! A word!). He slams $100 onto the table and weaves his way to the entrance, rattled nerves rattling wine glasses. Once he’s outside, he finds Claire leaning against the building. Eyes like smothered coals in the full dark. 

“Mo nighean—” 

“Don’t say it,” she barks, so fiercely, that he shuts his mouth. “You don’t get to say that. Not yet.” (He had forgotten her fury, how her tiny body could hold so much of it, wield it carefully or recklessly whenever she wanted.) “You know, I’ve never heard you say her name since that day.”

Jamie thinks his gut has been sliced open. Believes that, if he looked down, he would see his liver, his intestines, his kidneys—a collection of his organs—soaking into the sidewalk. Streams of his blood trickling into five letters. 

No, he hasn’t said it. Can’t.

“Of course I remember,” he grumbles.

“Then what else do you remember?” she asks, but she gives him no time to respond. “Do you remember that morning, Jamie? The half-empty church? The too-full cemetery?” She shakes her head, laughing. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because you weren’t there.” 

“How was I to know what to do?” he yells, his own grief-rage pouring out. “I was 23, just a kid!”

“And I was your wife. You know, that person whose side you promise to stand by? But you weren’t standing by me, Jamie. You were in a bloody prison cell.”

“I did it for you. For her! We had no money, and I thought—”

“Which part did you do for us? The prison part? The not being at the funeral part? The let’s-just-make-another-child-and-things-will-be-better part?” 

“Jesus, Mary, and Bride. I’m trying to explain myself so that you can understand, if you’ll only give me the chance.” 

Claire takes a staggering step forwards, drives her index finger into his chest. She cranes her neck to look at him, unafraid. “No, I want you to understand first. I want you to understand what it was like, standing there, surrounded by “Beloved Mothers” and “Devoted Fathers.” All these people who’d lived long enough for that kind of stuff.”

She whirls away again, caught up in memory.

“And the priest, the damn priest! Jamie, he couldn’t even say your name right. Faith Eraser. Like some sick joke. I didn’t know who I hated more. Him, for not being able to pronounce it right. Or you, for having that stupid name.” She pauses, catches her breath so that her words don’t break when they hit the air. “In the end, I remembered: it was you who I hated more. Because at least the priest was there.”

“You’re the one who left. You’re the one who didn’t even try.” 

“I tried. I—” 

“Nay, give me just one second, because I think you’ve got it in yer head that ye somehow own this grief. The grief of—” He swallows. “Of Faith. But ye don’t. Ye werena there when I finally took the crib down, or when I brought all the wee clothes to the charity shop because I couldna look at them. I pretended—Christ—I pretended they were my niece’s because I couldna allow myself to think I had a daughter. That I was ever a father.” 

“You were a father. You still are.” 

“Aye, I ken that now,” he says. “It was too painful, though, at the time. To think of what I had, to remember what I’d lost. And then there were the phone calls, all the questions: Where’s Claire? Is she all right? When is she coming back? The worst of it all, really, because I didna ken the answers. Wasna sure you’d ever come back.”

Claire looks down, but he can see the beads on her lashes, the thin stream flowing down her neck, inside her collar.

“Why did ye leave? How could ye leave?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Back then I thought I did. You couldn’t look at the crib or the clothes? Well I couldn’t’ look at myself, or you, without seeing her. Remembering everything: how she felt, what she smelled like. What it was like to hold my entire heart in my arms, just for a moment, and then watch it break.” 

(She wants to tell him about the butterfly ears and about the sheets—Please, please just to remember—but is afraid of them, even now.)

“The day I came home, she was everywhere—on the walls, in the little flower mobile—and you weren’t. And then when you were, I would look at you and there’d be a split second, just a blink of time, where I’d forget. Because how could she be dead if she was still there, in the bones of your face?” Claire is sobbing now. Streaks of mascara under her eyes and snot from her nose. (Grief: such an ugly, ugly thing.) Jamie steps forward, waiting for her to shrink away, but she doesn’t. Welcomes his arms. “The moment after that—where I remembered again—was more painful than anything else. Y-y’know?” 

“I understand, Sassenach. I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I—I don’t think I should have left. Jamie, I really shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m sorry too. And I wish you hadn’t.” 

“God, we fucked everything up, didn’t we? Made a real fucking mess.” 

“Aye, perhaps we didna do—or say—the right things. But it’s nothing we canna fix.”

Claire’s laugh is mirthful when she says, “Fix? How can we ever be the same?” 

(Jamie was asked a similar question, years before, in a cabin up in the Grampians. He had doubted it too, then, thinking of nothing more irreparable than a speechless husband, a fleeing wife, and a baby who never cried. But that was long ago and before this night, where he is hugging Claire and feeling a ring beneath her blouse.)

“We can’t, Sassenach—but I dinna want to be the same. I dinna want to make the same mistakes.” His head bows, an oath. “I willna make the same mistakes.” 

“You’re really willing—”

“Yes.” 

“And even though—“

“Yes.”

“Will you stop bloody cutting me off?”

Jamie’s silence. Claire’s pointed look.

“Oh sorry. Wasna sure if ye were going for a dramatic extended pause or no’.”

Jamie grins, and it pulls at the corners of Claire’s mouth.

“You’ll forgive me?” she asks, then. Shy. “And trust me enough to know that I won’t run off? Because that’s what I do, Jamie. I disappear.”

“And I get too quiet, and I dinna say the right things—or anything—when I should. Too prideful, too ashamed.” 

“But you do, eventually. Say the right thing. The perfect thing.” 

“And you come back, Sassenach. Eventually.” Jamie tweaks her chin, brings his forehead to hers. “Can ye no’ see it? You are my courage, and I am your conscience. We canna be whole if yer no’ here to bring the words out of me. If I am no’ here to bring ye home.”

Claire rubs a sleeve across her eyes.

“Bloody writer,” she chokes, and he kisses her. (A second passes where they are 21 and 22 again, two young things dashing through the streets of Edinburgh. All this life ahead of them.) When Claire tries to break apart, he keeps her to him as if wanting, somehow, to fall into her.

“Are you going to write me into your bed tonight?” she asks, breathless.

“Is that a proposition?” 

“Merely the question of a curious reader.” 

“I thought I might drive ye home first and see where the story takes me. Dinna like working from an outline.”

“All right. Spontaneity’s nice. I like a good plot twist.”

“Are ye ready, then?”

Claire reaches for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes, she squeezes back. She leads him toward the car. He follows, holding the keys and her heart. 

“I’m ready,” she says. “Take me home, Jamie.”

(At her doorstep, Jamie will give Claire a Christmas gift: a vase wrapped in old hopes, tied up with a sweater ribbon. Because of this, she will say, “Want to come in?” and will allow him to shuck his shoes on the rug, kiss her in the moon-drenched foyer. It will be immediate—the dissolution of their separate mouths and the resurgence of a familiar knowledge—once Jamie’s shirt parts and Claire’s skirt drops. Blue stripes and liquid gold on the floor.

She will let Jamie lay her down—gentle, so gentle—in front of the fireplace. And Jamie will bend—reverent, so reverent—and lick the pale tributaries of her inner thighs, inching towards the most tender part of her. “Please,” she’ll say, and he will make her say it again.

“Please.”

There are old lines. Ones they will know, remember as a soft curve or a particular bulge of muscle. Theirs to re-meet, reclaim and own.

There are also new lines. They will cut their teeth on them, tasting each other’s now-bonier spines or the looser skin of their upper arms. Jamie’s hands will still be larger—so much larger—than hers, and he will grasp the soft side of her knees, spread, and sink. “God,” Claire will think he says, and then wonder if he’d ever prayed in an empty church. Found some kind of grace in religion, as she had done, during those lonely, intermittent years.

Claire will kiss Jamie’s jawline, remembering that he likes it. Jamie will nip Claire’s neck because he knows it makes her shiver. And they will both be happy when they see that they’ve remembered correctly, that he does, yes, still like it when she kisses his jawline and that she does, yes, still prickle with goosebumps when he nips her neck. Please. God.

Jamie will begin to move faster, pushing Claire up and up until stars fall into her open mouth, then pour out again onto his shoulder. The bite marks there will glisten. 

Not long after, Jamie will follow, the fullest kind of breaking. And this time—oh, oh, oh this time—she will hear his whisper. Not “God” at all, but: 

“Claire.” 

And maybe, she will think, her cheek finding his steadying beat. Maybe this is what God is. The sound of your name in a lover’s mouth. Your face inside his heart.)

[interiorstarweb]

Living Room, 5 years In!

I’ve realized lately that I tend to blog about a room once it’s renovated, and then I kind of move on. I guess I feel like…how many times does anyone possibly want to look at the same room, just a little altered from last time we looked at the room? I never feel like a room is finished because I move stuff around ALL THE DAMN TIME for shits and giggles, and then posting about it feels so…self-indulgent? Unimportant? And then years go by and the room actually does look TOTALLY different than it did before, and then I feel a little regretful that entire iterations of the space have gone undocumented in the meantime. The public must know. For the purpose of…I don’t know, this is a blog and that is what we do here.

Which leads us to my living room, which regularly ends up as the victim of my late-night puttering. And the last time I felt inclined to write a blog post about it was OVER THREE YEARS AGO! Oopsie! We have some catching up to do!

Back when I bought the house, the living room looked like this!

A couple years later, it looked like this! Let’s take a moment to appreciate and mourn the extreme cuteness and specialness that was Linus. I miss that dog so fucking much.

Today, it’s more like this! I didn’t consult my old pictures before taking new pictures, so APOLOGIES for the inconsistent angles. I didn’t ask Mekko (or Linus, who did not take direction) to pose for pictures—she does that on her own free will—so, I don’t know, do we feel weirded out she chose the same spot? It’s like she…is trying to tell me…something. (She isn’t; she’s a dog.)

So some things have changed and some have not changed. My dumb little bench is still my coffee table, which really just goes to show how utterly impossible it is to find a good coffee table. I MEAN MY GOD. All the ones that are right in most ways are still so wrong in other ways I fear I will die before the culture at large figures this mess out.

I got that painting a couple weeks ago from a local consignment place. I had this idea that I’d paint the frame but instead I got home and immediately just put it up and so far have not addressed it further. It appears to be signed S. Eagle in the bottom right corner. Seagull?

Also, the sofa is new! And by new, I mean no longer really new, but I guess making its big blog debut? Just in time for me to WANT IT OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW? Fancy that! So this is the IKEA NOCKEBY 3-seater, which I found in the As-Is section at IKEA around 3 years ago for something stupid, like $200. I didn’t like the legs so I swapped them for these Pretty Pegs, which this couch isn’t really made to do but I made it work. I’ll spare you the DIY tutorial but it involves extra screws and additional support and it’s just not that interesting. Anyway. The NOCKEBY is in most ways a good sofa, but I’m not allowed to own a sofa that isn’t going to also serve as a luxury dog bed. This sofa has a limited selection of slipcovers, and this one (which may now be discontinued?) is TERRIBLE when forced to interact with either dog hair or dog nails. TERRIBLE. Of course it can be taken off and washed, but with IKEA couches that’s actually kind of a production, and it doesn’t wash well, and I just do not like it at all.

This lead me to purchasing a SECOND, DIFFERENT slipcover, which had a tighter weave, and that was SOMEHOW EVEN WORSE. After trying every stain removal method I could imagine, I could never get the thing clean and I eventually threw it away.

SO now I’m at this dumb crossroads of either buying yet another slipcover ($$) for this so-so cheap sofa I performed some light hackery on, or getting this menace out of my life and buying a new leather sofa ($$$). I suppose I could also just put the original black/chrome sofa back, since I still have it, and it IS leather, but I didn’t like it in here either so I’m not sure that’s an improvement.

I think I just need a different sofa.

Let me think about it for another three to five years.

The rug is also new! But not new-new. I got it at auction and I like it! The colors and the pattern are so bright and bold and fun. Which is also me saying: I have not taken the time to learn anything about the origins of this rug, but it is a nice rug that was $300 and the main color is mustard and I’m into it.

2013! Those walls were wild, man.

2015.

So this looks like that now, you get it. More stuff on the mantel. Less big scary lady. Bertoia wire chair from yore still hangin out.

Ya know, I feel like I pulled this faux fireplace project off.

The arts above the fireplace are by Gregory Gummersall. On the mantel are stuff and things. We have vintage studio pottery. We have my dead dog’s collar. We have 2 Dala horses. We have my precious lamp. We have some antique crocks.

WE HAVE THIS BANANAS CRYSTAL I paid $5 for at a garage sale recently. I’m not, like, a ~crystal person~ but I’m totally a crystal person. Also, Dala horse butts are so cute.

This is 2015. This wall has always been tricky. I’ve since moved the piano. I have NO IDEA what to do with the piano. It’s HUGE and in reality, there are exactly 3 walls on the main floor that can fit it. I do not play piano. I do not have any desire to learn how to play the piano. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to know how to play the piano, but I do not see myself trying to learn that of all things in the foreseeable future. Shower/car singing is my only real musical passion. But I have this huge piano that came with my home, because the man who lived in it FROM AGE SEVEN TO NINETY-TWO was the lead organist at the Old Dutch Church and taught piano lessons out of this very house during the Depression and, like, the war and shit and who the hell am I to put his piano on fucking Facebook Marketplace?

It’s a real problem.

Also I got a nice bench that matches it pretty perfectly. And then I moved them both into the hoard room of doom.

So, in a fit of I-don’t-know-what, I made this situation all by myself and I call it Curiosity Corner because I don’t know what it does, it just is. It is my things assembled in a way that is just a way to look at a lot of things at once. Shiny objects I have acquired by various means.

The mirrors are nutso but I like it a little nutso.

I inherited these two really groovy lucite end tables from a recent exciting purge of my parents’ storage space, which came in a shipment including things like my old soccer trophies and these truly astonishingly long spools I made of my finger-knittings (not pictured). The tables originally came from my grandparents’ house! I don’t really have anywhere for large end tables like this right now, so to maximize Curiosity Corner I put them side-by-side and then put things all around them. Over! Under! Inside! More things!

That blanket folded up on the chair, yonder, I bought at a war reenactment with my friend Chandler in high school. The bud vase I got at a thrift store in Sweden. That little colorful container has a set of matching coasters in it, and once lived in my grandparents’ rec room (the other grandparents, not the lucite table grandparents). My friend Maya gave me that mirror above the lamp. The lamp is from IKEA and I love that thing. Maybe not as precious as some of the other stuff but I’d still TRY to save it in a fire.

Also on display are a few things I’ve found in the walls or swept into the corner of the attic, that kind of thing. I blogged about the one in the back a while ago!

Is this…doxxing? Forgive me Madame Jeanson.

That pillow in the background was part of the Marimekko for Target collection and the alpaca wool pillow on my safari chair was a thrift find a couple weeks ago! It was $20 with the down insert and is in PERFECT condition. It’s by Elvang Denmark and was…definitely more than $20 new. Look at me with a fancy throw pillow.

Does that about cover things? Mekko’s OVER. IT.

Living Room, 5 years In! published first on https://novaformmattressreview.tumblr.com/

[billydmacklin]

Living Room, 5 years In!

I’ve realized lately that I tend to blog about a room once it’s renovated, and then I kind of move on. I guess I feel like…how many times does anyone possibly want to look at the same room, just a little altered from last time we looked at the room? I never feel like a room is finished because I move stuff around ALL THE DAMN TIME for shits and giggles, and then posting about it feels so…self-indulgent? Unimportant? And then years go by and the room actually does look TOTALLY different than it did before, and then I feel a little regretful that entire iterations of the space have gone undocumented in the meantime. The public must know. For the purpose of…I don’t know, this is a blog and that is what we do here.

Which leads us to my living room, which regularly ends up as the victim of my late-night puttering. And the last time I felt inclined to write a blog post about it was OVER THREE YEARS AGO! Oopsie! We have some catching up to do!

Back when I bought the house, the living room looked like this!

A couple years later, it looked like this! Let’s take a moment to appreciate and mourn the extreme cuteness and specialness that was Linus. I miss that dog so fucking much.

Today, it’s more like this! I didn’t consult my old pictures before taking new pictures, so APOLOGIES for the inconsistent angles. I didn’t ask Mekko (or Linus, who did not take direction) to pose for pictures—she does that on her own free will—so, I don’t know, do we feel weirded out she chose the same spot? It’s like she…is trying to tell me…something. (She isn’t; she’s a dog.)

So some things have changed and some have not changed. My dumb little bench is still my coffee table, which really just goes to show how utterly impossible it is to find a good coffee table. I MEAN MY GOD. All the ones that are right in most ways are still so wrong in other ways I fear I will die before the culture at large figures this mess out.

I got that painting a couple weeks ago from a local consignment place. I had this idea that I’d paint the frame but instead I got home and immediately just put it up and so far have not addressed it further. It appears to be signed S. Eagle in the bottom right corner. Seagull?

Also, the sofa is new! And by new, I mean no longer really new, but I guess making its big blog debut? Just in time for me to WANT IT OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW? Fancy that! So this is the IKEA NOCKEBY 3-seater, which I found in the As-Is section at IKEA around 3 years ago for something stupid, like $200. I didn’t like the legs so I swapped them for these Pretty Pegs, which this couch isn’t really made to do but I made it work. I’ll spare you the DIY tutorial but it involves extra screws and additional support and it’s just not that interesting. Anyway. The NOCKEBY is in most ways a good sofa, but I’m not allowed to own a sofa that isn’t going to also serve as a luxury dog bed. This sofa has a limited selection of slipcovers, and this one (which may now be discontinued?) is TERRIBLE when forced to interact with either dog hair or dog nails. TERRIBLE. Of course it can be taken off and washed, but with IKEA couches that’s actually kind of a production, and it doesn’t wash well, and I just do not like it at all.

This lead me to purchasing a SECOND, DIFFERENT slipcover, which had a tighter weave, and that was SOMEHOW EVEN WORSE. After trying every stain removal method I could imagine, I could never get the thing clean and I eventually threw it away.

SO now I’m at this dumb crossroads of either buying yet another slipcover ($$) for this so-so cheap sofa I performed some light hackery on, or getting this menace out of my life and buying a new leather sofa ($$$). I suppose I could also just put the original black/chrome sofa back, since I still have it, and it IS leather, but I didn’t like it in here either so I’m not sure that’s an improvement.

I think I just need a different sofa.

Let me think about it for another three to five years.

The rug is also new! But not new-new. I got it at auction and I like it! The colors and the pattern are so bright and bold and fun. Which is also me saying: I have not taken the time to learn anything about the origins of this rug, but it is a nice rug that was $300 and the main color is mustard and I’m into it.

2013! Those walls were wild, man.

2015.

So this looks like that now, you get it. More stuff on the mantel. Less big scary lady. Bertoia wire chair from yore still hangin out.

Ya know, I feel like I pulled this faux fireplace project off.

The arts above the fireplace are by Gregory Gummersall. On the mantel are stuff and things. We have vintage studio pottery. We have my dead dog’s collar. We have 2 Dala horses. We have my precious lamp. We have some antique crocks.

WE HAVE THIS BANANAS CRYSTAL I paid $5 for at a garage sale recently. I’m not, like, a ~crystal person~ but I’m totally a crystal person. Also, Dala horse butts are so cute.

This is 2015. This wall has always been tricky. I’ve since moved the piano. I have NO IDEA what to do with the piano. It’s HUGE and in reality, there are exactly 3 walls on the main floor that can fit it. I do not play piano. I do not have any desire to learn how to play the piano. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to know how to play the piano, but I do not see myself trying to learn that of all things in the foreseeable future. Shower/car singing is my only real musical passion. But I have this huge piano that came with my home, because the man who lived in it FROM AGE SEVEN TO NINETY-TWO was the lead organist at the Old Dutch Church and taught piano lessons out of this very house during the Depression and, like, the war and shit and who the hell am I to put his piano on fucking Facebook Marketplace?

It’s a real problem.

Also I got a nice bench that matches it pretty perfectly. And then I moved them both into the hoard room of doom.

So, in a fit of I-don’t-know-what, I made this situation all by myself and I call it Curiosity Corner because I don’t know what it does, it just is. It is my things assembled in a way that is just a way to look at a lot of things at once. Shiny objects I have acquired by various means.

The mirrors are nutso but I like it a little nutso.

I inherited these two really groovy lucite end tables from a recent exciting purge of my parents’ storage space, which came in a shipment including things like my old soccer trophies and these truly astonishingly long spools I made of my finger-knittings (not pictured). The tables originally came from my grandparents’ house! I don’t really have anywhere for large end tables like this right now, so to maximize Curiosity Corner I put them side-by-side and then put things all around them. Over! Under! Inside! More things!

That blanket folded up on the chair, yonder, I bought at a war reenactment with my friend Chandler in high school. The bud vase I got at a thrift store in Sweden. That little colorful container has a set of matching coasters in it, and once lived in my grandparents’ rec room (the other grandparents, not the lucite table grandparents). My friend Maya gave me that mirror above the lamp. The lamp is from IKEA and I love that thing. Maybe not as precious as some of the other stuff but I’d still TRY to save it in a fire.

Also on display are a few things I’ve found in the walls or swept into the corner of the attic, that kind of thing. I blogged about the one in the back a while ago!

Is this…doxxing? Forgive me Madame Jeanson.

That pillow in the background was part of the Marimekko for Target collection and the alpaca wool pillow on my safari chair was a thrift find a couple weeks ago! It was $20 with the down insert and is in PERFECT condition. It’s by Elvang Denmark and was…definitely more than $20 new. Look at me with a fancy throw pillow.

Does that about cover things? Mekko’s OVER. IT.

Living Room, 5 years In! published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/

[joesbrownusa]

Houses For Sale in Bath, NH

364 Pettyboro Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $439000

If you have always wanted to get back to basics and lead a more self sustaining life, here for your consideration is this quintessential farmhouse. Circa 1850, offering 5 bedrooms, 4 baths, original details, 2 car garage, 2 bedroom apartment and a hydro plant powered by the Petty Brook that can supply electricity to the house, all on 39 acres(+-). With serene surroundings, wide open spaces, and mountain views, this property has all the makings necessary for a homestead. Inherited property, limited information as to some systems. Hydro is offline. Come and see.

720 W Bath Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $289000

*** NOTE – If you wish more information, be sure to “uncheck” realtor and check property owner before entering your information. Thank you. *** Beautiful single family home located on 37 acres with very lovely view. House is situated on front 10 acres with trails throughout the rear 20+ acres. Great for hunting, activities or farming if desired. Quaint town with population of 1000 with a Blue Ribbon elementary school. Three sources of heat which includes outdoor wood boiler that provides heat for swimming pool. Rear acreage provides plenty of wood. Automatic generator provides whole house support automatically so feel free to take those winter trips. Alarm system provides protection with police and fire whether at home or away. Additional equipment items available to include Kubota L4240 Tractor and accessories, Hudson Wood Processor, Polaris Ranger, Polaris Snow Machine, and John Deere Zero Turn Mower. Buy as package deal and reduce house price significantly.

36 Mountain Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $320000

This charming 3 bedroom, 2 bath Cape style home w/ attached one car garage which is situated on 3.88 acres(+_) and has stellar mountain views has had many recent updates including a spray foamed basement that helps keep the house toasty warm, all new electrical throughout, new carpeting, fresh paint, a new 1000 gallon propane tank, and a new deck that wraps around the back of the house among other things. Seller continues to work on the property but new owner will need to furnish appliances. Bath is a lovely rural town with a nice mix of rolling farmlands and wooded areas and home of th e historic Bath Covered Bridge in the Village of Bath. Residents enjoy St Johnsbury Academy as a school choice.

125 Porter Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $249900

This gorgeous Cape home with Solar Panels averages $13 per month for electric! The lot has Apple Trees, Raised Beds available for you garden and Plenty of Storage is Within Walking Distance to the Big Eddy’s Swimming Hole and the Wild Ammonoosuc River. The selection of High Schools include the St Johnsbury VT and less than 5 miles to the Haverhill Schools! Quiet a Pleasant Scenic Area With Wildlife and Trails on site.This comes with a First Right of Refusal for purchasing the lot across the road and has a deeded Protective Views Easement so you won’t have to worry about someone building and taking away those soft mountain views! The fun loft bedroom set up with skylights and a half bath are comfortable and there is plenty of storage as well. You won’t want to leave the more recent sunroom addition where you can enjoy morning to night fully surrounded by windows, looking onto the side and rear landscaped that includes apple trees and trail entrances! The interior has Knotty Pine Natural Wood accent walls and there is additional space in the basement to create more rooms! The Full Listing Sheet Can be Seen on http://www.TardiffRealty.com and This is an Easy Showing Property! Feel Free to text the listing agent directly at 802-233-2106 to set up a showing! See the full listing sheet on http://www.TardiffRealty.com

51 Riverbend Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $209900

Fantastic getaway cabin! Featured as a centerfold spread in Country’s Best Log Homes magazine, this Coventry log home is in pristine shape + has great appeal for anyone seeking the mountain lifestyle. Tucked away in a lovely quiet subdivision with no neighbors either side, you’ll appreciate how much care the owners have taken, since it was built in 2005. Expansive front porch/deck faces south/west and invites you to step inside and experience the warmth and character of beautiful log construction. Fantastic country kitchen flows to the lovely dining area and on to the living room with w oodstove + cathedral ceiling. Master brm/full ba/laundry on 1st floor, plus 2 brms, balcony, bath + cozy sleeping loft upstairs; easily sleeps 8 people! 6′ basement is spotless and dry. It’s hard to find a log home as nice as this one. Big, level yard with a good-sized shed, wood storage + large firepit. *Easy Access to ATV/sno-mo trails*. 300′ beautiful river ftg shared by property owners. Welcome home!

Tyler Way, Bath, NH

Price: $28500

All wired but needs hooked to power lines, cozy insulated hunting, snow mobile bunking cabin with WILD AMMONOOSUC river view and access. Does need Septic system and well, but best deal on the market. Enjoy the sound of the river and get a toe hold in the White Mountain National Forest Region.

257 Porter Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $259000

Fabulous views, open floor plan log home on 8.92 acres, a custom kitchen with a Viking gas cooktop., three bay garage, fenced dog area and small barn. A perfect spot for a gentleman”s farm. Close to skiing and boating ,hiking and biking. Snowmobiling nearby . This is a slice of country living at its best ,Horse property, great spot to raise a family or just a really nice getaway..

55 Rum Hill Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $110000

Hard to come by affordable home in highly sought after low tax town of Bath, NH. This home has been maintained with pride and offers beautifully manicured lawn and landscape. If you are just starting or need to downsize be sure to add this one to your must view list. Home offers a comfortable atmosphere for a feeling of relaxation the moment you step inside. There”s a spacious eat-in kitchen with ample cupboards, large living room with pellet stove and ½ bath/laundry on the main level with 2-bedrooms, full bath and large linen closet on the 2nd level. Bath also offers High school cho ice including St. Johnsbury Academy, Lisbon regional or Woodsville High School.

1290 Wild Ammonoosuc Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $121900

Very nicely kept attractive cottage across the street from the Wild Ammonoosuc River which can be heard and seen from the porch. Beautifully kept wood floors and pine interior. Great setting and home within a short drive from the White Mountain National Forest and major ski areas.

682 Goose Ln, Bath, NH

Price: $112500

Bath, NH – A survivalist”s haven, a rare concept, year round home inside a barn with 2.37 acres with all conveniences which features a two bedroom home in a small portion of the 2nd floor of this 38 x 74 foot barn with a one bedroom apartment on the 1st floor. Plenty of storage room to spare. The property is priced to sell and was built to live in with many unique features, such as a battery powered utility elevator to the 2nd floor for firewood, a small green house area on the South side entrance, large garden area and pasture for animals, pitcher pump as back up in case of power outa ge and don”t forget the soaker tub ! Not the home for just anyone, it is a unique rough and tumble home built by a free thinking individual who worked the home around the magnificent beam structure of the barn. The buyer must be one of the following or combination thereof: a survivalist, jack of all trades, or an airbnb owner who knows that the allure of this unique structure which will draw a terrific repeat customer base or someone just looking for a home with amazing character. If you are not a tinkering type of person this will not be the home for you. If you are a cash buyer or have 25 % down and you like a home that is out of the ordinary with a mini-farm capability, and might be a good fit for the home give us a call ! Additional acreage available.

9 Fenn Way Cir, Bath, NH

Price: $359500+

Newly constructed, never lived in, Coventry Log home with amazing views of Mount Hope and Young Mountain. This 3,000 square foot home beams with natural light and offers open concept living. On the main floor a country kitchen with stainless steel appliances, granite counters, a pantry and doors leading out to the expansive decks overlooking the views below. A master bedroom suite, a ¾ bath with laundry hook-ups, dining and great room with wood burning stove complete the first level. Upstairs two bedrooms, a full bath, and loft overlooking the rooms below. The walkout lower level offe rs a large family room,bath, and two finished rooms. This home sits at the start of the private Rivers Edge Community and is surrounded by the White Mountain National Forest. Just miles away from I-91 and I-93. Come see what NH has to offer.

623 Goose Ln, Bath, NH

Price: $139900

You’ll want to see this cozy home situated nicely on 3.4 acres in low tax Bath, NH. Location offers many options for 4-seasons of outdoor recreation from hiking to golfing as well as skiing and snowmobiling. Cannon and Loon Mountain are within 30 minutes drive and there’s direct access to snowmobile trails on lower end of property. The house features open concept kitchen/dining with breakfast bar, 1st floor master bedroom with bathroom, the basement has been finished and offers a large family room, bedroom and seperate utility room with walk-out into the back yard. There’s also room to garden, a portion of yard is fenced and there’s a detached tractor garage complete with it’s own electric service for the handy man who likes to putter. There’s also raised beds for gardening as well as plenty of perennial plantings to enjoy. Bath offers High School Choice including Lisbon Regional & St. Johnsbury Academy.

469 Goose Ln, Bath, NH

Price: $224900

Wow! This modified log home has been freshly painted inside and out, and has sheet rock on the inside. The large kitchen has some recent appliances, a skylight, a double sink island, a sitting area with windows, a wood stove and views! The open formal dining & living rooms have custom herringbone pattern wood floors, exposed beams and French doors that lead you to the amazing panoramic mountain views seen from the sunroom. The front deck is off the front with great landscaping and the side entrance from the porch to the kitchen has a patio entrance with multi-layered stone work and pere nnial gardens leading to the back yard. The lower level boasts an in law apartment with a full kitchen, dining, bedroom and living rooms and additional storage area, cool cellar and multi-egresses. Covered storage, ample parking and all the amenities you will need to live comfortably.

550 Lang Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $40000

3.9 acres situated on a reasonably private road off the well beaten path ready for your dreams to come true! Whether you”d like a place to set your camper, build a vacation retreat or set your permanent home you will wish to add this lot to your list. The driveway is in, NH State Approved Septic Design in place, landscaping and lawns ready for your enjoyment.

331 Lisbon Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $350000

Thoughtfully restored to perfection, this 1795 Federal style treasure is listed in The National Historic Registry. Originally owned by Jeremiah Hutchins, this home & its wonderful authentic appointments have been fully restored. If you are looking for an authentic, accurately restored Federal or Colonial Revival, you will appreciate this home. In an ever changing world, you will appreciate the sanctity and solitude with clean air, beautiful rivers and lush countryside. You’ll enjoy even more peace of mind knowing that you have the self-sufficiency of a whole house generator. With a larg e barn, the home is ideal for an active outdoor family recreation. Skiing, fishing, golfing, hiking and snow machine trails are just a few of the nearby recreational offerings. This is a truly special home with a unique list of features including: Nine (9) fireplaces, wide board pumpkin pine floors, high ceilings, exposed beams, elegant picture frame wainscoting, and spacious master suite.

280 Wheeler Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $289900

Are you looking a Classic New England Cape with an updated modern touch? STOP right here!! You have found what you have been looking for!! Tucked away on 2.6 acres, this tastefully remodeled cape has custom wood floors, stainless steel appliances, and too many other special touches to name. With 4 bedrooms, 2 living spaces, a formal dining room, a Brand New Kitchen, plus a den/office you have PLENTY of rooms for the family to scatter off to. There is also a possibility of a 2nd bathroom upstairs. No matter how you put it, this is a must see home!!

198 Pettyboro Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $69900

1800’s farmhouse features, 7 rooms, 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. 2072 feet of living space. Flat 2.0 acre lot. Attached 2 car garage. Large barn also on the lot.

3 Monroe Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $125500

This Lot/Land is located at 3 Monroe Road, Bath, NH. 3 Monroe Rd is in the 03740 ZIP code in Bath, NH. The average listing price for ZIP code 03740 is $220,800.

8 Wilderness Way, Bath, NH

Price: $495000

Nestled among 21 wooded acres above the historic village of Bath is a custom-built New England gem. This home has high-end craftsmanship throughout. The main-floor living/dining area is open concept, perfect for entertaining. The kitchen is well laid out with extensive counter and cabinet space and includes special amenities such as a built-in recycle center and large walk-in pantry. The second floor includes 2 master suites, one with custom wood-burning fireplace. Outside, the home boasts a large Farmer’s Porch as well as a spacious sun-deck, both overlooking meticulous landscaping. Th is property is close to many White Mountain attractions and historic sites, including The Brick Store, America’s oldest continuously operated general store (located in Bath Village). There is a 24 hour notice needed to show.

7 Rum Hill Rd, Bath, NH

Price: $140000

– 11 room, 3 bedroom Victorian Homew with 3246 feet of living space located in the middle of the charming village of Bath. Built in 1831, this classic homes retains much of it’s original charm.

from Houses For Sale – The OC Home Search http://www.theochomesearch.com/houses-for-sale-in-bath-nh/ from OC Home Search https://theochomesearch.tumblr.com/post/158132793115