#Ozone glass door floor spring

[raajrajasharma]

Floor Springs - Shop Premium Quality Floor Springs Online at Low Prices In India | Frikly

Buy premium Floor Springs from leading manufacturers at Frikly. Explore our wide selection of Floor Springs online, available at the lowest costs. Enhance the functionality and security of your floor with reliable and durable Floor Springs. Shop today and enjoy unbeatable prices at Frikly!

[zabrak-show]

The Letter | Maul x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

warnings: fluff, mention of alcohol, nudity, gender neutral reader, adopted children, mention of slavery and trauma, so fluffy and sweet dear god, I hope that it’s not too cliche, sex is suggested, but never explicit.

a/n: I wrote this because I have been really stressed lately and also have baby fever really bad. I have never done a story like this from the reader’s perspective and tbh wasn’t sure if I would ever try, but I figured why not?! I also usually only write angsty things I’ve realized, like even when I think I’m being sweet it still ends on a bad note LOL anyway, I hope someone else enjoys this please leave me hearts and feedbacks. I’m new at this and need validation hahah xoxo

~*~*~*~AU where Maul left Sidious to become a bounty hunter. Y’all lovebirds met and adopted a couple sweetie night brother babies and settle down on Dathomir to live the domestic Star Wars dream.~*~*~*

The hour was late and you were pacing around the large office in your home on Dathomir. The house was everything you could dream of for a home. It was a lovely 3 story, sprawling with more than enough rooms to make everyone happy for your family of 4. You had adopted two night brother children while your husband, Maul, had been on a mission to free them all from a life of slavery and subservience on Dathomir. After peace was established on Dathomir, you decided to settle down here for the kids and it really was a dream come true.

 You could not believe this was your life sometimes. Your husband was the most handsome man in the whole galaxy with his crimson skin, sharp facial features, and dramatic black tattoos decorating his entire body. Your two children, Zabrak boys, the older one with orange complexion and the littlest one, yellow, were sound asleep in their rooms above you. The bottom of your long black robe lightly crawled across the cool wooden floor as you made your way around the room, too restless to sleep, too tired to get anything done.

Maul had been gone three months now. He was set to return any day now and you hadn’t heard a word from him in weeks. His work was dangerous as a bounty hunter, but you had full confidence in his abilities. He was the strongest and fiercest person you’d ever met. Of course, around you and the kids was another story, but you knew the way he was raised by Sidious had led him to do some really dark things that made him more than capable of taking care of himself.

Finally, you decided to pour yourself a glass of Tevraki whiskey to help calm your nerves. You sat at the long dark wooden desk at the corner of the room and turned on the green lamp atop its surface. It was Maul’s desk and you usually never sat there to not disturb his things, but you hadn’t gone this long without seeing him since you’d been married and craved any sort of reminder of him. You ran your fingers over all the drawer pulls in a futile attempt to feel him through the things he touched repeatedly every day when he was home, noting where the wood and metal parts of the desk were more worn. You reluctantly pulled open one of the drawers. If there was one thing you weren’t, it was nosy, and you fully trusted and respected your husband’s privacy. It felt like you were being possessed by a hand not your own now opening the top drawer and seeing a small stack of papers. One folded neatly with (y/n) written on it in your husband’s handwriting. 

Oh dear, I really shouldn’t 

I mean it does have my name on it though…

No, it’s not for me to decide

Just take a small peak…

You were slowly opening the folded paper, despite the argument in your head, your hands had made up their mind and your eyes weren’t going to pretend to look away either.

My Dearest (Y/N),

I will never understand how someone so gorgeous inside and out could love a monster like me. I struggle to understand every day, sometimes I think you’d be better off without me. I am filth compared to your innocence and beauty. I look into our children’s eyes and see the same purity reflecting off their eyes. How lucky they are to have you as a parent, to learn about love, acceptance, and family. All things completely foreign to me until I met you. How can I teach the children these things, when I myself still have so much to learn?

  I get so scared, my love. Scared that I won’t be able to protect you all. Scared that I do not deserve this life. Scared that I will somehow hurt you or the children. I had my mind made up that my presence was a downfall to this family and would degrade us all into the grime and dysfunction I know all too well. I fear it is all I know and that I will always be drawn to it like a flii to bantha fodder.

Despite my fears, I can never leave you. I love you too much and I need you now more than ever. I remember once threatening to leave you before because I felt like you were better off without me. You told me that wasn’t my decision to make for you, and I don’t think I ever told you just how much that resonated with me. My whole life has been others’ making decisions for me and me being forced to go along with it. Here I was doing the same thing to you, something I never wanted you to experience. It horrified me and I pledged to do better for you, for myself, for our children.

I am so sorry you fell in love with someone as despicable as me. I wish I were not who I am. Every day I can only try to do my best and show you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I wish I could give the entire galaxy to you, for us to both rule and unite. I know that is not what you want, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still day dream about it sometimes.

I don’t think I will ever be brave enough to give you this letter, but it has been a good feeling for me to get these feelings out somehow without using violence.

                                      Yours forever and always,

                                                       Maul

You held the note to your chest and held back tears, finally succumbing to them and just letting yourself cry. Hot tears rolled down your face, you were overcome with emotion, bursting at the seams with love and saudade. At once, you heard a door creak behind you. You had been so zoned into the letter you had completely lost track of your surroundings. You felt a slight panic at first from the noise, but then figured it may be one of the children up to go to the fresher or ask for a snack. Wiping your eyes, slowly you turned, and saw a tall dark cloaked figure in the doorway to the office. Highlights of ruby red could be seen through the shadows and you knew at once who it was.

“Maul!” you jumped out of the leather office chair like there were springs attached to your feet, entirely forgetting the open letter still sitting on his desk. You ran over to him so fast it felt like you were flying. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a long overdue embrace.

“My love, I am still dirty from my travels, I do not want to get my grime onto your perfect pristine self.” His voice was low and calm, just as you had remembered it and he smelled like blaster fire, ozone, sweat, and petrol.

“Oh I don’t care I missed you too much to ever care about that.” you didn’t let go as you spoke softly into his ear, “I was so worried. I...I thought maybe something had happened.”

He backed away shaking his head looking directly into your eyes with his alluring golden eyes, “No. No my sweets. I will always return to you. Always. No matter what.” 

With that he wrapped his hands around your waist so hard it drew the breath from your lungs and he lifted you off the ground walking slowly towards the ‘fresher. You held on tight, not worried about him dropping you, but simply to get closer to your lovelorn partner, drinking in his scent and making a mental note to store away this memory forever in your mind, to get you through future dark days.

He gently sat you atop the counter in the fresher as he began to peel off his bloody, singed, and greasy clothes. You didn’t have the patience to sit and watch so you began to help him, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, examining his gorgeous red skin for more wounds and tracing your hands along the old scars and tattoos that adorned his unique skin. He gently took your hand and held it up to his lips for a small kiss. You smiled sheepishly and he took your face into his calloused and strong hands and looked at you like he needed to study your face for a quiz on all your features.

“I missed you so much,” he said low and gravelly.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Maul.” you turned your cheek to kiss his hand, and he finished undressing to get into the shower. You lost yourself in a daze, watching his hands run soap and water over his naked form to wash off all the debris of his last hunt. You never even had to ask if he was successful anymore, he was always successful.

With a sudden jolt, you remembered you left the letter open on his desk.

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom, sweety.” you winked at him and started to walk out.

“(Y/n), I already know you read the letter you don’t need to try and hide the evidence.” Maul’s bright yellow eyes cut into your soul and you remembered he could read your mind.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t read my mind like that.” you pouted.

“Sweets, you left it out on my desk. I saw it when I walked in to hug you. It doesn’t take a mind reader to use context clues.” he laughed and you didn’t even care that he was teasing you, seeing him laugh and smile was the best sight in the galaxy.

“I’m sorry I read it. I..shouldn’t have. I should not have gone through your things, that was wrong.” your eyes got big to show your remorse at the decision. He stayed silent and you panicked at the thought of him being upset with you. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmmm… well. You did go through my things without asking. And read a highly classified document, I’m not sure if I can forgive you. I wonder if there’s some way you could make it up to me?” He was now climbing out of the shower and toweling himself off, with a sly smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand to lead him into the bedroom.

His eyes never leave your elegant figure and you slowly begin to undress, dropping your long robe to the bedroom floor, but still wearing your thin black nightie. He delicately throws you on the bed and gets ready to climb on top of you, his own figure still slightly wet from the shower, when a clatter is heard from down the hall. Maul whips his head around to look at the door behind him with his killer instincts, your head peeking out to the side of his.

“Shhh… I think daddy’s home.” a small voice from outside the bedroom followed by a gentle knock at the door. Maul growled so lowly that only you could hear it. Your eyes grew big and you threw your robe at Maul to cover up with as the door handle slowly rotated and two orange and yellow faces peered out from the darkness of the hallway. The sight of Maul excited them beyond measure and they ran to tackle him now wearing your fancy robe. There was nothing but laughter, happy tears, smiles, and warm embraces. It was the most beautiful family moment you could ever think of having in your life and you truly did not want it to end...mostly. 

No use in lying to yourself, you could not wait to get Maul all to yourself again for even just a little bit.

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

tags: @wolfpack-arts-industries99​, @pinkiemme​

[exactlyenoughglitter]

rules of service

AO3 Pairings: Avallac’h/Eredin/Lara Warnings: non-con, NSFW, orgy, pegging, bondage, dead dove: do not eat Summary: Lara does not take Eredin's sneering implications, suspicions, and innuendos about herself and “her place” very well. Elves are proud, vengeful creatures. Disclaimer: An experiment for exploring the darker impulses of Avallac'h & Lara, which I think they might have in some capacity due to the very simple, insane fact that they were supposed to become parents to an elven Saviour with control over all Space & Time. It's a further experiment in exploring power and the dynamics of these three characters in a three-way pairing, which I, personally, do not consider very likely in any nice capacity.

The daughter of Shiadhal receives her guest standing in the middle of a rosette mosaic, underneath a chandelier dripping with riddling light refracting through heliotrope crystals. Tiny shadows dance on her low-cut anthracite dress, slit at the side, and in her long hair of white gold gleam mint alabaster gems set in filigree; the hairpiece cascades down the side of the woman’s head in a display of unparalleled artistry.

As it should.

For Lara is the most treasured apple of Alder Wood.

‘Your grace.’

‘Captain.’

Poplars sway gently in the evening wind. The tall windows make this open drawing room almost like the winter gardens of the upper palaces of Tir ná Lia. It is half-a-day’s ride from the capital to the chateau and the valley-grounds Lara favours.

‘Thank you for coming.’

He nods. ‘It would be the height of discourtesy of me to refuse a summons from your illustrious person.’

Emerald eyes shine on him coolly, with faint curiosity. It is that ruminative glint that so mocks its recipients, hinting at the possibility of care in the distant amusement of the one who was born forever a better to everybody and second to none. He knows that look well. It’s all he has ever received, all, they believe, a knight should be content with.

Delicate fingers of a spell-caster trail along a marble balustrade which divides the decorous space in two, until they reach crystal glasses and a pitcher under the roses.

‘Do you feel hungry?’ she asks. ‘Thirsty?’

‘Neither, your grace.’

‘But you are a man of great appetite, are you not?’

By way of an answer, Eredin offers half a smile. The spotless glasses and the pitcher have been prepared, but the elf does not sense the presence of either servants or handmaidens. It would appear their meeting is a private one; he wonders about that.

‘Well? Aren’t you curious?’

‘Nobody has ever called me incurious.’

‘To your face, maybe.’

‘Maybe,’ he crosses his hands behind his back. ‘Does your grace usually concern yourself with the barking of dogs?’

Lara gives a small laugh, which is beautifully hollow.

‘Could we drop this, do you think? This artificial politeness. This prancing.’

She approaches slowly, the anthracite fabric of her dress shifting with the sway of her hips. Eredin looks openly, for there is no point in complimenting the most beautiful woman in the world unless the compliment can say something beyond itself.

‘Behind closed doors,’ the daughter of the Alders speaks, ‘I have always been “that witch” to you and you, in turn, have always been one of my father’s beloved dogs to me. Well, when I say beloved.’ A burst of light blue butterflies erupts from a bowl drowning in greenery at one end of the balustrade. ‘I think we can speak freely, don’t you?’

‘By all means,’ he sneers. ‘Let us speak freely. If it is your freethinking ideals you wish to discuss –’

‘No, I do not wish to discuss! Not like this, not today, and not with you.’

He inclines her head at her. Unlike her mother, Lara is not an imposing woman. She is an ineluctable one.

Standing close, her eyes absorb the lines of his face. ‘We have never been friends, you and I.’

‘Have we not? Astonishing.’

But Lara changes tact, and this indeed does astonish the Sparrowhawk. An elegant pale hand lays down on top of the amaranth-vermillion cloak wrapped around the dark-haired elf’s strong shoulders. Eredin looks. The priceless jewels on Lara’s priceless fingers shimmer.

‘No. We have never been friends,’ she murmurs, letting her palm slide over the large silver brooch. ‘Even so, I am not my mother, Eredin. I wish to know what you think. As you said, perhaps there is something you can say – offer me – that no one else can. Perhaps I even wish we could be... friends?’

The heavy cloak, bearing the fresh smells of the journey, falls to the floor at the elf lord’s feet as the Gull departs as lightly as she had arrived, in a soft swish of a dress from which flashes the toned line of her leg.

‘I like curious men,’ she throws over her shoulder. ‘Are you one who is curious for its own sake, or one who is curious only to experience the satisfaction of satiation?’

‘Latter, I’m afraid,’ he trails her closely with his eyes. ‘Chasing the wind does not interest me in the slightest.’

‘Is that so? You never imagine what could be?’ a hint of something plays on her lips and she shows it to him. ‘Do you lack the imagination, or the means?’

Poplars rustle outside, along the whitewashed avenue and somewhere beyond, fountain water falls. Lara sighs.

‘I am not entirely sure I believe you.’

The secret something in her demeanour does not disappear as he approaches. It holds firm, even once they stand face to face by the marble balustrade under the brilliant chandelier. Jewellery in Lara’s hair crinkles like the spring melt as she looks on him, brazenly, and he feels his blood stirring.

‘Why did you summon me?’ he asks. ‘What is it exactly,’ he glances down the lean line of her neck, ‘that the princess of the Alder Folk requires of me?’

‘Understanding,’ she replies simply. ‘Of where we stand.’

A thin, unassuming string of gold winds around her neck, leading his eyes, while she trails her fingers along the petals of a rose, not letting her guest out of her line of sight for a second. The Gull’s eyes, Eredin has to admit, can put a spell on you. So he looks elsewhere instead.

‘I have been thinking a lot about our little dance lately,’ she says. ‘About your concern for me.’

‘Have you now?’

‘I have,’ her gaze falls briefly on his lips. ���Or do you think I lack appetite?’

Her lips part, her eyes narrow. He takes another step. Her dress brushes his knees.

‘I am at your service.’

‘Then serve me.’

  He catches her wrist on its way up.

Lara does not flinch, though a shadow darts behind her eyes. It pleases him. Perfume of iris and white musk mingles with the smell of wild roses, which Eredin loves. And that pleases him too.

Slowly, at his chosen pace, he moves the delicate hand of the Gull down. Slowly, along the curve of a narrow waist and round hips. To the slit of the dress.

Their eyes meet – green that is everything in green that is not – in that cool disdainful way before people make friends. He knows a little more still: that this is the look of all women who do not want to ask. Who do not have to ask – ever!

Eredin plunges their joined hands underneath the dress between Lara’s thighs. Neither of them so much as blinks. And then – after silk parts and she parts – then he raises her hand to his lips.

‘Wet.’ He tastes her. ‘Like any woman.’

He cannot proceed entirely how he would like though; despite seeing burgeoning fury and desire breaking the cool indifference in that lovely face. Lara makes his knees go weak – literally. With those nimble spell-caster’s fingers. Fingers that the elf believes would look elegant around his cock.

‘On your knees.’ She wipes her fingers in his hair. ‘Like any man.’ And sits on the balustrade.

Eredin does not respond any more.

His experienced hands clutch the front of the anthracite dress on which light and shadows twirl in fey regalia. Silver hooks clatter weakly against marble alongside pearl-trimmed panties and a tense gasp joins the rustle of poplars in the fragrant summer eve. Grasping Lara by the sides and tugging her against his waiting mouth, he smiles; the panties were probably a gift from Crevan.

Crevan, who does not know you as well as he thinks after all.

The weakness in his knees proves surprisingly persistent but easy to ignore.

It is easy when a firm thigh trembles on his shoulder, pushing the crowning jewel of the Alders further under her “dog.” When it is his lips that nudge apart the slick petals of her, him who smothers the trembling of her core around her swollen clit, him who presses it back and forth and drags his tongue all along that very special, very warm and wet cunt. Which in the end is just another cunt – to be sated.

It is easy.

The spells of Auberon’s little girl will crumble and she will rock against him in her insatiable hunger, and then he will put her face down on the floor, where people kiss her feet, and fuck her until she is heaving full of his seed.

‘I wonder,’ he murmurs, inhaling her, ‘if your fated can imagine you like this?’

‘Oh, Eredin!’

Lara’s fingers pull at his hair as she moans. He looks what has become of those iridescent pools of green that would mock him so, releasing her with a bite and a pop.

She smiles gently, her eyes far away.

‘He knows.’

  The collar snaps into place.

  ---//---

Wisps of lazuline smoke rise under open lattice-work ceilings and skies that are paling pink. The humid nocturnal air is erupting in chirps, chits, trills, and the distinct whirring of dusky starfrontlets who dart from flower to flower in the hanging gardens. Lara follows them with her eyes, breathing palisander and fading notes of ozone, and feels fingers playing in her hair, scattered like aurous rain on huge, plush pillows.

She squeezes her eyes shut, holds her breath. The fingers stop, wondering. Then resume in a tip-tap between her shoulder blades.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap-tip. Tap –

Lara laughs into the pillow and shoves at the warm chest hovering over her, and Crevan’s smell washes over her as he falls into the pillows. He is showing her funny images.

‘Sleep, I beg you.’

‘No.’

‘You are cruel!’

She rises on her forearms, tossing her head back and stretching, and meets the witch-lines on his body along which she has walked and left her marks, lines which lead her to the male’s triangular face in which bright eyes, as intensely awake as hers, shine at her.

‘Cruel, do you understand?’

He smiles, softly. ‘I will put the sun in you.’

Sometimes Lara tries to imagine how it would be like to hear Crevan’s words as a lesser woman to whom words are just words, not spells. To whom their lover’s desire is solely a matter of acceptance and fleshly pleasure and not... sacral rapture. Or are they somehow the same – them and her?

‘Everyone is expecting... to have you, Lara... any man would... golden children you will give... waiting with bated breath... love is very dear... “cosmic significance”... satisfying your grace... do you know your place?’

She feels herself sinking deeper into the softness around them with the male’s hips pressing against her rear, lips lulling, appeasing over the scruff of her neck as the growing girth of him is sliding languidly back and forth between her thighs. And in return, on a mean whim stoked by the memory, she does something slightly rash. Slightly... impolite.

Because in the next moment the elf’s hands squeeze her painfully and then he is gone, and the ringing of wind chimes startles away the hummingbirds and spangled cotingas, and already Lara turns after him before her Fox can sulk, though knowing he will have an explanation from her as only the first of several repayments. But frankly, Lara can no longer bring herself to care about how below her this is supposed to be – everything is anyway – and so, she simply tells Crevan – about what their “friend” allows himself in her presence...

‘It is different between you, but I do not believe you have not noticed how he is,’ she says at last. ‘The way he speaks. To me? As if I owe him anything.’

Bare feet tap on tiles of black onyx with mother of pearl inserts and diamonds. Lara finds an abandoned glass of spiked ambrosia inside a feather crown and picks up the long pale-spotted lynx fur. Perhaps as a result of the delights of their night she feels everything more intensely, including the vengeful impulse overcoming her now. Perhaps it is simply what Lara is really like – with the ethereal strappings stripped away. The promised daughter and mother of blessed blood; an elven maid – not to be slighted.

‘Just imagine,’ she leans over the mahogany table toward him, rich fur softening the impact. ‘If the golden vessel that will feed our people with endless opportunities were nothing but a mindless, manageable, pretty trinket that would fit on your hip. Sentience is so troublesome, after all.’

‘Absurd.’

‘Is it? Is the state of my womb not a matter of the vox populi? A Daughter of Dana belongs to her people. Perhaps it has even given our captain the impression I should also belong to him?’

‘You belong to me.’

A strange thrill sparks in her and she catches his eyes.

‘This? This is,’ he twiddles his long fingers in the air, ‘little piggies’ blither. They are hungry and impatient and make a lot of noise, and this annoys my beautiful Lara. I do not like it.’

How his expression has changed, from concern and indignation in the beginning to something stronger. She realises then that Crevan’s anger is indeed a slowly burning thing, sly fury under turf, that once aroused can burn until the world is ancient.

She wonders if she can push this...

‘I don’t know, Crevan, sometimes I think you are more alike than it seems.’

The elf lord rolls his eyes, letting his head drop back. It should concern her but for some reason, right now, his ire excites Lara – very much.

‘Why do we allow him so much?’ she draws nearer to where he sits in sable furs under tall open glass doors. ‘Eredin –’

‘– is nothing,’ he intones. ‘Without us.’

‘You think?’ She steps between her Fox’s legs. ‘Sometimes it seems to me he fancies himself the prime stallion. A unicorn?’ And dangles the end of the fur seductively along the male’s thigh. ‘Are you certain?’

Crevan’s lip curls mockingly. Lara slides hers along the edge of a glass flute, looking and swaying, long hair tickling the small of her back, as the wizard contemplates her naked form, his beautiful brow drawn together in a scowl. She sits down on his thigh and his hand circles her waist, stroking the lynx guarding her nudity. Aromatic wisps of smoke bend around them on their way out. She leans into the kiss.

‘The best of me,’ she murmurs, ‘belongs to you. Always.’

‘Then why are you telling me about a rude horselord, instead of lounging about my neck?’

His tongue flicks over her lips before he takes hold of her with both arms, moves her into his place, and stands.

‘Where are you going?’

He gives her half a look, a lively low fire yawning in it, and reaches for a gown as the paintings along his back stalk in dawn’s twilight. Lara reaches for his wrist.

‘Wait!’

The night air hums. He looks inquisitively, letting her stroke his hand along the serpents. The sorceress’s eyes narrow as a thought occurs to her.

‘I have a better idea.’

‘Ah?’

‘Yes.’ She smiles up at him, her sun-blessed fox, with a smile that makes Crevan hers. Soft fur brushes her mouth. ‘But first, my heart, you will have to promise me –’

  ---//---

  Lara’s head is reeling.

Attempting in vain to control the flushing of her neck, she watches how Crevan tugs her mother’s favourite about like a scary marionette on invisible strings. For a moment both men had resembled their namesakes to her – struggling with tooth and claw – until magic had brought brute force under its control. Magic from which such brute force derives.

In fascination she watches how powerful arms belonging to a lifelong warrior stretch out like the wings of a giant bird and are nailed down in fey bondage at a soft whisper from the sorcerer’s lips. It reminds her of how Crevan whispers to his birds. To me. The spasmodic twitching in their captive’s limbs is made that much more enchanting by the visible violence trembling in the veiled chains, which still succeeds in sending one of the stone planters on its plinth shaking.

‘Give in to me.’

They stand chest to back, light and dark. Alabaster skin under the spell-sown collar is reddening dangerously quickly.

‘Or you can garrotte yourself.’

At last, the Sparrowhawk goes still.

Quiet.

Water runs merrily in the in-door fountains, magic hums in the air. Lara guesses chit-chat might be coming hard to Eredin at present. Only the leer of his burning greens persists on her. Not that it matters, because his looks will shortly follow the floor on which he had imagined taking the most precious daughter of the Alders like a common whore.

Adjusting her partly ruined dress in a makeshift arrangement, Lara looks with no small amount of pleasure at how that hard-line of a back bends over the marble balustrade under duress from the Power, like a birch rod. Something in her envies her betrothed this fun, for this simple spell gives the sensation of bending blue steel with one’s fingers. She realises she can still feel the steel of those palms on her hips as she looks how Crevan’s hand runs up the back of Eredin’s neck and across his scalp, gathering pitch black hair and pulling it carefully away from the elf’s face above the velvet-lined collar; until he can curl the dark waterfall around his fist and yanks.

‘Look, my love!’ he gazes at her fondly. ‘I have a new mount for you!’

Lara’s eyebrows rise, she hides her excitement behind crystal. The sorcerer’s aquamarines, despite adoring her, are also colder than in the dead of winter. We agreed! Her Fox is not malicious by nature just... playful. Sometimes so in evil spirits, though.

‘Shall I break him in for you?’ he smiles.

The plinth shakes again dangerously, a few light blue butterflies emerging from the flora, and an ugly wheezing sound arises out of Eredin’s throat.

Lara nods. ‘Please.’

Her eyes fall on the collar.

‘Do you think you could –?’

    He sucks in air like a drowning man.

‘You fucking witch!’

Oh, his voice is raw! Mangled from the burn that scathes tissue with electrifying heat, as if skin was nothing more but thin layers on a cabbage. White pin points dance at the edges of his vision and he feels the Sage’s annoying fingers flick against the side of his face.

Lara frowns. ‘I only allowed you to breathe, spared your voice. Gratitude really means too little to you.’

‘Oh princess, pretty princess,’ he hawks, intensely furious, ‘you do not fight fair, your grace.’

‘Would you?’ she sips at a drink. ‘I thought novelty thrilled you.’

‘Did you not say you wished for a friend in me?’

‘We will be friends – afterward.’

He laughs; somehow. It does not sound pretty.

‘I have annoyed you deeply then,’ Eredin grins, still tasting the woman on his lips. ‘Is fair Lara so irate with me perhaps for implying true things which even she has not become aware of yet? But such is truth – annoying. Simple, sometimes, and annoying. More so still to the Wise.’

Emerald eyes flash. ‘Truth?’

He knows he guesses correctly – about how traitorous are Auberon’s daughter’s thoughts about her purpose that allows her everything. How she does not think twice about opportunities to go slumming with the wretched, when all she really has the duty to do is to let herself be loved until her belly grows. The hair on Eredin’s neck rises at the touch of a small blade. A quick tickling line shoots down the length of his spine and expensive fabric slides down the sides of his ribcage.

‘The truth, Eredin, is that you and we are not equal, nor will we ever be,’ she says. ‘You speak to me on behalf of our people, “us”, yet you only look after your own, while we look after everybody. We look after you too, don’t forget. I am “us”, Eredin. Me.’

He feels Crevan’s hand tugging at his hair, baring his throat, while another wanders contemplatively along the shape of his back. It slides around him, feeling up his abdominal muscles and a tingling, voiding sensation suddenly moves through his intestines. Lara’s precious eyes, which oust the hoarfrost from in-between the stars, do not meet his gaze.

‘You are curious about things which do not really concern you.’ They pass him over for another, and a blush spreads along the graceful neck before she turns away altogether. ‘You allow yourself too much.’

Something cold and vaguely heavy trickles onto the small of the elf’s back, followed by the magician’s palm. He twitches. The hand rubs methodically along the flexor muscles of his lower back, before yanking at his breeches.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Why Eredin,’ Crevan responds lowly. ‘You are the breaker of horses; you will work it out.’

Instinctively, he attempts to crane his neck, defend himself, and is crushed by aches when tearing against his tethers. His black hair falls back around his face, as fury splashes ineffectually in him like acid, finding no proper outlet.

‘How pleased you must feel,’ he sneers, trying to think, ‘with your little trap.’

‘Mine?’ oiled fingers circle slowly, and penetrate resistant flesh. ‘I am doing my dear heart’s bidding, nothing more. Please stop trying to tamper with your bonds. I am angry with you and not in the mood to do all this tidying. Understand that I will immobilize you utterly regardless of Lara’s wishes if you insist on misbehaving.’

‘Indeed I would expect nothing more from you.’

The blonde snorts. ‘This is hardly for my sake, but hers.’

‘What do you mean?’

The Sage shoves his legs apart.

‘You will pay for this, Crevan.’

‘You are mistaken,’ the Sage replies as another slender finger enters him, scissoring, stretching, while its brothers continue to massage his perineum. ‘This is not a transaction between you and me. For starters, Lara believes you deserve a lesson, not punishment. I disagree. Presumptions such as yours should be rooted out with iron and salt, even if they are but the by-product of the blessings you have received from my caste. Then again, giving a disloyal subject a taste of what they want can sometimes do the trick just as effectively.’

‘What a vixen you are making out of our Gull, Crevan.’

‘I am loathe to refuse my darling. Perhaps if you learned not to run your mouth about our games, none of which should burden her... but then again, I appreciate seeing your hand every once in a while. You see, between you and me, I know whose enjoyment should come first. Hers, not mine. Oh to be an instrument serving only noblest of purposes. Alas!’ A contemptuous snort. ‘You will be staying overnight, of course.’

‘Serve?’ Eredin feels a grim, disturbed laughter rising in his tortured throat. ‘You, who helped create this woman to love you, would pretend in this to serve only her enjoyment, and out of humility? Principle? You are enjoying this vastly more than Lara.’

‘Well, I do enjoy it a little.’ The elf flinches against his will when the fingers inside him find the special spot and feel it up. ‘For instance, I understand her anger much better now, and as they say, common dislikes tend to bring people together perhaps even stronger than preferences. Should I thank you?’ The additional digits squeezed into him almost entirely undo the work of their predecessors, no longer aspiring to any pretences of kindness. ‘You are wrong, Eredin. I serve. Unlike you, my highest purpose is to serve life, not close life’s eyes. In return for which She opens Her bosom before me – willingly. Me.’

‘Perhaps you will be happy to learn then that this life you serve is not averse to spreading for whoever she whims.’

The collar around his neck squeezes like fiery pinchers.

‘Do not be envious.’

Hands warm from magic knead his buttocks, spreading him open, and he feels the press of a warm, blunt head. Shackled and immobile, he realises then that all he is allowed to do – all he has ever really been allowed – is to wait. Seizing him by the hair as he pushes forward, the light blankets the dark.

‘You will still have the honour of serving my children for all eternity.’

    The brass frame of the tiny, sealed amber horn digs into her palm. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear them, and in her mind’s eye she sees. If she opens her eyes, she will see tall poplars swaying beside the avenue leading to the chateau, but she cannot open her eyes – his aquamarines on her do not let her; when she had failed to suppress enjoyment from Eredin’s lips against her. Now he is calling to her softly through the bond they share, and Lara’s heart beats faster. She feels wet. She feels exhilarated. She feels awful, and she likes it.

She opens her eyes and turns. They are both looking at her. Moving in rhythm like a white vessel over dark waves. Will whoever ends up in the middle be torn to pieces? Lara cocks her head and approaches.

The dark one, his curtain of black hair flowing back and forth like silk with each thrust, stares at her with naked contempt and hatred for once.

‘I did not know your grace enjoyed punishment this much,’ he bites through a line of small white teeth. ‘If I had known earlier –’

‘Up!’ the light one commands, and so it goes.

Lara feels her cheeks glow as she steps lightly and comes so close she can smell them, one familiar and the other not, and sees Crevan bottoming out in their captive, again and again and again, patiently as is his manner at Alder court. Run? The impulse she suppresses, but not the hot flushing desire that pools in her stomach and shoots to her head like a tiny icicle trail in a burning desert at the small smile on her intended’s lips – he can feel it too. All of it.

‘This is not punishment,’ she leans close to Eredin, touching his warm chest through which she feels the deep thrusts in rhythm with the elf’s powerful heartbeat, before moving on to Crevan’s magical fingers on the captain’s shoulder. ‘This is... play. Novelty!’

Black hair tangles in the enchanted collar, hot breath exuding from the magnificent elf’s half-open mouth above which cold green eyes tear at the elven maid’s face.

‘Are you uncomfortable?’

Lara leans her hip against the balustrade and looks, and Crevan indicates to his waist. She knows the details, of course, but truthfully, it is still new to her, and her breath catches in her throat when she touches her Fox right then. The roughness in his hips – he never treats her to this, whatever this is, ever, even when they get carried away with each other. Why it is maddening!

Summoning the vial and refilling it with magic, Lara watches with fascination how glistening oil the shade of marmalade pours into the cleft where he moves relentlessly, coating his shaft. He helps himself with his hand, never quite leaving the captain’s body. In her mind’s eye, Lara sees what he would prefer though: to have her fingers wrap around him, lathing him in lubricant, before he continues; a kiss...

Lara hooks her fingers in Eredin’s collar, shutting Crevan out, or this will simply not work out as they want.

She tests the collar lightly, changing pressure and listening, observing how his neck works. She wonders if Crevan would, on her... he is smiling at her openly now. No, better not to wonder. But the captain too is smiling! Mockingly, knowingly. And what does he know? Lara drops her bejewelled hand completely – to Eredin’s crotch. He is hard. His grunt falls pleasantly on her ears. She unlaces him and takes him in her hand.

‘Do you not like my whims, captain?’

She strokes along the girth of him, long, until she feels her fist rest at the base, and then hard – several times – as the collar tames the groan that Crevan pushes and she pulls from him. The little brass frame of the tiny amber horn in the palm of her other hand is beginning to hurt her.

‘You will pay for this,’ the warlord rasps, the muscles in his arms straining.

‘Why?’ she leans up closer, squeezing his hard flesh in rhythm to the slap of hips. Crevan swears. ‘You are our friend, Eredin. Our very... good... friend.’

Lara kisses the elf lord on the mouth, bruisingly, with the Sparrowhawk’s teeth drawing her precious blood and the tail of his elated grunt at being given something – anything – ending up on the Gull’s own tongue. She feels Crevan’s hand in her hair, pulling her in and pressing her against Eredin’s front, bringing them all together for a moment. The sorceress flicks the lid of the amber horn in her free hand. Fairy dust spreads into her palm.

And then, raised before the puckered full lips of the treasure of the Alders, Eredin sees the magic powder, which flies in his face with a puff of her sweet breath, settling like snowflakes on his eyelashes, in his eyes, on his tongue and in his nose; and he breathes in the rest from her fingers. And roars.

Lara feels him twitch in her hand.

‘Do you know what this is, captain?’ she asks, admiring his dust-sprinkled eyes.

‘This is pure!’

‘Of course it’s pure. Who do you think I am?’ Crevan growls, holding out his palm to Lara. ‘It will make an eagle out of a sparrow. I am curious, I have never had an eagle before.’

‘Plenty of sparrows,’ he chuckles. ‘At least your taste remains refined.’

‘As you were,’ the towering form of the captain jerks forward. ‘Enough, Lara my love, enough. You are smaller, not used to –’

‘And you are? Thank you, Crevan. I know.’

‘What delicate cornflowers both of you!’ Eredin licks the dust off his lips. ‘Is that really everything, your grace?’

‘Oh, Eredin!’ Crevan laughs, pushing his light hair back over his head and delivering several extremely unpleasant thrusts in a row, after which Lara simply has to abandon the captain for the time being. ‘Give him more. Give him! He doesn’t know anything, but he wants. Yes, my darling, let him have it, I want you to have an unforgettable ride.’

‘Your servants would be unable to get you anything better,’ Lara explains, feeling her blood rushing faster in her chest as vivid clarity takes her head, ‘because no matter where you look for the one thing you will always crave, you can only ever find it with us. We must not fight, us and you. Never!’

Power, power, power. It’s always power that he wants. There is no stronger aphrodisiac.

‘How well you know, Lara,’ Eredin’s tongue licks at her fingers, his eyes laughing at her. ‘How well this role suits you, our beautiful pacifist. Women – they always know better, don’t they, Crevan? As you can see, I cannot but bow before your wisdom. I, too, wish for peace, would you believe it?’

‘I know! It’s just the appetite, Eredin,’ her emeralds narrow evilly. ‘And you are mistaken if you think our appetites do not align. Do you want to know a secret? Do you want to know what Crevan tells me? In my little pointed ear, at night. He describes the sun to me in all its glory.’

The elven princess sits on the balustrade, next to her mother’s most talented light-douser’s half-bent form, and turns her eyes on the elf whom Dana made so he always carries the sun around his head.

‘How the sun burns with the life it gives. How big and bright and lethal it is. How it would scorch my wings if I flew too close, yet freeze me if I drifted too far. Like you fly on your Dragon – are they all Dragons, by the way? Never mind. I don’t really care.’

Lara likes how her Fox laughs, how giving he can be; they really don’t know him like she does.

‘He knows so many tricks, this lover of mine. That is why it can only be him, you understand, because I am more like you – a creature of the skies; just not as privileged to be selfish all the time,’ she caresses his bicep. ‘So anyhow, Crevan tells me – Eredin, are you listening? He tells me – because he knows I too have an appetite like you, and him, and Auberon, and all other nice elves – how he will one day slip the Sun into my hand when I am not looking. And then...’

The magician rests his hand on the other elf’s neck, pushing downward, looking at the daughter of the Alders as if he wanted to lay her down on their stallion’s sturdy back that very second, but Lara, who is smaller and cannot have as much of the fairy dust, suddenly feels the magical tethers trembling and quickly lends her partner a hand. Before, like him, losing herself – in those cool stars from faraway skies, from whence their race once emerged, which have made a home in his triangular face.

‘Then the sun in me will not burn,’ she whispers, ‘but will light up entire worlds. One after another. Sun and moon – mine and his. Do you know that song, Eredin?’

She leans over the captain’s shoulder claiming Crevan’s lips in passion as the strong body between them shudders and her Fox moans loudly, moving erratically for a while to the desirous growling of their dark and dashing captive squashed between two pieces of Alder Gold.

And then it is over and done with and Lara laughs, not even really knowing at what exactly, as she dances a few steps back with her ruined fey-woven dress of anthracite slipping a little. Before slipping back one more time in order to put her hands on this wild Sparrowhawk’s cutting cheekbones and kiss him too, because why not? They are all born under their own lucky stars.

By the stars, why not?

‘Sun and hail ‘til night becomes day, dawn and dusk hand-in-hand, he’ll whisk me stars for a song, a moon half its price; apple and sin – that’s how it’s done,’ she utters in a sing-song voice, pulling golden pins from hair of white gold which cascades over her shoulders.

‘Down the spiralling avenue of stars. Mine and his – this universe, and some other, less important paths.’ And Lara’s eyes flash like a deadly moulinette in your last moments. ‘Could you offer me that?’

  More melodies appear in Lara’s head which she can taste and hum, as gold from her hair clatters on marble floors. Ruined? Maybe. So what? Fairy gold is made of dead leaves and dried dreams. The shiver begins at the back of her neck, spiralling all the way down and wrapping the elven princess in unruly delight.

She puts her arms around her to ground herself, her fingers disappearing into lush hair – to keep her quickened breath and pulse from becoming her character. World has a funny habit of appearing and disappearing when under the influence of dust. She jumps at the hasty touch on her waist.

Crevan takes her by the chin, drawing her against him and falls on her mouth greedily. His hands are slightly damp.

‘You are beautiful,’ the Sage breathes, his disarrayed hair tickling her cheeks. ‘Magnificent. Such sweet voice. My Lara.’ Her fingers tangle in the clasps of his imperial purple kaftan opened to mid-chest, desiring to run her hands over skin that tingles of their magic. ‘Say it.’

‘Yours!’ she pecks her Fox’s nose. ‘Yours, Crevan!’

‘That’s right.’ His hands move through the slit of her dress, fondling the curve of her thighs as he winds the straps around Lara’s waist. ‘Now it’s your turn, my love.’

He fastens the buckles with a harsh movement and Lara flinches, her green eyes drawing wide. They had agreed, but –

‘What is it?’ he inquires, insistently, the low fire in his dark pupils having gobbled up the bright irises, and takes her in his arms. ‘Lara? Lara, come back to me. He will not bolt. I promise you. Look, he is excited.’

So he is! Lara’s head falls slightly to one side. Oh, but what a mess!

Eredin snorts, tossing back his full head of tarry hair. The glistening alabaster skin has reddened – in one spot in particular on his shoulder – and the vein under the velvet-rimmed collar throbs to the heaving of the elf’s chiselled chest. A ruined shirt hangs forgotten around a tense forearm, tense and erect like the rest of him that persists by vigour alone under the awkward angle of perpetual bowing.

Hot lips move along her neck. ‘Like it?’

Pearly white gleams along the Sparrowhawk’s shaft; more of it still dribbling down the back of his powerful thighs. He is staring at her incredulously. Is it excitement that exudes from him, or skittishness? She cannot entirely tell.

She decides she likes it.

‘Go on,’ her beloved whispers, giving the strap-on a few tugs. He is still semi-hard himself. ‘Mount.’

  Lara gently approaches her horse.

  Bewildered pale green eyes roll under curling eyebrows. Observing. Measuring her up. Blinking in disbelief. She is glad her steed has such sharp eyes. Yet she is not her mother.

‘You are no rider.’

‘Am I not?’

The male chortles. Her fingers trail along the ribcage of the beast, as she slips over the balustrade, feeling the smaller muscles twitch funnily. Is he ticklish?

‘You will have to do all the work, princess!’ the Sparrowhawk hisses, craning his neck. The Gull lets him. There are so many interesting things right now in those sharp eyes that prey in the skies they share. ‘Appearances may suit you, but do you know how to use this?’

‘This?’ she takes “herself” in her hand. ‘Let’s see.’

Visible trembling passes through solid muscle as she gives him her first try. She looks up. And looks away again. Looking at her Fox right now is of absolutely no help here – she has to concentrate! It is strangely exciting.

‘How does it feel?’

‘Simply exhilarating.’

‘Don’t lie. Am I that different? How?’

‘No. You, too, talk too much.’

Gulls and foxes do chatter. Eredin, like Crevan, is notably larger than her, but the pinned position in which her Fox has left the Sparrowhawk helps. She strokes the curve of his rear.

‘I would like for you to enjoy yourself.’

‘What for?’

For him to understand that Lara does, in fact, wish for all of them to get what they want. For him to... to trust the rider. Trust her. He laughs throatily.

‘You get distracted too easily, your grace. I wager we will face lots of problems because of it one day. Call it a sagely intuition.’

He is slick, stretched, and as she brushes past the male’s prostate – she presumes by her knowledge – the muscles in his thighs contract, but Lara does not entirely understand this side of desire. Until, after several shallow movements with her hips she catches the Sparrowhawk staring at him from the corner of his eye.

‘You are no rider, your grace,’ the elf drawls dryly. ‘Let yourself be loved and leave the loving caresses to us. This is not your place.’

Indignation burns through the daughter of Shiadhal. She almost misses entirely how dark the captain’s eyes really are and, a moment later, delights inordinately in the ravening moan that escapes his lips as she thrusts deep without qualms. The trembling in the sculpted flesh under her fingers shoots up the male’s damp smeared back and the sorceress’s hands follow until they brush dark hair.

‘Play with it.’

She tickles instead.

Crevan smiles broadly, throwing the empty crystal class – it turns into light blue butterflies before crashing into countless smithereens.

Lara surges again, feeling her steed push into her in what little capacity he can. She loosens the magical bindings a little, witnessing at once how the pent up, violent energy swirling within him finds an opening to dissipate and leaves taut flesh momentarily shocked and trembling by the slack it is allowed. His graceful sigh – entirely unexpected – convinces her to loosen the bindings a little more. She is not her mother. She is spring! Not winter. All the while moving with increased confidence, as they are gradually reaching an understanding.

With the second sight that fairy dust opens, the Gull experiences the Sparrowhawk as the magnificent creature he is in his own right and it delights her. She hopes he can appreciate his own beauty in this moment, no matter their differences. For there is something beautiful and befitting in fitting. They should always move, the mount and the rider, as if entwined – each in their proper place. Only like this can they take on the stars.

We must not fight, you and us. We must not!

‘Take this.’ Appearing by her side, her Fox puts the end of his belt in her hand. ‘Then, like this.’ He reaches around her swiftly, flicks Eredin’s face with his fingers, and before the curse aimed at them can ring out in its wholesome glory, the etched buckskin belt is flexed tight and the elf’s head jerks up like sprung from a mouse trap.

‘Hold on to it. Hold it! Tightly.’ Lara pulls, her perspectives whirling, melting, changing. ‘That’s right. Around your fingers. Now, spur.’

‘What about his teeth?’

‘He will bite down. Endure.’ The familiar smell of Crevan is filling her with pleasant surety. He is restoring the binds to their former position. ‘It’s his duty. He serves you. It must never be the other way around.’

‘I do not wish for my subjects to hate me!’

‘This is a natural reaction. When you spur and whip your mount, it hates you. Sometimes whipping is necessary. Other days you groom it, feed it, and it loves you.’

He presses into her back, his hard flesh rubbing against smooth fabric, as his fingers undo the makeshift ties on her hip.

‘In the end, it must always recognise your authority because it cannot do otherwise. Because such is love between a servant and mistress. You are the Goddess, but he is not the God. Nothing but harm can arise out of confusing these rules. It would not allow either of you to get your due.’

Crevan places a footstool between them and lifts Lara, leaning her forward over their guest’s back, ensuring she neither slips out nor falls.

‘Eredin is our most magnificent master of horse. He knows these rules very well. It is his duty, once called upon, to help carry us to new worlds. And ours, to show and open the way.’

‘Crevan, what are we –’

‘Keep going,’ he breathes heavily, solid and secure against her with his heartbeat pounding in her ears; his mouth sucking on the pulse in her neck while his cock brushes back and forth along her wet folds. ‘Keep going, sweet heart. I am here.’

And then his hands dive under her dress beginning to work their tender magic before which there are no barriers. Gathering her excitement, playing with it, re-directing it – for her pleasure. Lara shudders in ecstasy. Always for her pleasure, always.

‘That’s right. With your back. You are doing beautifully.’

The belt slips out of the princess’s hands, and the elf lord spits it out, cursing. Groaning, as she buries in him encouraged by the hips of the male settling over her. They all really want the same thing at the end.

‘Do you hear it, Lara?’ the princess of the Alders moans as her Fox slides inside her. ‘He loves you. In his proper place, he cannot but love you, and will never betray you. Ever play only on your terms, my sweet heart.’

‘I am,’ she breathes, moving her hips forward to give, and back toward the increasing fullness – to receive.

He curses softly. ‘So warm. So beautiful. Keep going, my love. I’ll move with you.’

‘To where the sky’s the limit, but in-between there’s you. Always you, Lara.’

She threads her fingers in his sun-kissed hair, kissing them both breathless, and tapping into his pleasure which is her pleasure which will be the pleasure of all of them.

‘There will be a mess.’

‘A mess,’ he growls, shifting deeper and deeper inside his heavenly Gull. ‘Yes. There will be a mess.’ Her back arches. ‘What else is there for us? There is already such a... mess.’

    Crevan covers her hands with his.

Lara finds her rhythm.

Between life and death.

Then the fox reaches around his gull and jerks the sparrowhawk off until he feels him buck wildly against fey tethers and choke in his friends’ giving stranglehold. Until Crevan’s mind is eaten away by trembling contractions greeting him and he slides his palm across Lara’s belly.

‘Shall I catch you a sun, Lara? Shall I hide all the stars – one, two, three – inside you? First it makes you ill, then it goes straight to your head.’

His Lara laughs.

He pours into her in pleasure that does not fade, thinking:

Let them all, one day, have their free fall up the hill.

[yourpaceangel]

To Be Held

this is my good omens holiday swap fic for @eliza--thornberry. i really hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!

[ao3]

When winter comes, it does so slowly and with good warning. It gives ample time to ensure the sensitive plants are brought into the small glass shed Crowley generously calls a greenhouse, or into the cottage proper. Aziraphale tucks away the last of their picnic blankets for use in the spring and brings their lovely little wicker sitting bench into the protected walls of their solarium. They’ve learned in the last few years that even if the winter is predicted to be mild, it is best to be cautious. 

The first week of December is deceptively mild, enough so that Crowley puts off bringing their heavy down comforter out from the attic storage with complaints that he would get too hot at night if they brought it out too early. A few days later, when storm clouds roll in bringing with them freezing rain and high winds off the coast, he regrets ever making the complaint. 

Crowley wakes freezing, the kind of cold that creeps up your bones and holds tight. For a minute Crowley doesn’t understand why he’s awake. He reaches out for Aziraphale and his hand meets with an empty bed and cold sheets. Thunder rumbles outside, and Crowley feels the sound in his chest making its home there, a yawning chasm of despair. 

The clock on the wall reads 4:18AM. 

The floorboards creak underfoot as Crowley climbs out of bed. He grabs a blanket off the foot of the bed, a patchwork quilt Bicycle Girl-Anathema, Aziraphale’s voice in the back of his head corrects crossly, lovely girl-had given them a couple years prior at Christmas, and wraps it around his shoulders. His hair is a mess, growing far too long lately, and he pushes it out of his face impatiently as he heads downstairs. 

Aziraphale isn’t hard to find. 

The library is beautiful, even in the dark. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all painted white to offset the dark floor and three massive windows that take up nearly a whole wall on their own. Aziraphale is in front of the middle one. His back is ramrod straight, hands clasped together behind himself, standing barefoot in his flannel pajama set and dressing robe. 

“Angel,” Crowley says quietly. 

He doesn’t need to be quiet, it isn’t as if there’s anyone else in the cottage for him to wake up. But there is something about the night that makes one tread lighter, speak quieter, as though if you did not then something terrible might happen. There’s a heaviness to nighttime Crowley has never been able to shake. 

Lightning arcs across the sky as rain pounds against the glass in an immutable torrent. In the same instant lightning arcs itself across the stormy gray-blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. There’s a heavy ozone smell to the air that makes Crowley feel light headed. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, though he doesn’t step any closer, doesn’t dare reach a hand out to touch him, “come back to bed.”

It is so very cold in this room without the fireplace to keep them warm. Crowley likes to spend whole afternoons in front of it while it’s lit, lounging with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and listening to Aziraphale read aloud. Without the roaring fire and soft glow of lamplight everything seems cast into sharp monochrome shadows. 

Thunder hits like drum beats.

“Angel,” Crowley tries again.

Aziraphale’s head snaps to the side, pinning him in place with a stare. Aziraphale looks all the world like he’s never seen him before, and lightning arcs across his eyes again, his face impassive as stone.

“Come back to bed angel,” Crowley says, and offers a slender hand up in supplication, “come back to me.”

Recognition dawns across his face like a drop of water rippling across a well. Aziraphale shudders and says, “Crowley?” He sounds hoarse, like he’d been screaming for hours with no answer. 

“Yes love,” Crowley says and relief warms him down to his scale covered toes, “I’m right here.”

Aziraphale takes one step forward, then another, and then he buries himself into Crowley’s open arms. “I’m cold,” He says after a long silence. 

“Okay,” Crowley says and kisses his shoulder, “come on then.” He twines their hands together and leads them back to their bedroom. 

All the way, Aziraphale limps.

The next morning Crowley digs out the heavy goose down duvet from the storage trunk in the attic. He spends the next several hours sneezing and rubbing at his itchy eyes from the dust. It’s worth it though, because a deep chill settles over the house. 

Aziraphale moodily holds himself up in his study with the small space heater while Crowley chokes on dust and sets about trying to get the ancient radiator up and running. He finally gives up sometime in the afternoon, deciding the moderate warmth it puts out is the best he’s going to get and resolves to put on more layers. Aziraphale takes the news with a bit less grace than he normally would, sighing and looking put out about the whole ordeal. 

Crowley spends the rest of the day in his studio, arbitrarily shifting canvases from in progress easels to the closet to be painted over or discarded and then back again. He pauses over a seascape he’d been working on, the ocean in the throes of anger during a storm and bright light flashing across dead gray skies. His hand twitches and he tosses it into the closet with more vitriol than it really deserves. 

He drags himself up to bed a little after eleven, hair falling out of the haphazard bun he’d thrown it into just to get the curls out of his face. He’s unsurprised to find Aziraphale still hasn’t made his way upstairs as he readies himself for bed. 

He lifts the corner of the duvet and puts it down again, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing at the door. It isn’t the first time Crowley’s gone to bed alone, but he’s never liked it. 

He hears Aziraphale’s unsteady gait coming up the stairs just as he resolves himself to a sleepless night shifting restlessly under the covers. Crowley sighs when Aziraphale climbs under the covers next to him, the light from the hall pouring in where Aziraphale’s left the door half open. “All right?” Crowley asks, his eyes half lidded. 

“Mm,” Aziraphale non-answers, pulling through covers up to his chin. He looks exhausted. 

“Come here,” Crowley prompts, opening his arms up for Aziraphale to slide into. 

Aziraphale makes a noise, not unlike something put upon and disapproving, but moves closer anyway. Crowley takes that for the little invitation that it is and drapes himself on top of his angel, legs tossed carelessly together and pointed elbows digging into Aziraphale’s round sides. Aziraphale grunts but bears his weight, eyes drifting shut. Crowley hums against Aziraphale’s chest, nosing at the little buttons holding his satin sleeping shirt closed. His hand rubs absently at Aziraphale’s stomach, skimming up and down the swell of it. 

Eventually Aziraphale goes pliant underneath him, either placated or unwilling to put up a fight any longer. A strong hand curves over a too sharp jut of bone at his hip and Crowley presses an approving kiss just above the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. Crowley’s hand drags down from a soft stomach to a tense leg, kneading and prodding at the soreness there. Aziraphale hisses and clenches his hand harder against Crowley’s hip in warning. 

“Let me,” Crowley breathes, nuzzling under Aziraphale’s chin, “please.”

Aziraphale lets out a tense breath and relaxes his hand. “Fine,” he says. It’s as much permission as he’s going to get. 

Crowley kisses a thank you into whatever skin he can reach at Aziraphale’s neck and tries to rub the ache out of Aziraphale’s leg. This corporation bears no scar, but Crowley can feel the ache where it pulses just below the flesh, a phantom, writhing heat from a sword too many years ago. 

Aziraphale’s breath catches on a particularly painful press of bony fingers against flesh and Crowley stops. “Okay?” He asks, hand sliding up over Aziraphale’s hip and stomach, dipping under his shirt to splay over soft skin. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale whispers. If he’s crying neither one of them mention it. 

Crowley rests his head against his angel’s chest, feeling the steady low thrum of his heart. He lets his thumb rub absent circles against Aziraphale’s stomach and hums something low and sweet, a melody he remembers from a time just before his century long sleep. When Aziraphale’s fingers card through his hair, distangling small knots with gentle ease, he lets his eyes fall shut. 

The morning greets them with a weak glow behind heavy drapes, struggling desperately to peak inside. Crowley only wakes when Aziraphale shifts underneath him, preparing to get out of bed. 

“Where’re you going?” Crowley mumbles. His mouth is dry and sticky. His hair is stuck to his cheek and opening his eyes is a chore. His back aches between his shoulder blades. “Comfy-“

Aziraphale’s lips find the top of his head. “Time for breakfast, my dear.”

“Mm,” Crowley protests, “‘s cold.”

“It is,” Aziraphale agrees, voice deceptively soft, “I can draw you a bath if you’d like.”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “No,” He says, “no it’s fine.” He slides off of Aziraphale with a groan, his back seizing, shoving his hair out of his face and looking up with sleepy eyes. 

Aziraphale presses a kiss to his forehead before climbing out of bed. The couple steps he takes away from the bed are stumbling, his leg locking up on him a little. He grunts and rubs at it. 

“D’you want me to run you a bath?” Crowley asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. 

“No,” Aziraphale says, shaking it out, “It’s fine.” He bites off the end of the word a little sharper than he usually would, the line of his jaw locked tight. 

The space between them suddenly feels like it spans miles. The little warmth that had gathered between them over the night seems frozen over. Crowley digs his fingers into the heavy down of the comforter. Silence hangs heavy and pregnant in the air like swollen dark storm clouds. 

Aziraphale clears his throat.

“Any-“ Aziraphale stops, worrying at his lower lip, “any requests dear?”

“Omelets?”

“Of course, of course.” Aziraphale murmurs. “Do join me soon, won’t you?”

“‘Course I will angel.” Crowley replies, voice just as soft. 

Aziraphale nods stiffly and leaves the room.

Crowley sinks into the bed, cold despite the layers covering him. 

It’s the music, several long minutes later, that pulls him out of bed. Something cello heavy and familiar drifts up the stairs. The first record Aziraphale had played when they first moved into the cottage, something slow enough to learn to dance to. Crowley feels tears prickle at the edge of his eyes that he blinks away. He steals a jumper from Aziraphale’s vanity chair and pulls a pair of heavy woolen socks over his feet before padding downstairs to investigate. 

Crowley loves their kitchen. It’s a bit small for a cottage this size, but it’s never felt cramped. He remembers nights staying up late going over wood samples and fabric swatches, Aziraphale absently braiding bits of his hair while he compared two similar swatches over and over. The large window over the sink overlooks the sea and lighthouse in the distance, sheer white curtains tied back with black ribbon. In the spring Crowley likes to keep the window open while he cooks, but for now it is shut tight to keep out the creeping chill of frost. 

The sun bursts through sheets of gray clouds in spots as a promise to the rainy haze ending soon. The music is louder inside the kitchen, Aziraphale’s record player in the sitting room next door, filling the still air. Crowley watches Aziraphale’s bare toes curl against the hardwood floor, his fingers drumming against the counter in time to the music. He’s humming a little, his mouth turned up in the corner in a fragile breath of a smile. 

Crowley presses himself against Aziraphale’s back and wraps his arms around his middle, hooking a sharp chin over a soft shoulder. Aziraphale rests a hand over his for a moment, squeezing briefly. Crowley presses a fleeting kiss to the back of his neck and steps back. Aziraphale shifts his weight, leaning further onto his good leg. 

“How long are you going to pretend it’s not bothering you?” Crowley asks, his chest an aching, open chasm. 

Aziraphale takes a sharp breath. “It’s-” He shifts his weight back again, “It’s fine, dear, just a little twinge you know.”

“I know,” Crowley echoes. There’s anger there- beneath the empty nothingness he hasn’t been able to banish since finding Aziraphale staring out at that awful storm- a fire burning too bright and hot. “I know what it’s like to hurt,” He hisses, “and to pretend that it doesn’t.”

Aziraphale turns off the burner, setting his spatula down. He turns around to face Crowley, face a mask of neutrality. “Are we going to fight about this?”

“I don’t know, are we?” Crowley asks, spreading his arms wide, “Or are you going to just admit to me that you’re in pain so I can stop hurting for you.” 

Aziraphale’s face drops. “I’m not- I didn’t,” He huffs, “I didn’t ask you to hurt for me. I didn’t ask you to pick up that burden.”

“You didn’t have to,” Crowley says, “I just do.” He reaches out and catches Aziraphale’s ever twisting, wringing hands. He brings them up to kiss the knuckles. The anger in his chest fizzles out to a bare spark by the affection and love that floods him instead. “It hurts me that you would deny yourself comfort, and it hurts that in doing so you push me away.” Aziraphale’s fingers twitch in his grip, holding him back. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale says. 

“Let me take care of you, Aziraphale. Let me love you.” 

Aziraphale makes a sound. A ragged, shuddering gasp of a sob that he tries to quiet by pulling Crowley into him and pressing his face into Crowley’s neck. Crowley places a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck and holds him there, wrapping his other arm snugly around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley says into down soft hair, “I’ve got you.”

They stay wrapped together like that for a long time. The attempt at breakfast vanishes with barely a thought, but the music plays on much longer than the record should allow. 

“It does hurt,” Aziraphale says. His voice chewed up and rough, eyes swollen and red. Crowley rubs his thumb gently over the back of his neck. “And when it does I...Crowley it’s like I’m back there again and I don’t- I don’t ever want to have to be that again.”

“I know,” Again that gentle sweep of thumb against fragile skin and bone, “I know.”

“Crowley I am so scared that someday I’m going to hurt you because of it,” Aziraphale whispers, a little frantic, “That someday I’m not going to wake up in time.”

“You won’t.” Crowley assures, “Angel, I know that you won’t.”

Aziraphale kisses him desperately, hands clutching at Crowley’s ribcage and trying to pull him even closer. They can’t get close enough. Too much clothing and skin and bone in the way. There is a desperate need to hold and be held inside the very essence of one another. 

Crowley pulls back to pepper kisses over Aziraphale’s eyelids and cheek. “Come on,” He says, “I’ll light a fire in the library and we can try and get warm together.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley links their fingers together carefully, preciously, and leads the way.

[mastergaragedoorngates]

Critical Information On Garage Door Repair Vs Replacement

Most doors are opened and closed at least twice a day. Over 5 to 10 years that is thousands of times up and down. Tracks can get out of line. The door will get dents or take on damaged. The springs supporting the door can break. The electric opener may start to malfunction or stop working. Then you need to look at garage door repair vs replacement.

In some locations, garage door replacement may require a permit from your city or county. That is because improper installation may result in serious injury. Some locations may require a professional who is licensed with the state. Check your building department in your location to be sure.

There are two main types, solid doors made of one piece and those made of four or five sections. Both types may have insulation. Check your door to see if it has an open back exposed to the garage. If it does then this is not insulated.

Other difference include having glass windows on the top portion of the panel or the next to the top panel if you have a multi-section type. Both types may have vents on both sides of the lower panel near the floor. In general the sectioned type is easier to repair. Remove the damaged section and replace.

One problem with sectioned types and replacing one or more sections is finding an exact duplicate. If your model is out of date, or no longer in production you might have to buy a whole new apparatus.

If your tracking is out of line you might be able to tighten bolts holding it. If it was installed professionally, this could resolve any problems. If the track is still out of line, there may be dents or the metal bent some where along the track. If the track is obviously bent they need to be replaced to assure smooth and safe operation.

The mechanism that opens and close the door sometimes needs adjustment. Adjustments on the opener mechanism may be all that is required to make the car portal open and close correctly. You should consult the owners manual. Sometimes you can download the manual from the manufacturer's website. If an adjustment doesn't work the mechanism may need to be replaced. Replacement is not trivial. You may need to use a trained professional who has the proper know how and tools to install.

If the springs are worn or broken, this can pull the whole portal out of alignment. Single panel portals have two heavy springs on either side. Sectioned portals have a spring coiled around a bar or pipe at the top. They can be dangerous and difficult to replace. Consider contacting a professional.

Let us consider options for garage door repair vs replacement. For replacement there are local companies that will price installation with purchase. Otherwise you need to assess what you are currently dealing with. If you have only one or two problems, say one panel is dented and the track is loose, repair is an easy course to take. If the number of problems is over say three, as a rule of thumb, replacement is a better option. Remember these are heavy, powered devices. Talking to a professional before deciding is a wise course.

Find Garage door repair long island:

Garage door repair long island

Garage door repair north babylon

Garage door repair west babylon ny

Garage door repair kings park ny

Garage door repair smithtown ny

Garage door repair necosent ny

Garage door repair lake grove ny

Garage door repair farmingdale ny

Garage door repair farmingvill ny

Garage door repair holbrook ny

Garage door repair bohemia ny

Garage door repair stony brook ny

Garage door repair west islip ny

Garage door repair deer park ny

Garage door repair long island ny

Garage door repair nassau county ny

Garage door repair suffolk county ny

Garage door repair middle island ny

Garage door repair yaphank ny

Garage door repair medford ny

Garage door repair bellport ny

Garage door repair brookheaven ny

Garage door repair patchouge ny

Garage door repair coram ny

Garage door repair miller place ny

Garage door repair ridge ny

Garage door repair mastic ny

Garage door repair shirley ny

Garage door repair mastic beach ny

Garage door repair eastport ny

Garage door repair east moriches ny

Garage door repair manorville ny

Garage door repair bayport ny

Garage door repair blue point ny

Garage door repair sayville ny

Garage door repair west sayville ny

Garage door repair oakdale ny

Garage door repair islip terrace ny

Garage door repair islandia ny

Garage door repair hauppauge ny

Garage door repair nesconset ny

Garage door repair old field ny

Garage door repair port jefferson station ny

Garage door repair mount sinai ny

Garage door repair sound beach ny

Garage door repair rocky point ny

Garage door repair shoreham ny

Garage door repair wading river ny

Garage door repair calverton ny

Garage door repair riverhead ny

Garage door repair pine valley ny

Garage door repair westhampton ny

Garage door repair plainview ny

Garage door repair levittown ny

Garage door repair bellmore ny

Garage door repair garden city ny

Garage door repair rockville centre ny

Garage door repair valley stream ny

Garage door repair oceanside ny

Garage door repair great neck ny

Garage door repair hewlett ny

Garage door repair roslyn ny

Garage door repair locust valley ny

Garage door repair greenvale ny

Garage door repair glen cove ny

Garage door repair oyster bay ny

Garage door repair huntington station ny

Garage door repair huntington ny

Garage door repair dix hills ny

Garage door repair bay shore ny

Garage door repair north babylon ny

Garage door repair lindenhurst ny

Garage door repair massapequa ny

Garage door repair wantagh ny

Garage door repair merrick ny

Garage door repair hempstead ny

Garage door repair amityville ny

Garage door repair bethpage ny

Garage door repair new hyde park ny

Garage door repair mineola ny

Garage door repair elmont ny

Garage door repair carle place ny

Garage door repair glen oaks ny

Garage door repair manhasset ny

Garage door repair old westbury ny

Garage door repair syosset ny

Garage door repair jericho ny

Garage door repair hicksville ny

Garage door repair seaford ny

Garage door repair melville ny

Garage door repair long beach ny

Garage door repair lawrence ny

Garage door repair woodmere ny

Garage door repair north bellmore ny

Garage door repair east meadow ny

Garage door repair atlantic beach ny

Garage door repair baxter estates ny

Garage door repair bayvill ny

Garage door repair bellerose ny

Garage door repair cedarhurst ny

Garage door repair centre island ny

Garage door repair cove neck ny

Garage door repair east hills ny

Garage door repair east rockaway ny

Garage door repair east williston ny

Garage door repair floral park ny

Garage door repair flower hill ny

Garage door repair island park ny

Garage door repair kensington ny

Garage door repair kings point ny

Garage door repair lake success ny

Garage door repair lattingtown ny

Garage door repair laurel hollow ny

Garage door repair lynbrook ny

Garage door repair malverne ny

Garage door repair manorhaven ny

Garage door repair matinecock ny

Garage door repair mill neck ny

Garage door repair muttontown ny

Garage door repair north hempstead ny

Garage door repair north hills ny

Garage door repair plandome heights ny

Garage door repair plandome manor ny

Garage door repair plandome ny

Garage door repair russell gardens ny

Garage door repair saddle rock ny

Garage door repair sands point ny

Garage door repair sea cliff ny

Garage door repair south floral park ny

Garage door repair thomaston ny

Garage door repair westbury ny

Garage door repair williston park ny

Garage door repair woodsburgh ny

Garage door repair Brooklyn

Garage door repair williamsburg brooklyn

Garage door repair park slope brooklyn

Garage door repair greenpoint brooklyn

Garage door repair bedford brooklyn

Garage door repair bushwick brooklyn

Garage door repair sheepshead bay brooklyn

Garage door repair boerum hill brooklyn

Garage door repair manhattan beach brooklyn

Garage door repair crown heights brooklyn

Garage door repair dumbo brooklyn

Garage door repair dyker heights bay ridge brooklyn

Garage door repair prospect heights brooklyn

Garage door repair queens

Garage door repair hollis queens

Garage door repair howard beach queens

Garage door repair whitestone queens

Garage door repair bayside queens

Garage door repair queens village queens

Garage door repair college point queens

Garage door repair richmond hill queens

Garage door repair middle village queens

Garage door repair ozone park queens

Garage door repair bellerose queens

Garage door repair rego park queens

Garage door repair woodheaven queens

Garage door repair woodside queens

Garage door repair sunnyside queens

Garage door repair forest hills queens

Garage door repair jamaica queens

Garage door repair jackson heights queens

Garage door repair maspeth queens

Garage door repair astoria queens

Garage door repair long island city queens

Garage door repair flushing queens

Garage door repair elmhurst queens

Garage door repair ridgewood queens

Garage door repair Bronx

Garage door repair south bronx

Garage door repair concourse village bronx

Garage door repair park of edgewater bronx

Garage door repair riverdale bronx

Garage door repair central riverdale bronx

Garage door repair norwood bronx

Garage door repair kingsbridge bronx

Garage door repair kingsbridge heights bronx

Garage door repair fordham bronx

Garage door repair fordham heights bronx

Garage door repair fordham manor bronx

Garage door repair belmont bronx

Garage door repair bedford park bronx

Garage door repair west bronx

Garage door repair east bronx

Garage door repair north bronx

Find Garage Door in Winchester Cities:

Garage door repair westchester

Garage door repair ardsley

Garage door repair ardsley on hudson

Garage door repair armonk

Garage door repair baldwin place

Garage door repair banksville

Garage door repair bedford

Garage door repair bedford hills

Garage door repair bedford village

Garage door repair briarcliff manor

Garage door repair bronxville

Garage door repair buchanan

Garage door repair chappaqua

Garage door repair cortlandt

Garage door repair cortlandt manor

Garage door repair crompond

Garage door repair cross river

Garage door repair croton falls

Garage door repair croton on hudson

Garage door repair crugers

Garage door repair dobbs ferry

Garage door repair eastchester

Garage door repair elmsford

Garage door repair fleetwood

Garage door repair goldens bridge

Garage door repair granite springs

Garage door repair greenburah

Garage door repair hartsdale

Garage door repair hastings on hudson

Garage door repair hawthorne

Garage door repair irvington

Garage door repair jefferson valley

Garage door repair katonah

Garage door repair la rchmont

Garage door repair lewisboro

Garage door repair li ncolnda le

Garage door repair mamaroneck

Garage door repair maryknoll

Garage door repair millwood

Garage door repair mohegan lake

Garage door repair montrose

Garage door repair mount kisco

Garage door repair mount pleasant

Garage door repair mount vernon

Garage door repair new castle

Garage door repair new rochelle

Garage door repair north castle

Garage door repair north salem

Garage door repair north white plains

Garage door repair ossining

Garage door repair peekskill

Garage door repair pelham

Garage door repair pelham manor

Garage door repair pocantico hills

Garage door repair port chester

Garage door repair pound ridge

Garage door repair purchase

Garage door repair purdys

Garage door repair rye

Garage door repair rye brook

Garage door repair scarborough

Garage door repair scarsdale

Garage door repair scotts corners

Garage door repair shenorock

Garage door repair shrub oak

Garage door repair somers

Garage door repair south salem

Garage door repair tarrytown

Garage door repair thornwood

Garage door repair tuckahoe

Garage door repair valhalla

Garage door repair waccabuc

Garage door repair west harrison

Garage door repair white plains

Garage door repair yonkers

Garage door repair yorktown

Garage door repair yorktown heights

[shreddedparchment]

The End of the World Pt.24

Thor, Vex, and the Hulk

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 6,632

Masterpost

Warnings: Violence, feels

A/N: I’m not going to preface this one with anything other than, “Enjoy! xoxo” Hit me up with an ask if you have any questions or comments!

You can hear the quiet murmur of two voices in conversation. The voices are whispering, rapidly, talking so quickly that you can’t focus on them.

Where are you? More importantly, who are you? You try and remember for a second but when your mind continues to be blank you move past the confusion. You open your eyes and scan your surroundings.

You’re in a room that feels familiar but you don’t remember ever being in it before. There's a hospital bed, which is what you’re on, and a chair to your right. It's a plain stuffed orange chair but angled so that you realize someone must have been sitting in it. Across from the end of your bed is a long table with a vase of flowers. You like them. You realize they're your favorite.

To your left is a small sofa and another orange chair. The walls are dark grey, the painting is uneven, and the color is lighter and darker in different places. The ceiling is a plain white square pane ceiling. Peppered with holes and if you focus on it you can see how dirty it actually is. Also, to your left is the open door.

You throw your legs over the edge and gently place your feet on the floor. Its black tile, cold and expensive. As you look down at your feet, you notice a small splint on your right hand’s middle finger.

Is it broken? You try to move it but when a dull ache responds to the movement you turn away and get to your feet. Your legs feel strong. They’re steady and for a moment you think about how you’d like to move forward.

Suddenly your body rises a foot into the air. It feels amazing, you know you can do it. It happens so easily, with only the hint of an impulse. With just the slightest of intent, you begin to fly towards the door, smooth and easy.

When you clear the door and want to turn right, you do. Your body floats, weightless and smooth, down a hallway. You turn on instinct as you maneuver your way through the halls. It's like you know where you’re going without actually knowing how you know.

You find your way to a staircase and take it. Then another. Drifting through the air the entire way, flying inches above the actual steps. When you come upon a large room with a kitchen, two large tables, a sitting area, and a living area with large sofas, you move straight for a long wall of glass through which you can see the outdoors. The glass door is shut so you pull it open. A gentle gust of warm air blows your hair around you, wafting it up like an erratic pink-white crown. Your eyes are drawn to it. Distracted, you float in place between the large room and the balcony.

You reach up and take a soft strand in your hand. You don’t get to admire the pretty, very pale pearlescent pink hue because once again your eyes are distracted by the shiny silver and blue splint on your finger. You release your hair and stare at the silver before a shouting cadence of rhythmic rhyming draws your ears and gaze out towards the balcony again. You float forward to the furthest corner edge and stare out at a large rectangular green lawn. In the distance by the water you can see a troop of soldiers? They’re the ones rhyming. Chanting. As you stare out at the compound you feel the strangest sense of déjà vu. Have you been here before? How did you know where to come?

Behind you there are footsteps. The person walking must be large. You can hear the weight as it shifts from foot to foot. You don’t turn around but you smell the person before you hear them; a cool spring breeze, rain clouds, and the slightest hint of ozone. The smell is intoxicating, and you feel your chest clench almost painfully as it overcomes your senses. It’s like smelling your favorite smell though you’re not sure how a person could smell so good.

“Y/N?” The person is male! His voice is deep, penetrating, it resonates in your chest and you feel pleasure from the top of your head to the tips of your toes when you hear it. It almost lights you on fire you have such a pull towards it. It’s like someone has put a spell on you. You want to consume the smell and the voice. It’s so shocking and exciting that finally, you turn to look at the source. An Adonis with short blonde hair, shocking blue eyes so deep and pleading that you want to answer any questions he might have. His arms are massive! And he himself is massive. At least compared to you. You imagine several different scenarios all at once that should make you blush, but don't.

He’s so tall that you have to look up, even at this distance, to admire his perfect face. His face must have been chiseled from marble though it's partially hidden behind a blonde scruff of beard. You don't hate it. It makes him look rugged. His arms, his torso, his long legs. Everything is just as it should be. Perfect. He takes a step towards you it’s relaxed and familiar, the way his arms swing at his sides, the way he shifts his weight, the soft and happy heartbreaking smile on his face. And though you aren’t sure why, you feel a sudden wariness overcome you. You feel threatened. You recognize your flight instinct kick in. You drift back a bit through the air, but you have nowhere to go and you hit the railing. The handsome man lifts his hands up, showing you that he means no harm but you’re not buying it. For some reason, you don’t trust him. You turn around and fly higher as you attempt to clear the balcony to go down into the familiar compound.

A hand suddenly closes around your shoulder and you react. Your body responds quickly, almost on instinct. You turn and push the man hard so that he crashes against the other side of the balcony, the railing bending around his body.

He winces, groans, and then carefully pulls himself out of the suddenly bent railing. As he steadies himself he looks up at you, the pain from your shove evident on his face. “Were you always this strong?”

You don’t answer because you don’t know this man. You don’t trust him. No matter how much you kinda wanna kiss him. Instead of moving towards the compound you begin to fly towards the door. Waiting in the room you woke up in might be best so that you can speak to someone and get things explained to you.

You’re just inside the door when the man’s hand closes around your right shoulder this time.

“Y/N, stop. What is the matter? Are you upset with me?” The man sounds desperate again and confused.

His question lights a fuse for some reason and you're instantly angry. You twist towards him and bring your arm back hard. He manages to step back to avoid your swing.

He laughs twice, a simple and triumphant, “Haha!” As he avoids your elbow.

“I will not fall for that again.” He shakes his finger at you, faux scolding you. His smile smug. You quickly bring your left fist forward and land a punch on his chest. You must be strong because the handsome man suddenly flies through the outer railing, the steel tearing as he crashes into it. His body continues to fly through the air and you move to follow him. His body soars down towards the green lawn that you admired earlier and crashes into it, sliding for a good fifty feet, carving a large divot into the otherwise perfect green grass.

The man slowly begins to recover as he twists up from the ground to face you, his eyes narrowed as he groans and gets to his feet.

“What the hell?” He grumbles quietly to himself but your hearing is so good that you hear him as if he were standing beside you. “Y/N? Who am I?”

You tilt your head to the left as you consider his question, but you don’t feel like answering it. You land on the grass lightly and stand tall as you watch him with curiosity.

“Are you aware of where you are?” He asks. When you don’t answer he sighs, rubs his chest, and begins to move towards you again. “Y/N, it looks like the serum has affected your memory. I am going to approach you. Okay? Please, do not hit me again.”

He moves towards you slowly. You take a step back.

“Woah,” He begins. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“My lawn!” Someone behind you says. The voice is distant. Maybe on the balcony? “How is it that you both destroy my lawn?”

You don’t turn around because the handsome man is close again. He’s a foot away.

“Can I touch you?” The handsome man asks. “You won't hit me?”

He smiles at you genuinely, his eyes squinting a bit so that all you see is their breathtaking blue. The skin at the corners crinkles as he widens his smile so that you see the white of his teeth. He looks so stupid good that your mind becomes temporarily befuddled. His hands close around your biceps, gently at fist then a bit more firmly as he steps closer and closer. He’s only a foot away from you now. Ten inches. Six inches. Your bodies are almost touching.

He’s intoxicating. You want to inhale him again. Your heart is pounding and you’re not exactly sure why.

“There you go.” He whispers, quiet enough so that only you can hear him. His voice rumbles in your chest. He reaches up and tuck your hair behind your ear and the gentle touch of his fingertips on your neck sends chills throughout your body. “Do you know who I am?”

You shake your head once.

“It’s alright. I’m sure it will come back to you.” He slowly lets his hands drift down towards your hands but when he reaches your forearms he shifts them onto your hips.

Red suddenly floods your vision. You’re sure that he shouldn’t be touching you like this. It makes you angry without knowing why. You bring your right fist down and deliver a powerful uppercut. The strength of the punch doesn’t surprise you but the person who’d been speaking before about his lawn speaks again.

“Holy shit.” He says. Surprised as the handsome man suddenly goes flying into the air.

You begin to fly as you watch him go but stop about six feet above the ground as you observe him soar up high into the sky, disappearing into the clouds.

“What’s going on?” Another male voice suddenly asks. “Woah, what happened to the balcony?”

“Er…” The first voice says. “I’m pretty sure she did it.”

“Y/N’s up? Where’s Thor?”

“Uh…up there.” The first voice says.

“Up there?” The second voice asks. “How did he get up there?!”

“I think we know now exactly how the serum affected Y/N.”

“What? Made her stronger?” The second voice wonders.

“Tchyeah, you could say that. It looks like she might actually be strong enough to kill Thor. If she’s angry enough.”

“Kill-?” But the second voice doesn’t get to finish his question as he suddenly groans deeply.

You turn to look at him because he doesn’t sound right.

“Bruce?” The first man asks.

The one called Bruce groans again, but his voice sounds deeper and echoed as he grunts. Like two people talking at the same time. He looks up at you and his face slowly begins to turn green. The color spreads out from underneath his shirt at the base of his neck.

“Bruce, buddy? Come on, man. You won’t hulk out to help me save Pepper, but you’ll hulk out for that meathead?” The first man asks, annoyed. He quickly dives inside as the man named Bruce grows to tower at what must be nearly nine feet. He’s completely green now, very wide. So wide that his body rips right through his shirt as he grows and as he finishes growing he turns to look at you. With a look of pure hatred, he screams in what you can only call an earth-shattering war cry. He pushes off of the broken balcony and flies towards you in a powerful jump. He’s barreling towards you as you reach out, ready for impact.

As he reaches you, you take hold of one of his arms and in mid-air, you twist him up over your head and with a great groan of effort, you shift his trajectory, tossing him over your head towards the ground. He growls as he disappears into the distant forest, knocking a few trees down as he crashes.

You huff and lower yourself onto the ground slowly, your eyes glued to the trees where the green monster disappeared.

Overhead, the whooshing sound of something fast moving towards you reaches your ears. You turn your gaze up towards the sky and find the man named Thor flying towards you, his fist extended. Was he going to punch you? He was just touching you all inappropriately!

“Uh, that’s not a good idea!” The first man shouts at the man named Thor.

You watch him grow closer and closer. When he’s right upon you, in a burst of speed you fly across the ground, sweeping out from under him so that he crashes into the ground instead. He twists his body so that instead of crashing head first, he bends his knees as he lands to absorb the impact then rises onto his feet. Slowly he looks up at you, his eyes narrowed as he considers you. You stare, your gaze stoic, irritated with him for trying to hit you.

“You are not yourself. Let me help you, Y/N. We can get you back to the way you were before.” He reasons.

“Why?” You finally ask. “What do I have waiting for me that being the way I was is so important?”

The question seems to shock Thor as he stares at you with hints of sorrow in those beautiful, shocking blue eyes. “I-”

From behind him a loud growl echoes. The green monster suddenly springs out form the trees, racing towards the two of you. He pushes up from the ground and jumps clear over Thor towards you.

“Hulk, stop! You’ll hurt her!” Thor shouts.

This Hulk doesn’t seem to care as he barrels down towards you. You narrow your brow, glaring at the Hulk. As he closes the distance you fly up towards him, your fist brought back and as he reaches you, you shove it forward and punch him right in the face, successfully flying within his arm’s reach before he can hit you.

The Hulk goes flying back up towards the sky in a large arch and then lands, once more, within the trees.

Thor watches the Hulk and then slowly turns to look up at you, a strange realization crossing his mind. His hands suddenly begin to spark with hot blue electricity. You can smell the charge.

You flinch as the shadow of a memory rushes back to you. That lightning. Why was it so familiar? You huff uncomfortably as the image of a sweet smile flashes in your mind. It’s Thor, smiling at you, from the shore of a beach. He’s amused, the corners of his eyes crinkled again.

You push past the painful memory and focus on the Thor whose eyes are suddenly dark.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Y/N.” He threatens.

The threat, the anger on his face in contrast with the sudden image that flooded your mind upsets you and you glare at him.

The hulk suddenly shouts again, this time barreling towards you on the ground running like a mad rhino.

“Hulk, stop you idiot!” Thor shouts.

But the Hulk doesn’t want to stop. He shoves himself up towards you, flying at you with his arms up over his head, ready to take you down no matter what. You turn to face him instead, real anger filling your chest as you consider just ending this green monster’s life altogether.

Thor seems to see your intent because he holds out his arm and from the building comes flying a large hammer-axe. As it flies into his hands he spins it around once and then releases it so that it flies straight for you. It crackles with the same blue fire-like electricity. As it grows closer it begins to spin quickly. You turn around to catch it but are just a second too late. The hammer side hits you square in the chest, a charge of powerful electricity surges through you as you fly down towards the ground.

You land in a weakened heap, creating a crater where you crash. Slowly you begin to get yourself up but as you do you are bombarded by vivid flashes of soft embraces, sweet kisses, and once again, a sunlit beach. You stagger, turning your body to face Thor as you try to shove the memories away.

Thor holds his hand out and the hammer-axe flies into his hand again. His extended arm forces you to flash back to a memory of you spinning towards him, a silly smile on your face as he wraps his extended arm around your waist, pulling you against him. Then you’re entangled on a bed, hidden beneath soft blue sheets. He kisses the right lower skin of your neck and you involuntarily shiver. Accompanied with this insanely beautiful vision is an ache so painful that you reach up to grasp the shirt at your chest. The pain is so vivid, and you know that Thor is the cause. You might not remember exactly why…but you know it’s his fault.

A blinding anger consumes you and without hesitation you shout, loudly, your own war cry echoing around the compound as you lift off the ground a foot and zoom towards Thor at a blinding speed. Despite your speed, Thor manages to lift his hammer, points it at you, and you’re immediately thrown back as lightning strikes you in the chest. You crash against the ground, but the lightning does not stop. It rains down on you from the sky over and over again. Your body resisting as long as it can. You cry out again, this time in pain, and the lightning suddenly dies.

You’re lying on your back, staring up at a storm cloud covered sky consumed in anger and confusion as you once again drift into unconsciousness.

This time there is no darkness. You’re reliving all of it. Every moment you’ve ever spent with Thor. Along with the memories you shared with the rest of your friends; Bruce, Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Nat, and Steve. So much happiness and sorrow all mixed into one terrible and overwhelming recollection experience. The weight of the memories crash upon you all at once and you suddenly sit up gasping.

At the end of your bed stands Thor. He’s watching you, guilt contorting his features. You fall back onto the mattress and wait until your breathing is steady before you speak.

“What happened?” You have a cloudy recollection of a fight. Of fighting both Hulk and Thor though you don’t know why you would ever fight Thor. Hulk, maybe. He doesn’t like you much from what you can tell. But Thor?

“I nearly killed you.” Thor admits, shame tainting his voice.

“Nearly.” You assure him. “I’m not dead.” The last thing you needed was him feeling guilt for something he didn’t do.

He moves around to the left side of your bed and sits himself down.

“But I nearly killed you. I never thought that-”

“You didn’t kill me. You stopped me.” You sigh, hating that he’s beating himself up over this. As you look into his shame-filled electric blue eyes, you remember the conversation you’d overheard. “Why are you here, Thor?”

Your voice shifts from neutral to cold so quickly that Thor narrows his brow, watching you for any hint as to the reason for the shift.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. called Stark when you fell unconscious. I was with him. We came to check on you together. Y/N, where is the Captain? He was supposed to be watching over you.” Though you know he doesn’t mean to do it, you can hear the blame in his voice. He’s holding Steve responsible.

“I sent him away.” You admit, a small ache in your chest, the echo of your loss of Steve.

“For what purpose?” He clearly has no idea why you would do such a thing.

“Because he wanted to be with Sharon. I told him to pick the woman he wanted to be with more than anyone else and he chose.” You wanted to add, ‘Much like you did.’ But thought against it. Your tone says it clearly enough anyway.

“I see.” Thor says, realization painting his tone. He looks down at his hands as he thinks. His eyes shift up to you and he watches you. You can see him thinking. His eyes slightly narrowed, his brow furrowed, he watches you for so long, thinking. Its torture to watch him think and not ask him what is on his mind. His eyes then drift back down to his hands as he pulls himself up from the chair. “Tony and Bruce will keep an eye on you. I must go.”

He turns away, his wide shoulders held back with pride. He marches towards the door. As he goes, you think about not asking because you’ve watched Thor walk away from you too many times. However, your curiosity is unstoppable, and you need to hear it with your own two ears to know that it’s true.

Waking up and seeing him at the foot of your bed, you’d thought for a second that maybe he’d chosen you. But he was leaving?

“Where are you going?” You wonder, quietly, but know that his ears can hear you. You hope that he can’t hear the heavy disappointment in your voice. He turns to look at you and answers at the same volume.

“I must go to Jane.” He states simply then turns and leaves.

You shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to accept what he’s just said. You already knew that he was going to say it, that this was the culmination of everything that has happened over the past ten months. Thor has finally made his true choice and you can do nothing but accept it. If he truly cannot live without Jane, who were you to try and stop him?

You’re not sure how long you lay on that bed staring up at the ceiling. Finally, after what must have been hours, Tony moves into the room and takes the seat on your left. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he stares at you with bright, curious, and excited eyes.

“Well, you’re still as vexing as ever, Ms. Mischief. Why would you send Steve away when you were all alone?” He asks, sounding a bit like he thinks you’re stupid.

“I didn’t know I was alone. And Steve didn’t want to be with me.”

“Didn’t he?” Tony asks.

“No.”

Tony watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright, I’ll accept that you know what you’re talking about because you probably forced him to do something that he didn’t want to do.”

“He needed the push.” You whisper, looking away from Tony at the blank grey wall to your right. Your eyes however shift to the chair Steve had been sitting before.

“You’re probably right. He’s been bitter for so long. I though maybe with you…” His words drift off into silence. “You did a good thing for him, Y/N. That must not have been easy.”

“That’s me, a good girl.” Now it’s your turn to be bitter. Would Tony give you a pass if you just wanted to get drunk and forget everything? Steve was one thing, but Thor too?

Your heart was too numb to ache painfully. It was more like chronic pain now. Always there, never ceasing, and incurable. “How long was I out?”

Tony thinks for a second, sitting back. He picks up his legs again and places his feet on your bedside, his hands folded against his stomach, just below his chest. “Mmmm, the first time? Two days. When you woke up again and then Thor had to subdue you? Another six days.”

“I was out for six days?!” You ask, unable to believe that much time was lost as you remembered your life in private.

“Technically eight.” Tony smiles.

“Why did Thor have to subdue me?” You wonder, still hazy on the details, and unable to comprehend Thor attacking you.

“You don’t remember?”

You shake your head.

“Well, it looks like when Shuri injected you with more serum, it was enough to flush out the new Variant however, it seems to have saturated even more into your muscles and mind.”

“Are you saying I’m stronger now?” This sounded silly. How could you be stronger? You were already strong!

“I am.” Tony nods once, his sarcasm gone as he looks on you favorably.

How strong? You didn’t want to ask. “Well, am I fine now?”

“Oh yeah. Shuri got you all fixed up. But you attacked Thor. And then you attacked Bruce, well, Hulk. And you were going in for the kill, so Thor had to stop you. He wasn’t happy with himself. He was quite beside himself, actually. Thought he was gonna be sick. Wouldn't let any of us touch you. He was being a bit of a drama queen.”

You know that Thor still cares about you. But he’s chosen Jane once and for all. The thought of being here without Thor and without Steve makes you feel weak. You should be able to stand on your own, like you always have been able to. You were independent. You didn’t need a man to make you feel needed or wanted or special. You were special on your own. You reach down to fiddle with the edge of your blanket as you consider why it might be so hard on you to be here all of a sudden. Perhaps it’s all the happy memories mixed in with the bad? Maybe some space will give you a clearer mind? Your poor heart is so raw that you can’t take the daily reminders in addition to the pain you’re already feeling.

“When can I go?”

“Go?” Tony asks, confused and disapproving. “Why would you want to go?”

“I just need to take a vacation or something. I need to step away from all this drama and clear my head.” You admit, keeping your eyes on your fiddling hand.

“With that person who injected you out there, with the shadow group still out there, it’s not safe for you to leave.” Tony shakes his head. “I’m only gonna say this once, alright? And you better hear me.” He’s suddenly angry, his voice is hard and sharp. The way he speaks, every word is a stab. “You’re not leaving this compound without a protection detail. You’re never going to go anywhere on your own. And you sure as hell aren’t taking a vacation. I meant it last time when I told you, you were grounded. You ignored me.”

You look at him and look past his anger. He really is worried about you. His eyes shift quickly from staring at yours to your neck where you were injected.

“You stay put. No negotiations. You got me?” He asks. When you don’t answer, he snaps his fingers, loudly. “You got me?!”

“Yes.” You say, surprised and slightly miffed.

“Okay.” He says, happy again. “Get some rest.” He slowly rises and moves around the chair towards the door.

“Tony?” You sigh as he stops at the door and turns. “Thank you. For…everything. For what you said. For coming to my defense.”

Tony smiles at you knowingly. Does he know what you’re talking about?

“You shouldn’t go snooping in other people’s labs, Y/N. It’s rude. And you never know what you’ll overhear.” He gives you a stern look, then without another word he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

He knows. You saw and heard it all that night, and he knows. Does Thor know? Tony wouldn’t betray you like that. And why would Thor care? He’s made his choice.

So, no vacation, no stress relief. No Steve. No Thor. No freedom. No independence. No love. And apparently no food.

You settle into the bed and shut your eyes. You sleep for a while.

Your dreams are full of Thor and B/F/N. It's a mixture of confusion and regret. Maybe you should have tried to hold on harder?

When you wake up you yank the covers off and with a raging determination you move to your room to change out of your hospital gown and into the first pants and shirt you see.

Dressed you move up towards the atrium and are relieved when you find it empty. The balcony is in pieces but it's still stable enough to hold you. You look around quickly, searching for Tony because if he catches you he might very well shove you in one of the cells in the basement and not let you out, ever.

With Tony nowhere in sight you take flight and are slightly surprised by how easy it is now. You just have to think about going up or down, left or right, and your body adjusts.

The sky is light gray, it must be early morning. Below, as you rise higher and higher, you can see the cadets running their drills and the patrol boats in the water.

You also get a full view of the damage you must have cause and feel slightly regretful at the sight of the woods where you and Steve used to run.

But you have no time to think about Steve. The fire in your chest is burning, pulling you up higher. The compound fades below you beneath a beautiful blanket of fluffy white clouds. You adjust, turning towards Washington, and with a surge of anger you speed off to get your man back.

Jane's cabin is empty. As you drift down onto the front lawn and land softly on the grass, you notice no guards. The second floor is completely empty. There are no signs of life. Did they leave? Relocate to a different location? Is it possible that Jane and Thor have moved away on their own?

No! It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be here. You were going to yell at him!

You turn around looking towards the road behind you, flanked on both sides by trees, and focus your eyesight as far as you can. Maybe they had just left? You'll chase them!

“Y/N?” Thor's deep tone fills your ears sending violent fireworks of relief coursing through you. You turn back towards the cabin and begin to walk towards it as Thor also moves down the front steps and stops at the edge of the lawn.

You stop when he does leaving about six feet between you.

Thor is dressed normally, a black V-neck shirt underneath a thigh-length red cotton coat, the collar popped up, over a pair of jeans. He tilts his head slightly to the right, his chin raised as he furrows his brow, confused. He's relentless with his electric eyes and the sight of him takes your breath away but also fans the flame in your chest.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

You try not to be hurt by this question because it's valid. Before you can answer, the sound of a whirring engine drifts down from the cabin. Thor doesn't take his eyes off of you but you watch a black helicopter rise up into the sky. The windows are tinted so you can’t see the people inside but this answers your question about them moving out of the area.

When the helicopter is gone you turn your gaze back onto Thor.

“I came to tell you something.” Your fire is giving you courage and your voice is strong.

“And what's that?” Thor shifts his weight from his right to his left, leaning towards you but not moving closer.

“I can’t just let you go.” You're fearless. He’s already left you, twice. He’s already rejected you. Once more won’t make a big difference. He needs to know how you feel because you need him to know.

Thor clenches his jaw at your words but otherwise continues to stare at you with perplexed curiosity. He doesn’t speak, so you continue.

“I can’t let you go without making sure that you know how much I love you. These past few months have been the hardest of my life. We tried this being apart thing and maybe it worked for you? It didn’t for me. And I know that you’ve chosen Jane and I have no right to come in and tell you these things but for me…I was barely surviving. That’s what I was doing. Surviving.” You place your hand on your chest as you indicate yourself.

“I’m not saying that Steve was a mistake because Steve was not a mistake. He was what I needed and I think I was what he needed during the time we shared together but it...wasn’t the same. Not even close.”

Thor continues to stare.

“When I’m not with you I'm not alive, Thor. If I can’t see you, if I’m not around you, I’m in pain. Physically. I can’t breathe. And maybe that isn’t healthy but you came into my life when I didn’t want to be with anyone. I pushed you away and you kept trying until you wore me down. You forced your way into my heart and nothing, my life, was ever the same after that.

“I was an idiot for letting you go. I should have held onto you, forced you to stay with me the moment you came back after I inadvertently sent you away. But I didn't and I’ve been paying for my choices since.

“I want you…I need you to choose me.” You finally take a shaky breath. You managed to stay strong, using the fire in your chest to keep from crumbling, from giving up halfway through because Thor is still just staring at you. His expression the same. Tight jaw, furrowed brow, confused but curious. Because you're not sure you’ve gotten your point across you add, “Please.”

Thor finally looks away from you. He turns to look at the cabin and your chest tightens painfully as your fire is snuffed out. Was Jane inside? Waiting for him? This was pointless.

What are you doing here? You're crazy. This was a mistake. You know now that having him reject you again is most definitely makes a big difference. This is gonna break you.

You look down, your flight instinct kicking in as you consider just flying away. Hell, you take a step back to run away but then Thor speak and his deep voice glues you to your spot.

“I have met only two people who have come into my life and worked their way under my skin.” He’s walking towards you, his expression determined. “Destiny has presented me with many important people but only twice has my world been turned upside down.”

He's four feet away.

“The first is my brother. I do not have to tell you that since his death I have not been quite the same.” Was he still having nightmares? “And though I have said many times that he was indeed a terrible brother, he was my brother. And I loved him. Part of me wishes and I must admit I secretly hope that he may turn up one day having faked his death again.”

This is odd and you look appropriately confused.

“I don’t understand it either. It’s like his thing.” Thor ignores the ridiculousness of what he's just said and proceeds with his train of thought.

He’s two feet away now.

“The second is-"

“Jane?”

Thor stops a foot away narrowing his eyes as he considers you. “The second…is a woman so stubborn and rude that not only does she not believe me when I first tell her that I want to spend the rest of my life her, just as she is, but she also interrupts me just as I am attempting to renew my desire to spend the rest of my life with her just as she is.”

You stare at him letting his words sink as your heart stops. You shake your head, disbelieving. Your body seems to understand his words before your mind does. Your body feels so light that for a moment you feel like you might be flying. Your legs must be weak because you teeter back and forth.

Thor reaches out and takes hold of your arms to hold you steady. You look up at him and his lips are curved softly to the left. It’s not an outright smile but the heavenly look on his face, the soft smile in his eyes helps you find your voice.

“But Jane-?”

“Is gone.” He says quietly as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“But, I thought…” Thor sighs, knowing that you are not going to let it go until he explains fully.

“Jane and I have not been in the same place for some time. I care for Jane but when I asked myself who I could not love without, my answer was you. Every moment I spent with her, you were in my every thought. As I have told you before, Jane is my past. You are my future.”

You stare up into his eyes, searching for sincerity but you don’t even have to search for it. His smile widens a little and as his words begin to settle themselves into your heart, as you realize that Thor is telling you that he wants you and you alone.

You reach up to move the strands of his blonde hair that have fallen onto his forehead back and finally let your hand run through his slightly longer hair. You sigh, relieved to finally be able to do it.

Thor shuts his eyes and his smile disappears, replaced by a look of pained contentment, as if he’s been waiting for this moment as much as he has.

Your hand stops at the nape of his neck where you twirl a small strand of his blonde locks around your finger.

Thor opens his eyes again.

He’s six inches away.

A sudden frenzy sparks to life in his eyes. He wraps his arm tightly around your waist. Closing the remaining distance between you, he lifts you up easily and eagerly mashes his lips to yours as your heart explodes.

He kisses you until you’re out of breath. Again, his touch quells a pain that you weren’t aware you were in until he kissed you. When he pulls away you gasp quietly but his kisses continue down your chin until his lips find the left side of your neck where he gives you a small peck then buries his face against your skin. The scruff of his beard tickles you but you’re so happy that you just sigh.

“Can I come home now?” He pleads.

His words are so beautiful a tear falls as you nod. “Yes. God, yes.”

@bionic-buckyb @mdgrdians @ulired @biawol @markusstraya @queenof-wakanda @slice-of-thunder @clockworkherondale @shonaldo @lilulo-12 @animegirlgeeky

[mondregen]

 “Have you used a portal before?”  Minchan asks the question like he doesn’t care much about the answer. The click of his heels on the pavement is distracting, a staccato in bright pink. He’s a lot to handle in the group chat, but even more of a handful in real life. Glittery eyeshadow and perfectly manicured nails, he’s a living doll, making mock kissy faces at every person walking by who dares to stare. A force of nature if Lysander ever saw one.  “Hello? Are you listening?”

 Minchan snapping his fingers in his face brings Lysander back to reality. “Um, what? Sorry, I wasn’t… “  With a huff and a quick wave of his hand, Minchan dismisses his reply. “It doesn’t matter, does it. I’m not walking all the way to Rei’s stupid forest. I’m not going to let my baby witch do it, either.”  As always when Minchan uses this nickname of his, Lysander’s heart skips a beat. It’s one thing to read it, yet another entirely to hear it. And maybe it’s imagination, but something fond colors it, something soft. Lysander fights a smile, biting his lower lip hard. It’s somehow endearing, that particular brand of a handful Minchan is.  He drags him into some alley, its dead end around a brickwalled corner. From his jacket’s pocket he pulls a piece of white chalk, and promptly begins to draw a circle lined and filled with odd symbols on the wall closest to him. Lysander watches in awe and confusion both.  “Oh,” Minchan says, shooting him a grin over his shoulder. “It’s for the portal. You see, for some magic, we need preparation. Magic circles, sometimes little sacrifices, that sort of thing. It’s too advanced for you right now.”  Instead of dampening his mood, this revelation makes Lysander’s stomach flip in joy. “I’ll… learn this, too?”  “Of course!” Minchan finishes his work off and takes a step back, pocketing the chalk again. “You’ll learn this, and how to make potions, and, if Hiroki doesn’t tell me not to, I might just teach you some conjuring, too. Just… don’t go trying to summon some demon, yes? That never goes well.”  Once again, Lysander only half listens, too entranced by the casualness of Minchan going about his business. He squares his shoulders and places an outstretched hand into the very center of the circle. As soon as his fingers touch the chalk, it springs to life, glowing a gentle white. Minchan pulls his hand back slowly. The circle lifts off the wall, sticking to his skin like a spiderweb. It hangs in the air, still connected to Minchan’s hand. Lysander’s jaw falls open.  Of course, Minchan notices. “Neat, isn’t it? Wait until you see Qiaomeng doing it. He doesn’t even need a surface, just draws the thing in the air right away. Talented bastard.”  He falls silent, eyes closed. The glow of the circle brightens. Around it, the air flimmers like it does in the hot summer sun. Lysander inhales, catching the slightest whiff of ozone.  Minchan balls his hand into a loose fist, only his forefinger sticking out. He drags the pad of it down the length of the circle, and, little by little, it breaks open in the wake of his touch. When Minchan reaches the end, the chalk peels back in its entirety, revealing a swirl of muted purples and greens dispersed in a sea of endless black. It takes over the circle, stretching to about Minchan’s height. It stops as soon as it touches the ground.  Lysander’s heart flutters in his chest. His arms break out in goose-flesh. “Wow,” is all he manages to press out.  Minchan hums. “This is a portal. It’s like… a door, except it leads into someone’s home if that someone allows it. Rei isn’t a fan of it, but he lets us use one, anyhow.”  “Why doesn’t he like it?”  “A talented witch could trace this magic back to him. I’ll have Parfait erase as much of it after we’re done as she can, but there’ll always be some leftover in places spells were used. Rei’s mostly worried someone might have the idea to murder him in his sleep, really.” Lowering his voice, Minchan adds, “He’s got a bit of a reputation. The plants he grows are highly sought after, some impossible to get around these parts unless you want to pay a hefty sum. He has all reason to be cautious.”  Lysander makes a little noise of understanding. All he knows about Rei is that he lives in a forest -- magical and weird, as Qiaomeng had put it -- and that he’s powerful, too. He should have asked more questions.  “Anyway.” Minchan grasps him gently by the shoulders and steers him towards the portal. “It’s best if you close your eyes and keep your limbs pressed to your body until you’re back on solid ground. Got it? I’ll be right behind you.”  Before Lysander gets another word in, Minchan pushes him.  Everything goes dark.  His stomach swoops again, but not at all in joy this time. He finds himself hovering in nothingness before he’s swept away. Like a tornado toying with a skinny branch, he’s scooped up and tossed about, a deafening roar in his ears. Static sticks to his skin, crawling across it in a numbing tingle. Lysander opens his mouth to scream, but no sound makes it out.  A flash of green breaks through the dark. Lysander slams face first into a tree, its leaves shivering with the impact.  “Oh. Oh, no,” a voice close to him says. Someone places a hand on his shoulder in cadence to a wave of nausea flooding through him. Lysander retches, hunching over. The hand moves to pat his back, all gentle. “There, there. Travelling with portals is never fun, I’m afraid. He should have told you.”  He chances a look to his right, to where the voice is coming from, and is met with bare feet on mossy forest floor. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he straightens slowly.  Miles and miles of forest stretch out around him, trees and bushes and a little creek gently running its course. Birdsong fills the space, lined with the rustle of leaves overhead.  Rei lives in a forest. This forest.  “Is everything alright again?” the voice asks, and the hand disappears. Lysander nods absently.  “Sorry, I… oh.”  A young man steps into his view -- the one those bare feet belong to -- and gives him an encouraging, but small smile. He’s taller than Lysander is, his hair a warm shade of blond reminiscent of honey. Something about him is… off. His skin is too perfect, his movements just shy of oily. There’s a startling darkness to his eyes. Not human, his instincts scream at him, though he passes as one well enough.  The portal buzzes. Minchan emerges with grace, touching his feet to the ground as though he were a cat leaping off the sofa. He beams at the both of them, the definition of cheeky.  “I see you’ve already met our hermit.”  The not-quite-human huffs, crossing his arms. A few heads of flowers peek through his hair, all varying shades of red. “Why did you let him go through it like this? It’s dangerous.”  “Oh, relax. Don’t talk to me about dangerous. You grow flesh-eating plants.”  “ -- that never harm anyone unless I tell them to --”  “Right. That makes it better.”  The puzzle pieces click belatedly. “Oh!” Lysander says, clutching at his chest. “You’re Rei!”  Rei turns toward him, wearing the same smile as before. “And you’re Lysander. I’ll get you something for the queasiness. Portals get to everyone the first time, especially if you’re not fully prepared.” He shoots Minchan a weighty look at his last few words. Minchan retaliates by sticking out his tongue. Rei ignores him. “Come, I’ll show you inside.”  “Inside”, as it turns out, is a little hut hidden behind layers of what Minchan calls “glamour”. After a simple wave of Rei’s hand, it appears out of thin air, flimmering at the edges like Minchan’s circle had done. It sits in the middle of a fenced in, lush garden, a plethora of brightly colored flowers and plants. Some, Lysander recognizes, but others he’s never seen in his life. A walkway of grey stones leads to the entrance door, heavy looking and wooden.  The door swings open on its own, or so it appears. Rei bends down to pick something up, cupping it ever so gently in his palms.  It’s a tiny, albino hedgehog.  “Thank you, Lilac.” Rei presses a kiss to the hedgehog’s forehead. The hedgehog makes a noise that sounds suspiciously flustered. “This is my familiar,” Rei follows it up with, showing Lilac to Lysander. “Say hello. Try to be friends. I’d hate for you two to not get along.”  Lysander wrings his hands, staring at Lilac. Lilac doesn’t move, either, staring right back.  “Um. H-hello. It’s nice to meet you.”  Lilac raises his little snout into the air, and Rei frowns down at him.  “What did I just say? Play nice.”  Still, Lilac doesn’t look very impressed. He turns around in Rei’s palms before he vanishes in a shimmery flash of light. Rei shakes his head.  “Don’t mind him. He needs a bit to warm up to someone.”  Minchan mutters something about it being Rei’s own fault for never socializing. He goes ignored again.  The inside of Rei’s hut is surprisingly normal. All his furniture is wooden or partly wooden, from the round table in the kitchen to the sofa lined with the plushest cushions and pillows to the TV stand. Herbs and flowers hang from every wall, both dried and fresh. The most outlandish item is the big cauldron in the middle of the kitchen, a fire lit underneath it. Whatever’s inside it bubbles gently, filling the air with a sweet, herby scent.  Of all the cliched witch-things Lysander expected to see, this is the most accurate to his imaginations.  Upon closer inspection, however, he finds that the TV and the kitchen itself are both highly modern. Rei even owns a gaming console. How and where is he getting his electricity from? Something tells him the answer will either be magic, or so mundane that he would have never considered it. A question for another day.  Rei gathers them together in the middle of the living room and has them sit on the floor after pushing the coffee table aside. He hands Lysander a small pill and a glass of water instead of the potion he’d expected, and Lysander gulps both down. Apparently, even witches have a need for regular medicine. Perhaps solving everything with magic is against the rules. If there are any rules.  He has so much to learn.  “Did you bring the salves?” Rei asks, seated cross-legged next to Lysander.  A few days earlier, Rei instructed him to prepare a couple of standard salves to put on wounds, ones that his job as a nurse has long familiarized him with. He’d told him to make them with the intent to heal, to concentrate on and visualize the process of a wound closing. So Lysander had done exactly that. And though he’d found himself tempted to test them, himself, he thought it more prudent to wait until both Minchan and Rei could ascertain their capabilities. If they had any special ones, anyhow.  Lysander gives a quick nod, taking the two small, rotund plastic containers out of his sling bag. They used to be filled with store-bought skin care, serving this purpose just fine. Rei takes them with a grateful nod. One he hands Minchan, the other he keeps, unscrewing the lid. He tilts it gently in his palm so the light catches in the creaminess of the salve, making it glisten. He brings it up to his face to smell it, humming as he does. Whether or not it’s a satisfied noise, Lysander can’t tell.  “They smell nice,” Minchan comments, tilting his container every which way like Rei had done. “Why’d you make him make these?”  Rei smiles, that same, small smile, but there’s an edge to it. Smug. “Because I asked him what he’s interested in. Have you done the same?”  Minchan sputters. “I -- you know, it’s not like we can just jump into what he likes. He needs basics. That’s what I’m concerned about.”  This playful back and forth is just as endearing as Minchan’s whirlwind persona. Lysander can’t stop himself from giggling, which earns him a wider smile from Rei and a noise from Minchan like he’s terribly martyred. But he’s smiling, too, unable to hide it even behind that huffy facade.  “Well,” Rei says after a moment of comfortable silence, “I suppose we’ll need to test these.”  He gets up and walks over to the kitchen to rummage in a drawer. What he pulls out glints silvery in his palm, and only when he sits back down, it becomes clear what it is. A knife. Vines snake around its handle, deep green in color. The blade itself is simple and two-edged, a small symbol etched into the very tip of it.  Rei reaches out, takes one of Minchan’s hands and quickly drags the knife from one side of his palm to the other. Minchan yelps.  “What the fuck?! Have you lost your --”  Minchan struggles, but Rei tightens his grasp on his hand, keeping him in place. Blood wells up from the cut, beading along the surface.  “As I said, we need to test his salves,” Rei says, his voice unaffected. He turns his attention towards Lysander, who has since frozen in his spot. His heart hammers in his chest, a new wave of sickness sloshing in his stomach. As used as he is to seeing blood, a warning would have been nice.  Minchan struggles again, but it’s still in vain. He goes slack a moment after, averting his eyes. “I’m going to be sick.”  Rei hums vaguely, still looking at Lysander. “Which one of them would you use for a cut like this?”  “Um.” Lysander slowly inches forward to take a closer look at the cut. It’s not deep, something that would heal just fine on its own once its dressed. He picks up one of his salves, offering it to Rei. “This one.”  “Well, go on then. Put it on.”  Lysander blinks at him. None of this is what he’d expected of this get-together, but he doesn’t have the luxury to complain. Hesitating, he asks Rei for something to clean the blood up with, and Rei disappears again only to return with a damp washcloth. Lysander wipes the cut down, careful not to hurt Minchan too much, before he dips a finger into the salve, coating the pad of it with the thinnest layer.  “This… might sting a little,” he warns as he gently rubs the salve along the cut.  Even before he manages to reach the end of it, the cut begins to close.  He and Minchan both gape at it, at the way the skin knits together on its own right in front of their eyes. Lysander finishes his job to watch the rest of it close, too, leaving Minchan’s palm pristine as if nothing ever happened. No scab, no scar. Nothing.  “Holy shit,” Minchan whispers in awe, inspecting his hand up close. Next to him, Rei chuckles.  “I knew it would work the moment you handed it to me. You must have felt that, too, Minchan.”  Minchan, rubbing his thumb along the spot where the cut used to be, nods dumbly. “I… felt something, sure. But I’m not good at healing magic. I couldn’t tell it was going to be like this.”  Rei wipes his knife down with the damp washcloth. It’s all a little much to take in -- Rei being so casual, Minchan so shocked, this place and Lysander’s salve actually working. His head spins with this slew of information. Judging by the softness of Rei’s face, he’s noticed. He puts a hand on Lysander’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  “You have a talent. Very potent magic. You’ll make a great healer one day, baby witch.”  For the umpteenth time, Lysander’s heart skips a beat.

[awasthi1212]

The *Kushinagar International Airport* was *inaugurated* on 20th October 2021 by our honorable *Prime Minister, Mr. Narendra Modi.*   The project uses multiple products by *Ozone like Floor Springs, Sliding Door System, Sliding Glass Door Lock with Handle, etc.* Adding the uniquely designed products elevates not only the overall look but also the functionality of the premises. https://www.instagram.com/p/CWmxQuwr855/?utm_medium=tumblr

[everdreamts-blog]

  “Have you used a portal before?”   Minchan asks the question like he doesn’t care much about the answer. The click of his heels on the pavement is distracting, a staccato in bright pink. He’s a lot to handle in the group chat, but even more of a handful in real life. Glittery eyeshadow and perfectly manicured nails, he’s a living doll, making mock kissy faces at every person walking by who dares to stare. A force of nature if Lysander ever saw one.   “Hello? Are you listening?”

  Minchan snapping his fingers in his face brings Lysander back to reality. “Um, what? Sorry, I wasn’t… “   With a huff and a quick wave of his hand, Minchan dismisses his reply. “It doesn’t matter, does it. I’m not walking all the way to Rei’s stupid forest. I’m not going to let my baby witch do it, either.”   As always when Minchan uses this nickname of his, Lysander’s heart skips a beat. It’s one thing to read it, yet another entirely to hear it. And maybe it’s imagination, but something fond colors it, something soft. Lysander fights a smile, biting his lower lip hard. It’s somehow endearing, that particular brand of a handful Minchan is.   He drags him into some alley, its dead end around a brickwalled corner. From his jacket’s pocket he pulls a piece of white chalk, and promptly begins to draw a circle lined and filled with odd symbols on the wall closest to him. Lysander watches in awe and confusion both.   “Oh,” Minchan says, shooting him a grin over his shoulder. “It’s for the portal. You see, for some magic, we need preparation. Magic circles, sometimes little sacrifices, that sort of thing. It’s too advanced for you right now.”   Instead of dampening his mood, this revelation makes Lysander’s stomach flip in joy. “I’ll… learn this, too?”   “Of course!” Minchan finishes his work off and takes a step back, pocketing the chalk again. “You’ll learn this, and how to make potions… I might just teach you some conjuring, too. Just don’t go trying to summon some demon, yes? That never goes well.”   Once again, Lysander only half listens, too entranced by the casualness of Minchan going about his business. He squares his shoulders and places an outstretched hand into the very center of the circle. As soon as his fingers touch the chalk, it springs to life, glowing a gentle white. Minchan pulls his hand back slowly. The circle lifts off the wall, sticking to his skin like a spiderweb. It hangs in the air, still connected to Minchan’s hand. Lysander’s jaw falls open.   Of course, Minchan notices. “Neat, isn’t it? Wait until you see Qiaomeng doing it. He doesn’t even need a surface, just draws the thing in the air right away. Talented bastard.”   He falls silent, eyes closed. The glow of the circle brightens. Around it, the air flimmers like it does in the hot summer sun. Lysander inhales, catching the slightest whiff of ozone.   Minchan balls his hand into a loose fist, only his forefinger sticking out. He drags the pad of it down the length of the circle, and, little by little, it breaks open in the wake of his touch. When Minchan reaches the end, the chalk peels back in its entirety, revealing a swirl of muted purples and greens dispersed in a sea of endless black. It takes over the circle, stretching to about Minchan’s height. It stops as soon as it touches the ground.   Lysander’s heart flutters in his chest. His arms break out in goose-flesh. “Wow,” is all he manages to press out.   Minchan hums. “This is a portal. It’s like… a door, except it leads into someone’s home if that someone allows it. Rei isn’t a fan of it, but he lets us use one, anyhow.”   “Why doesn’t he like it?”   “A talented witch could trace this magic back to him. I’ll have Parfait erase as much of it after we’re done as she can, but there’ll always be some leftover in places spells were used. Rei’s mostly worried someone might have the idea to murder him in his sleep, really.” Lowering his voice, Minchan adds, “He’s got a bit of a reputation. The plants he grows are highly sought after, some impossible to get around these parts unless you want to pay a hefty sum. He has all reason to be cautious.”   Lysander makes a little noise of understanding. All he knows about Rei is that he lives in a forest – magical and weird, as Qiaomeng had put it – and that he’s powerful, too. He should have asked more questions.   “Anyway.” Minchan grasps him gently by the shoulders and steers him towards the portal. “It’s best if you close your eyes and keep your limbs pressed to your body until you’re back on solid ground. Got it? I’ll be right behind you.”   Before Lysander gets another word in, Minchan pushes him.   Everything around him goes dark.   His stomach swoops again, but not at all in joy this time. He finds himself hovering in nothingness before he’s swept away. Like a tornado toying with a skinny branch, he’s scooped up and tossed about, a deafening roar in his ears. Static sticks to his skin, crawling across it in a numbing tingle. Lysander opens his mouth to scream, but no sound makes it out.   A flash of green breaks through the dark. Lysander slams face first into a tree, its leaves shivering with the impact.   “Oh. Oh, no,” a voice close to him says. Someone places a hand on his shoulder in cadence to a wave of nausea flooding through him. Lysander retches, hunching over. The hand moves to pat his back, all gentle. “There, there. Travelling with portals is never fun, I’m afraid. He should have told you.”   He chances a look to his right, to where the voice is coming from, and is met with bare feet on mossy forest floor. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he straightens slowly.   Miles and miles of forest stretch out around him, trees and bushes and a little creek gently running its course. Birdsong fills the space, lined with the rustle of leaves overhead.   Rei lives in a forest. This forest.   “Is everything alright again?” the voice asks, and the hand disappears.   Lysander nods absently. “Sorry, I… oh.”   A young man steps into his view – the one those bare feet belong to – and gives him an encouraging, but small smile. He’s taller than Lysander is, his hair a strangely warm shade of black. Something about him is… off. His skin is too perfect, his movements just shy of oily. There’s a startling darkness to his eyes. Not human, his instincts scream at him, though he passes as one well enough.   The portal buzzes. Minchan emerges with grace, touching his feet to the ground as though he were a cat leaping off the sofa. He beams at the both of them, the definition of cheeky.   “I see you’ve already met our hermit.”   The not-quite-human huffs, crossing his arms. A few heads of flowers peek through his hair, all varying shades of red. “Why did you let him go through it like this? It’s dangerous.”   “Oh, relax. Don’t talk to me about dangerous. You grow flesh-eating plants.”   “ – that never harm anyone unless I tell them to –”   “Right. That makes it better.”   The puzzle pieces click belatedly. “Oh!” Lysander says, clutching at his chest. “You’re Rei!” Rei turns toward him, wearing the same smile as before. “And you’re Lysander. I’ll get you something for the queasiness. Portals get to everyone the first time, especially if you’re not fully prepared.” He shoots Minchan a weighty look at his last few words. Minchan retaliates by sticking out his tongue. Rei ignores him. “Come, I’ll show you inside.”   “Inside”, as it turns out, is a little hut hidden behind layers of what Minchan calls “glamour”. After a simple wave of Rei’s hand, it appears out of thin air, flimmering at the edges like Minchan’s circle had done. It sits in the middle of a fenced in, lush garden, a plethora of brightly colored flowers and plants. Some, Lysander recognizes, but others he’s never seen in his life. A walkway of grey stones leads to the entrance door, heavy looking and wooden.   The door swings open on its own, or so it appears. Rei bends down to pick something up, cupping it ever so gently in his palms.   It’s a tiny, albino hedgehog.   “Thank you, Lilac.” Rei presses a kiss to the hedgehog’s forehead. The hedgehog makes a noise that sounds suspiciously flustered. “This is my familiar,” Rei follows it up with, showing Lilac to Lysander. “Say hello. Try to be friends. I’d hate for you two to not get along.”   Lysander wrings his hands, staring at Lilac. Lilac doesn’t move, either, staring right back.   “Um. H-hello. It’s nice to meet you.”   Lilac raises his little snout into the air, and Rei frowns down at him.   “What did I just say? Play nice.”   Still, Lilac doesn’t look very impressed. He turns around in Rei’s palms before he vanishes in a shimmery flash of light. Rei shakes his head.   “Don’t mind him. He needs a bit to warm up to someone.”   Minchan mutters something about it being Rei’s own fault for never socializing. He goes ignored again.   The inside of Rei’s hut is surprisingly normal. All his furniture is wooden or partly wooden, from the round table in the kitchen to the sofa lined with the plushest cushions and pillows to the TV stand. Herbs and flowers hang from every wall, both dried and fresh. The most outlandish item is the big cauldron in the middle of the kitchen, a fire lit underneath it. Whatever’s inside it bubbles gently, filling the air with a sweet, herby scent.   Of all the cliched witch-things Lysander expected to see, this is the most accurate to his imaginations.   Upon closer inspection, however, he finds that the TV and the kitchen itself are both highly modern. Rei even owns a gaming console. How and where is he getting his electricity from? Something tells him the answer will either be magic, or so mundane that he would have never considered it. A question for another day.   Rei gathers them together in the middle of the living room and has them sit on the floor after pushing the coffee table aside. He hands Lysander a small pill and a glass of water instead of the potion he’d expected, and Lysander gulps both down. Apparently, even witches have a need for regular medicine. Perhaps solving everything with magic is against the rules. If there are any rules.   He has so much to learn.   “Did you bring the salves?” Rei asks, seated cross-legged next to Lysander.   A few days earlier, Rei instructed him to prepare a couple of standard salves to put on wounds, ones that his job as a nurse has long familiarized him with. He’d told him to make them with the intent to heal, to concentrate on and visualize the process of a wound closing. So Lysander had done exactly that. And though he’d found himself tempted to test them, himself, he thought it more prudent to wait until both Minchan and Rei could ascertain their capabilities. If they had any special ones, anyhow.   Lysander gives a quick nod, taking the two small, rotund plastic containers out of his sling bag. They used to be filled with store-bought skin care, serving this purpose just fine. Rei takes them with a grateful nod. One he hands Minchan, the other he keeps, unscrewing the lid. He tilts it gently in his palm so the light catches in the creaminess of the salve, making it glisten. He brings it up to his face to smell it, humming as he does. Whether or not it’s a satisfied noise, Lysander can’t tell.   “They smell nice,” Minchan comments, tilting his container every which way like Rei had done. “Why’d you make him make these?”   Rei smiles, that same, small smile, but there’s an edge to it. Smug. “Because I asked him what he’s interested in. Have you done the same?”   Minchan sputters. “I – you know, it’s not like we can just jump into what he likes. He needs basics. That’s what I’m concerned about.”   This playful back and forth is just as endearing as Minchan’s whirlwind persona. Lysander can’t stop himself from giggling, which earns him a wider smile from Rei and a noise from Minchan like he’s terribly martyred. But he’s smiling, too, unable to hide it even behind that huffy facade.   “Well,” Rei says after a moment of comfortable silence, “I suppose we’ll need to test these.”   He gets up and walks over to the kitchen to rummage in a drawer. What he pulls out glints silvery in his palm, and only when he sits back down, it becomes clear what it is. A knife. Vines snake around its handle, deep green in color. The blade itself is simple and two-edged, a small symbol etched into the very tip of it.   Rei reaches out, takes one of Minchan’s hands and quickly drags the knife from one side of his palm to the other. Minchan yelps.   “What the fuck?! Have you lost your –”   Minchan struggles, but Rei tightens his grasp on his hand, keeping him in place. Blood wells up from the cut, beading along the surface.   “As I said, we need to test his salves,” Rei says, his voice unaffected. He turns his attention towards Lysander, who has since frozen in his spot. His heart hammers in his chest, a new wave of sickness sloshing in his stomach. As used as he is to seeing blood, a warning would have been nice.   Minchan struggles again, but it’s still in vain. He goes slack a moment after, averting his eyes. “I’m going to be sick.”   Rei hums vaguely, still looking at Lysander. “Which one of them would you use for a cut like this?”   “Um.” Lysander slowly inches forward to take a closer look at the cut. It’s not deep, something that would heal just fine on its own once its dressed. He picks up one of his salves, offering it to Rei. “This one.”   “Well, go on then. Put it on.”   Lysander blinks at him. None of this is what he’d expected of this get-together, but he doesn’t have the luxury to complain. Hesitating, he asks Rei for something to clean the blood up with, and Rei disappears again only to return with a damp washcloth. Lysander wipes the cut down, careful not to hurt Minchan too much, before he dips a finger into the salve, coating the pad of it with the thinnest layer.   “This… might sting a little,” he warns as he gently rubs the salve along the cut.   Even before he manages to reach the end of it, the cut begins to close.   He and Minchan both gape at it, at the way the skin knits together on its own right in front of their eyes. Lysander finishes his job to watch the rest of it close, too, leaving Minchan’s palm pristine as if nothing ever happened. No scab, no scar. Nothing.   “Holy shit,” Minchan whispers in awe, inspecting his hand up close. Next to him, Rei chuckles.   “I knew it would work the moment you handed it to me. You must have felt that, too, Minchan.”   Minchan, rubbing his thumb along the spot where the cut used to be, nods dumbly. “I… felt something, sure. But I’m not good at healing magic. I couldn’t tell it was going to be like this.”   Rei wipes his knife down with the damp washcloth. It’s all a little much to take in – Rei being so casual, Minchan so shocked, this place and Lysander’s salve actually working. His head spins with this slew of information. Judging by the softness of Rei’s face, he’s noticed. He puts a hand on Lysander’s shoulder, squeezing gently.   “You have a talent. Very potent magic. You’ll make a great healer one day, baby witch.”   For the umpteenth time, Lysander’s heart skips a beat.

[mikemortgage]

Chasing Edison: Meet Canada’s most prolific (arguably) inventor who sees ideas everywhere

Wayne Conrad is the inventor with the most patents registered to a Canadian.

HAMPTON, ONT. — Garry Burns has a toothy grin, an easy manner and a raft of stories he could tell a listener about Wayne Conrad, his childhood friend and present employer at Omachron Group, a research and development outfit based in a tiny village 75 minutes northeast of Toronto.

But picking just one isn’t easy, Burns says, since Conrad isn’t like anybody else he knows. Conrad, he adds, certainly wasn’t like any of the other students at Anderson Collegiate Vocational Institute in Whitby, Ont., who were knocking their heads against the wall to maintain C-pluses in the ’70s while not doing a ton of thinking about what they might do when they actually grew up.

Conrad was always thinking.

Inside Shopify's vision of an e-commerce system to rival Amazon

Car parts, yogurt, paint: Scientists are using wood in novel ways, hopefully staying the axe on forestry education before it’s too late

Beyond the vacuum: Dyson banks on brand power, R&D in effort to transform into tech powerhouse

“Wayne was the same crazy scientist back then that he is today,” Burns said. “If we wanted to know something, well, we didn’t have Google, but we had Wayne. We could ask him anything and he would have an answer for it, and I can’t really ever remember him being wrong.”

Burns is sitting in a conference room in the basement of Conrad’s stone mansion, a family home in Hampton that doubles as a laboratory/business headquarters, which is obscured from the road by an imposing stone wall, a row of mature fir trees and a locked security gate.

Just beyond the conference room is a wall-length aquarium, and just beyond that is a locked door leading to a hive of temperature-controlled workshops where one of Canada’s most prolific, independent and almost entirely unsung inventors beavers away with a staff of engineers, tool makers, technicians and other handy types on an array of electro-mechanical gadgets.

Their creator can’t speak about the works in progress, at least not publicly since they haven’t been patented yet, but in a moment of excitable candour he lets slip that, “The future of vacuum cleaners is being made here right now.” If so, it will only help Conrad achieve his life’s ambition: to top Thomas Edison’s career patent total before he is done.

In theory, Conrad got an early enough start to pull such a feat off. He was 15 when he founded his company and he currently has close to 600 patents, if you count the ones still pending approval. By comparison, Edison, the Babe Ruth of inventors who gave humanity the motion picture camera, the phonograph and the electric chandelier, notched 1,093 patents.

Wayne Conrad has almost 600 patents to his name.

“Over the years, the (Edison) record becomes a little less important,” the 55-year-old said. “What you achieve and what you do to help people becomes more important, but I still might get there.”

Like Edison, Conrad is a jack of all creations. Today’s gadget could be vacuum cleaners — his innovations helped transform Boston-based appliance maker, SharkNinja Operating LLC into a billion-dollar-plus global player — but tomorrow’s gizmo could be who knows what.

In addition to all the vacuum-related ideas, Conrad’s patent portfolio features a space-age water treatment system that NASA adopted for the International Space Station, ozone generators, automobile air conditioners, pulse power systems, cyclonic particle separators, vortex mixers, tabletop-sized plastic mould extruders, a portable personal watercraft and even an indoor barbecue.

It’s Conrad eclecticism that partly distinguishes him from your run-of-the-mill uber-nerd inventor with the three PhDs who zeroes in on one tiny corner of the innovation universe. Conrad — who left the University of Toronto a credit short of graduating — sees ideas everywhere he looks, including the kitchen, where the thought of cooking outdoors on a bitter winter’s night inspired the aforementioned barbecue.

“I’ve worked with a lot of inventors, but Wayne is in a different category. He is just really unique, where his knowledge of different industries and technologies is so broad that he is able to pick from different areas, almost like a buffet, and bring things together with ideas that are different,” Omachron’s president Alan Millman said.

“What you will get with a lot of people is a great depth of knowledge, but it is narrowly focused, which leads to incremental innovation. But with Wayne you have this breadth of knowledge, and that can lead to out-of-the-box thinking. And he’s actually got a good business sense.”

Conrad already had a few home runs under his belt prior to meeting SharkNinja founder, Mark Rosenzweig, a native Montrealer, and the third generation of his family to get into the appliance game.

Millman, Conrad and another business contact drove to Boston in a Dodge Durango to meet with Rosenzweig in June 2005, killing time, en route, by discussing science, philosophy and world events while stopping for the odd spot of junk food. (Conrad’s Achilles’ heel is an inability to resist McDonald’s French Fries). The meeting was scheduled for an hour with a 9 a.m. start. The parties were still talking at 6 p.m.

The rest is vacuum cleaner history.

“Wayne was very smart, unusually smart,” Rosenzweig recalls of that first meeting. “He has been a great partner for years now, but in the beginning he was critically important. We were selling (hand and stick) vacuum cleaners, but I don’t think they were good enough, and without Wayne I don’t think we could have brought them to the level they needed to be to start creating this Shark brand where people really loved our upright vacuums.”

Pre-Conrad, SharkNinja’s annual sales were in the neighbourhood of US$300 million, according to Rosenzweig, a number that has ballooned to almost US$1.7 billion. (The privately owned company has also expanded its range of appliance offerings over time).

Some of the inventions made by Omicron Science Inc. founder and chief scientist Wayne Conrad.

“What Wayne has an ability to do is develop things that aren’t just relevant in the lab, but are relevant to the consumer,” Rosenzweig said.

The lab is Conrad’s creative space, but it is upstairs, on the main floor of his home, where he hammers out the nuts and bolts of his business deals, holding meetings in a room that is a replica of an English pub.

Being in a boardroom can make people tense, he said. Sitting at the bar can make things happen. Decorated with assorted curiosities, including a framed piece of airmail that U.S. aviation pioneer Charles Lindbergh delivered, as well as a painting of a Lancaster bomber and a vintage Pepsi Cola sign, the pub radiates a welcoming feel, as does its owner.

Conrad might seem like a crazy scientist and all, but he looks more like a dad. A middle-aged dad — with six kids — dressed in dad jeans, a mauve-coloured shirt, and with soft eyes, glasses, brush-cut hair and a middle-age belly. Rounding out the image of domesticity: he and his wife, Nina, share a passion for Broadway musicals.

The interior home life is the opposite of the nothing-to-see-here-you-nosey-people exterior vibe the mansion projects. Case in point: the Conrads’ house has many windows. Mid-afternoon, on a moderately warm and sunny spring day, the blinds are drawn.

Is the inventor hiding something?

“I am hiding the fact I am saving money,” Conrad said, laughing, before launching into a perfectly non-cloak-and-dagger explanation for the lowered blinds. The typical insulation value of a window is R-2, or, in other words, not very good. Simply drawing the blinds boosts the value to R-5, which, for an inventor who lives and works in a stone mansion, is enough to cut his energy bills in half.

Wayne Conrad with his father, Helmut, who was an aircraft builder at De Havilland.

Practicality is among Conrad’s many traits. Indeed, he doesn’t create stuff he can’t sell, or at least try to sell, which is perhaps something he can thank his parents for.

Ruth and Helmut Conrad were German immigrants, the latter a former prisoner of war. The couple arrived in Canada with very little, and adopted Wayne. There is a family photo of Wayne, the tot, baking Christmas cookies with Helmut. Another image shows him knee-high, wielding a tiny handsaw, and working with his dad — an aircraft builder at De Havilland — on a backyard construction project.

“Wayne’s dad was salt of the Earth,” Garry Burns said. “Wayne was this kid with infinite energy, the Energizer Bunny, but on steroids. Helmut had this kid with no boundaries, and would constantly be trying to get Wayne into new things. But finding new things became more complicated as Wayne got older.”

Conrad was 11 when he and his dad restored a 1929 glider. (He took his mom for a spin in it a few years later). At 13, he struck out on his own creatively, winning the 1976 Canada Wide Science Fair for a solar-powered car design.

The car caught the eye of Arthur Moore, professor emeritus at the University of Michigan, and a world-renowned expert in electrostatics. Moore invited Conrad to Ann Arbor, Mich., where he would stay for days at a time.

Wayne Conrad and his father in the workshop. Wayne started his own company at age 15.

Rochester, N.Y., home of Xerox Corp., was another frequent destination. Robert Gundlach, a physicist, and an inventor often referred to as the father of the modern photocopier, had piled up scores of patents. Like Moore, he took a shine to the young Canadian, adding his name to Conrad’s list of mentors, a series of influencers made possible, in part, because his mother was willing to drive her son wherever he needed to go.

The principal at Anderson CVI was happy to have Wayne play hooky, just so long as his parents were okay with the arrangement and he showed up for his exams and maintained an A average.

“My mom wasn’t a hockey mom, she was the inventor/businessman mom,” Conrad said, showing obvious delight in the memory. “I had this wide-ranging, diverse education, and I really think that’s the key for any young person.”

Conrad still exudes a sense of childlike wonder, a palpable enthusiasm, as he describes his various inventions, including the latest: a plastic extruder, no bigger than a desk, that requires minimal power and is capable of transforming post-consumer plastic waste into plastic wood and siding.

Imagine the possibilities, he said, for small-scale Canadian manufacturing: industry that wouldn’t have to be housed in giant facilities with elephantine machinery and astronomical energy costs, but could be run out of a garage or basement and employ two, maybe three other people, creating jobs and a perception that not everything in the world has to be made in China.

The technology could also be useful for an island economy, such as Haiti, a crushingly impoverished place awash in plastic debris and in need of cheap housing.

“A waste is only a waste if you’re not using it,” Conrad said.

Wayne Conrad in the library at his home in Hampton, Ont.

The desire to minimize waste applies to Conrad’s living arrangement. His home is his office and his laboratory. If he has an idea at, say, 4:30 a.m., he can get cracking on it. Should he have a breakthrough at 8 p.m., he can work into the wee hours, knowing his bed isn’t an hour’s commute away, but a few flights of stairs.

But Conrad’s time, however maximized, can be somewhat elastic in its application. During a recent interview, the inventor informed his visitors that he had a 3:30 p.m. “hard-stop.” At 3:15 p.m., his wife Nina appears in the pub to remind her husband of the deadline.

At 3:45 p.m., Conrad is still talking, though now in his library/home movie theatre, a room with two levels and 25,000 books. He also has an inventory of 100,000 artifacts, early drafts and gadget prototypes reflecting 40-years worth of invention he can reference, when in need.

By 3:57 p.m., Conrad is back in his element, breezing through the basement laboratory, stopping to show off another invention he can’t speak about, at least not publicly, patent pending.

“When Wayne says, “I’ll be back in five minutes,” what he is really saying is, under the best of circumstances, in an ideal world, I’ll be back in five minutes — but don’t count on it,” Omachron’s president Alan Millman said. “That happens everyday around here. That’s just Wayne.”

• Email: joconnor@nationalpost.com | Twitter: oconnorwrites

from Financial Post http://bit.ly/2UYxIL1 via IFTTT Blogger Mortgage Tumblr Mortgage Evernote Mortgage Wordpress Mortgage href="https://www.diigo.com/user/gelsi11">Diigo Mortgage

[ozone-india]

Ozone presents the complete exotic range of Door Solutions. We have been talking about various door fittings for wooden, glass or framed door. It time to talk about the complete solution for all kind of doors. This range includes Door Closers, Lever Handle, Cylindrical Knob Block, Night Latch Lock, Motorized Lock Body, Hinges, Door Stopper and Floor Springs. Explore more about it on Ozone India

[thescannerdarkly]

 the air is electric, stained with that heavy scent of ozone, and it clings to the skin, sluggish and still. There is flesh jostling and skin rubbing, that faint terrible screech of hairs rubbing against each other, and I cannot live for a second longer without poison inside so the glass comes up and the bartender looks over again. In three, perhaps four minutes we will repeat, and I admire his persistence. 

 I can taste the humidity on my lips and it’s raining outside, again, the windows covered with newspaper trembling as the staccato rhythm runs over everything. I don’t know how the rain makes it this far down but it all collects here, running constantly down the street, underneath your feet, all rushing and rolling and never letting up. I can feel it running over my skin. everything is just faintly moist, oil resting on the fingertip and I need so badly for the water to rise and roll through everything that I break and my head falls down.

 It’s summer again and we’re in the woods, you’re leading me down a trail. It is warmth and light and a dusty smell and I cannot bear to think of any life beyond this moment but it comes regardless; and it is winter and your skin is torn open and metal is coming out, the smell of copper in the air and you are screaming and the glass comes up again and the bartender looks.

 We will repeat. There is nothing material to cling to, only the masses in the room. I’ve felt no sympathy for organic beings, no sense of familiarity or community, thrashing as all do against the current. They are matter in the way, packing material for hot air and noxious gas, and in time they will each turn to murderous intentions as the desire for continuity rises. The smell of copper again as they move about and I keep my eyes down low, that is the truth I know. My mouth moves through empty fricatives and I don’t feel God in me any longer.

 The Beast is growing stronger. On my left is a jirai. The cloth-draped barrel of his rifle clinks faintly against the chair leg and his hat covers his eyes. I am filled with envy of the layers covering his skin, so dry and smooth, so lacking in friction I could melt into the floor. The God in him is empty and dry, burned out by years of travel on barren plains. I feel tiny drops of water begin raining from the ceiling, making patterns on my arms. I look into my glass and the liquid is still. It doesn’t bring him alive any longer, but the glass goes up. The bartender looks, and I can’t take it.

 I leave my earthly possessions at the bar. They had been lawfully exchanged and deserved a better fate. I move through the massive organism forming in the room, through gasoline fumes and gaping mouths, out through the door, into the end of days; and I fall to my knees, it runs over me and around and it won’t go through- it’s spring, or fall, the light is gone and it is black and cool, and I am clawing at the surface of the skin and coming away with silicon and plastics and bits of spare circuits, and I open my mouth to scream and light comes out instead; and I turn to you and your face is open and there is nothing underneath but machinery for grinding flesh; there is metal in my arms and for a moment we are glorious, but where did you go?

[evercharmed-a]

“Have you used a portal before?” Minchan asks the question like he doesn’t care much about the answer. The click of his heels on the pavement is distracting, a staccato in bright pink. He’s a lot to handle in the group chat, but even more of a handful in real life. Glittery eyeshadow and perfectly manicured nails, he’s a living doll, making mock kissy faces at every person walking by who dares to stare. A force of nature if Lysander ever saw one. “Hello? Are you listening?”

Minchan snapping his fingers in his face brings Lysander back to reality. “Um, what? Sorry, I wasn’t… “ With a huff and a quick wave of his hand, Minchan dismisses his reply. “It doesn’t matter, does it. I’m not walking all the way to Rei’s stupid forest. I’m not going to let my baby witch do it, either.” As always when Minchan uses this nickname of his, Lysander’s heart skips a beat. It’s one thing to read it, yet another entirely to hear it. And maybe it’s imagination, but something fond colors it, something soft. Lysander fights a smile, biting his lower lip hard. It’s somehow endearing, that particular brand of a handful Minchan is. He drags him into some alley, its dead end around a brickwalled corner. From his jacket’s pocket he pulls a piece of white chalk, and promptly begins to draw a circle lined and filled with odd symbols on the wall closest to him. Lysander watches in awe and confusion both. “Oh,” Minchan says, shooting him a grin over his shoulder. “It’s for the portal. You see, for some magic, we need preparation. Magic circles, sometimes little sacrifices, that sort of thing. It’s too advanced for you right now.” Instead of dampening his mood, this revelation makes Lysander’s stomach flip in joy. “I’ll… learn this, too?” “Of course!” Minchan finishes his work off and takes a step back, pocketing the chalk again. “You’ll learn this, and how to make potions... I might just teach you some conjuring, too. Just don’t go trying to summon some demon, yes? That never goes well.” Once again, Lysander only half listens, too entranced by the casualness of Minchan going about his business. He squares his shoulders and places an outstretched hand into the very center of the circle. As soon as his fingers touch the chalk, it springs to life, glowing a gentle white. Minchan pulls his hand back slowly. The circle lifts off the wall, sticking to his skin like a spiderweb. It hangs in the air, still connected to Minchan’s hand. Lysander’s jaw falls open. Of course, Minchan notices. “Neat, isn’t it? Wait until you see Qiaomeng doing it. He doesn’t even need a surface, just draws the thing in the air right away. Talented bastard.” He falls silent, eyes closed. The glow of the circle brightens. Around it, the air flimmers like it does in the hot summer sun. Lysander inhales, catching the slightest whiff of ozone. Minchan balls his hand into a loose fist, only his forefinger sticking out. He drags the pad of it down the length of the circle, and, little by little, it breaks open in the wake of his touch. When Minchan reaches the end, the chalk peels back in its entirety, revealing a swirl of muted purples and greens dispersed in a sea of endless black. It takes over the circle, stretching to about Minchan’s height. It stops as soon as it touches the ground. Lysander’s heart flutters in his chest. His arms break out in goose-flesh. “Wow,” is all he manages to press out. Minchan hums. “This is a portal. It’s like… a door, except it leads into someone’s home if that someone allows it. Rei isn’t a fan of it, but he lets us use one, anyhow.” “Why doesn’t he like it?” “A talented witch could trace this magic back to him. I’ll have Parfait erase as much of it after we’re done as she can, but there’ll always be some leftover in places spells were used. Rei’s mostly worried someone might have the idea to murder him in his sleep, really.” Lowering his voice, Minchan adds, “He’s got a bit of a reputation. The plants he grows are highly sought after, some impossible to get around these parts unless you want to pay a hefty sum. He has all reason to be cautious.” Lysander makes a little noise of understanding. All he knows about Rei is that he lives in a forest – magical and weird, as Qiaomeng had put it – and that he’s powerful, too. He should have asked more questions. “Anyway.” Minchan grasps him gently by the shoulders and steers him towards the portal. “It’s best if you close your eyes and keep your limbs pressed to your body until you’re back on solid ground. Got it? I’ll be right behind you.” Before Lysander gets another word in, Minchan pushes him. Everything goes dark. His stomach swoops again, but not at all in joy this time. He finds himself hovering in nothingness before he’s swept away. Like a tornado toying with a skinny branch, he’s scooped up and tossed about, a deafening roar in his ears. Static sticks to his skin, crawling across it in a numbing tingle. Lysander opens his mouth to scream, but no sound makes it out. A flash of green breaks through the dark. Lysander slams face first into a tree, its leaves shivering with the impact. “Oh. Oh, no,” a voice close to him says. Someone places a hand on his shoulder in cadence to a wave of nausea flooding through him. Lysander retches, hunching over. The hand moves to pat his back, all gentle. “There, there. Travelling with portals is never fun, I’m afraid. He should have told you.” He chances a look to his right, to where the voice is coming from, and is met with bare feet on mossy forest floor. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he straightens slowly. Miles and miles of forest stretch out around him, trees and bushes and a little creek gently running its course. Birdsong fills the space, lined with the rustle of leaves overhead. Rei lives in a forest. This forest. “Is everything alright again?” the voice asks, and the hand disappears. Lysander nods absently. “Sorry, I… oh.” A young man steps into his view – the one those bare feet belong to – and gives him an encouraging, but small smile. He’s taller than Lysander is, his hair a warm shade of blond reminiscent of honey. Something about him is… off. His skin is too perfect, his movements just shy of oily. There’s a startling darkness to his eyes. Not human, his instincts scream at him, though he passes as one well enough. The portal buzzes. Minchan emerges with grace, touching his feet to the ground as though he were a cat leaping off the sofa. He beams at the both of them, the definition of cheeky. “I see you’ve already met our hermit.” The not-quite-human huffs, crossing his arms. A few heads of flowers peek through his hair, all varying shades of red. “Why did you let him go through it like this? It’s dangerous.” “Oh, relax. Don’t talk to me about dangerous. You grow flesh-eating plants.” “ – that never harm anyone unless I tell them to –” “Right. That makes it better.” The puzzle pieces click belatedly. “Oh!” Lysander says, clutching at his chest. “You’re Rei!” Rei turns toward him, wearing the same smile as before. “And you’re Lysander. I’ll get you something for the queasiness. Portals get to everyone the first time, especially if you’re not fully prepared.” He shoots Minchan a weighty look at his last few words. Minchan retaliates by sticking out his tongue. Rei ignores him. “Come, I’ll show you inside.” “Inside”, as it turns out, is a little hut hidden behind layers of what Minchan calls “glamour”. After a simple wave of Rei’s hand, it appears out of thin air, flimmering at the edges like Minchan’s circle had done. It sits in the middle of a fenced in, lush garden, a plethora of brightly colored flowers and plants. Some, Lysander recognizes, but others he’s never seen in his life. A walkway of grey stones leads to the entrance door, heavy looking and wooden. The door swings open on its own, or so it appears. Rei bends down to pick something up, cupping it ever so gently in his palms. It’s a tiny, albino hedgehog. “Thank you, Lilac.” Rei presses a kiss to the hedgehog’s forehead. The hedgehog makes a noise that sounds suspiciously flustered. “This is my familiar,” Rei follows it up with, showing Lilac to Lysander. “Say hello. Try to be friends. I’d hate for you two to not get along.” Lysander wrings his hands, staring at Lilac. Lilac doesn’t move, either, staring right back. “Um. H-hello. It’s nice to meet you.” Lilac raises his little snout into the air, and Rei frowns down at him. “What did I just say? Play nice.” Still, Lilac doesn’t look very impressed. He turns around in Rei’s palms before he vanishes in a shimmery flash of light. Rei shakes his head. “Don’t mind him. He needs a bit to warm up to someone.” Minchan mutters something about it being Rei’s own fault for never socializing. He goes ignored again. The inside of Rei’s hut is surprisingly normal. All his furniture is wooden or partly wooden, from the round table in the kitchen to the sofa lined with the plushest cushions and pillows to the TV stand. Herbs and flowers hang from every wall, both dried and fresh. The most outlandish item is the big cauldron in the middle of the kitchen, a fire lit underneath it. Whatever’s inside it bubbles gently, filling the air with a sweet, herby scent. Of all the cliched witch-things Lysander expected to see, this is the most accurate to his imaginations. Upon closer inspection, however, he finds that the TV and the kitchen itself are both highly modern. Rei even owns a gaming console. How and where is he getting his electricity from? Something tells him the answer will either be magic, or so mundane that he would have never considered it. A question for another day. Rei gathers them together in the middle of the living room and has them sit on the floor after pushing the coffee table aside. He hands Lysander a small pill and a glass of water instead of the potion he’d expected, and Lysander gulps both down. Apparently, even witches have a need for regular medicine. Perhaps solving everything with magic is against the rules. If there are any rules. He has so much to learn. “Did you bring the salves?” Rei asks, seated cross-legged next to Lysander. A few days earlier, Rei instructed him to prepare a couple of standard salves to put on wounds, ones that his job as a nurse has long familiarized him with. He’d told him to make them with the intent to heal, to concentrate on and visualize the process of a wound closing. So Lysander had done exactly that. And though he’d found himself tempted to test them, himself, he thought it more prudent to wait until both Minchan and Rei could ascertain their capabilities. If they had any special ones, anyhow. Lysander gives a quick nod, taking the two small, rotund plastic containers out of his sling bag. They used to be filled with store-bought skin care, serving this purpose just fine. Rei takes them with a grateful nod. One he hands Minchan, the other he keeps, unscrewing the lid. He tilts it gently in his palm so the light catches in the creaminess of the salve, making it glisten. He brings it up to his face to smell it, humming as he does. Whether or not it’s a satisfied noise, Lysander can’t tell. “They smell nice,” Minchan comments, tilting his container every which way like Rei had done. “Why’d you make him make these?” Rei smiles, that same, small smile, but there’s an edge to it. Smug. “Because I asked him what he’s interested in. Have you done the same?” Minchan sputters. “I – you know, it’s not like we can just jump into what he likes. He needs basics. That’s what I’m concerned about.” This playful back and forth is just as endearing as Minchan’s whirlwind persona. Lysander can’t stop himself from giggling, which earns him a wider smile from Rei and a noise from Minchan like he’s terribly martyred. But he’s smiling, too, unable to hide it even behind that huffy facade. “Well,” Rei says after a moment of comfortable silence, “I suppose we’ll need to test these.” He gets up and walks over to the kitchen to rummage in a drawer. What he pulls out glints silvery in his palm, and only when he sits back down, it becomes clear what it is. A knife. Vines snake around its handle, deep green in color. The blade itself is simple and two-edged, a small symbol etched into the very tip of it. Rei reaches out, takes one of Minchan’s hands and quickly drags the knife from one side of his palm to the other. Minchan yelps. “What the fuck?! Have you lost your –” Minchan struggles, but Rei tightens his grasp on his hand, keeping him in place. Blood wells up from the cut, beading along the surface. “As I said, we need to test his salves,” Rei says, his voice unaffected. He turns his attention towards Lysander, who has since frozen in his spot. His heart hammers in his chest, a new wave of sickness sloshing in his stomach. As used as he is to seeing blood, a warning would have been nice. Minchan struggles again, but it’s still in vain. He goes slack a moment after, averting his eyes. “I’m going to be sick.” Rei hums vaguely, still looking at Lysander. “Which one of them would you use for a cut like this?” “Um.” Lysander slowly inches forward to take a closer look at the cut. It’s not deep, something that would heal just fine on its own once its dressed. He picks up one of his salves, offering it to Rei. “This one.” “Well, go on then. Put it on.” Lysander blinks at him. None of this is what he’d expected of this get-together, but he doesn’t have the luxury to complain. Hesitating, he asks Rei for something to clean the blood up with, and Rei disappears again only to return with a damp washcloth. Lysander wipes the cut down, careful not to hurt Minchan too much, before he dips a finger into the salve, coating the pad of it with the thinnest layer. “This… might sting a little,” he warns as he gently rubs the salve along the cut. Even before he manages to reach the end of it, the cut begins to close. He and Minchan both gape at it, at the way the skin knits together on its own right in front of their eyes. Lysander finishes his job to watch the rest of it close, too, leaving Minchan’s palm pristine as if nothing ever happened. No scab, no scar. Nothing. “Holy shit,” Minchan whispers in awe, inspecting his hand up close. Next to him, Rei chuckles. “I knew it would work the moment you handed it to me. You must have felt that, too, Minchan.” Minchan, rubbing his thumb along the spot where the cut used to be, nods dumbly. “I… felt something, sure. But I’m not good at healing magic. I couldn’t tell it was going to be like this.” Rei wipes his knife down with the damp washcloth. It’s all a little much to take in – Rei being so casual, Minchan so shocked, this place and Lysander’s salve actually working. His head spins with this slew of information. Judging by the softness of Rei’s face, he’s noticed. He puts a hand on Lysander’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You have a talent. Very potent magic. You’ll make a great healer one day, baby witch.” For the umpteenth time, Lysander’s heart skips a beat.

[joesbrownusa]

Houses For Sale in Fort Myers, FL

This Single-Family Home located at 12770 Yacht Club Circle, Fort Myers, FL is currently for sale. This property is listed by Rossman Realty Group Inc for $469,900. 12770 Yacht Club Cir has 3 beds, 2 baths, and approximately 1,690 square feet. The price per square foot is $278. The property has a lot size of 7,413 sqft and was built in 1993. 12770 Yacht Club Cir is in the McGregor neighborhood in Fort Myers, FL.

This gorgeous split-level, Santa Clarita condominium in the award-winning Community of the year, Paseo, could be your next slice of SWFL paradise! Featuring 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, this luxurious condo even offers sitting/living areas on both floors. Ideally designed, with the master ensuite upstairs and 2 guest rooms on the lower level, this residence encompasses just under 2,000 sq. ft. of open living space. Upscale features include a (rare) screened in lanai, upgraded stainless appliances, granite in all baths and kitchen, beautiful archways in the main living area, incredible ceiling d etail in the master, upgraded fixtures and more. The warm FL sunshine beams throughout this light and bright condo as it boasts ample windows, 2 sliders, and soaring ceilings. This gem is an end-unit on three sides, provides vast storage and a 2-car attached garage . Paseos resort-style amenities will ensure you feel as though youre vacationing, everyday!

Charming ranch with 3 beds, 2 full baths, single car garage, large corner lot with trees, close to schools, shopping, restaurants, expressway. Well cared for home. New a/c installed Nov. 2016, new light fixture dining area, new vanities/sinks in both bathrooms.

This is a luxurious, custom built pool/spa home located in Renaissance, which is an award winning, exclusive golf course community, offering outstanding amenities. This home is built with attention to detail and craftsmanship, and will appeal to the taste of the most discerning buyer. Home is 3463 sq. ft. under air , has 3 spacious bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a den with quality built-ins, and a side entrance 3 car garage. The premium, oversized, pie shaped property, lushly landscaped, offers privacy, and peaceful living within this secure, gated community. Additional features include volume ceilings, accented with crown and baseboard molding, designer kitchen, with sub zero and thermador appliances, a gas fireplace, formal dining and porcelain tile flooring. The outside pool/spa lanai area has an outdoor shower, outdoor patio kitchen (under roof) and the interior garden plantings create a beautiful Florida ambience. The master bedroom is extremely spacious an the en-suite has custom mirrors, dual sinks, separate tub and tiled shower. Ideal home for entertaining and must see to appreciate. Property must be sold with a lease back or delayed closing acceptable to seller.

Gorgeous, Private, Corner Location In Creekside Preserve! First Floor, Popular Capri, Floor Plan, Master Suite, One Guest Bedroom, and a comfortable Den off the Main Living Area. Two, Full, Spacious Bathrooms. Plus, ALL the Upgrades at a Price Non Comparable to others! Granite, YES!, Tile, Yes! in a Designer Brick Pattern. GE Stainless Steel Appliances, Glass Back splash, Under counter Lighting, Upgraded Light Fixtures, to much to mention, a must see for sure! All the Windows offer a View of the Peaceful Preserve. This Building sits on the End of the First Cul-de-sac, no thru traffic! O wner is Relocating, barely lived in! Sparkling Pool, Fitness Center, in a Gated Community! Sanibel 25 Minutes Away, RSW Airport 15 Min, Restaurants and Shopping Everywhere! Take Advantage of a Great Home at a Motivated Price!

Panoramic lake and golf course views! Welcome golfers and non-golfers to paradise in this gated community The Forest. Furnished 3Bd/2Ba bright first floor unit, 2 car garage. Large great room w/ built-in wet bar, wood burning fire place, & sliders to the enclosed lanai w/ private views. Kitchen offers plenty of storage, w/ quartz countertops, refaced cabinets, eat in kitchen overlooking golf course and lake, formal dining area w/ custom built-in wall unit & shelving. Master suite offers dual sinks, large walk-in shower, 2 walk-in closets. Split second & third bedroom which is separated by second bath offers complete privacy for your guests. Inside laundry room w/ extra storage cabinetry. Fairway Woods residents have access to their own community heated pool, spa, & building for social activities. Memberships are available, but NOT MANDATORY: 2 championship golf courses, dining, fitness center, social activities, tennis, & bocce ball. Finest of South West Florida living in a location, close to beaches, shopping, SWR airport, home of the spring training of the Boston Red Sox & Minnesota Twins, & two state colleges, Florida Gulf Coast University/ Florida SouthWestern College)

great investment property. please call 24 hrs advance for showing.

Edison Park welcomes you home. This 4bed 2bath offers an expansive layout and open concept living space that is perfect for entertaining. A long Circle Driveway provides ample amount of parking. The original terrazzo flooring accents the wood paneling found in the formal and informal living spaces. All windows are impact resistant. Less than a 5 minute walk to the Edison/Ford Estate and a very short walk to Downtown Ft Myers River District. This home is move-in ready and the cheapest price per square foot home in Edison Park. This is a great investment opportunity. Sellers are extremely motivated and considering all offers. Photos will be added by March 6th.

Welcome to Paradise! Looking for a 2nd floor 2/2 condo at Club at Crystal Lake? Look no further! This cute lake view condo has a front and back lanai! This community offers it all at low monthly fees! 2 Community pools, a club house, Tennis courts and a fishing pier! A deeded covered parking space is included with plenty of parking for your guests. A a storage area is included in the parking area and another one on your lanai! Schedule your showing today before it is gone!

BRAND NEW LENNAR TOWNHOME! 3 bedrooms, 2 ½ baths, security gate, community pool & spa, clubhouse with fitness center – men’s & women’s locker rooms with sauna, movie theater, pool table, WIFI, and card table with full kitchen for entertaining! Don’t miss out! FHA/VA APPROVED. DEEDED SINGLE FAMILY. Perfect for First Time Home Buyers & Investors! Also great for vacation home buyers! Leasable up to 12 times per year! Building Insurance included in HOA of only $208/month! Welcome Home Center Open 7 Days/Week: Mon – Sat 9-6 and Sun 10-6!

Tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac you’ll find this lovely Southern Exposure Pool Home with Direct Gulf Access in McGregor Isles. Beautiful and comfortable home with numerous updates, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, a Living Rm and vaulted Family/Dining Rm, plus Laundry Rm & 2 car garage. From the generous pavered Pool Lanai, you’ll spend your days enjoying the views looking east toward intersecting canals and west toward glorious sunsets. The split floorplan features the Guest End with one Bedroom set up as an Office with Murphy Bed; the other has sliders opening to the Lanai; and a Guest Poo l Bath. The Master Suite opens to the Lanai as well; Master Bath offers double vanities and separate shower/commode. Plantation shutters throughout. Perfectly manicured lawn with storage shed and fenced dog run. The property boasts approximately 95′ of water frontage with a concrete deck, wooden dock, 8,000 lb. lift, and access to the Caloosahatchee River is literally right around the corner. This home is designed to bring the outdoors in with 4 sets of telescoping sliders to the screened Lanai, and recessed lighting sets the mood for evening get-togethers. A perfect full time or seasonal home!

Peaceful water view from this well maintained ground floor Carriage home ! Galley kitchen features white cabinets and dark granite counter tops . Master suite overlooks the lake and features a spacious master bath with walk-in closet and large mirrored wall.Guest bedroom has close proximity to its own bath ! Colonial Country Club offers an active lifestyle with tennis courts, pickleball courts , newly installed bocce courts , and a championship Gordon Lewis designed golf course. The sprawling clubhouse offers both formal and informal dining, and the fitness center features all of the la test workout equipment ! Located in close proximity to SW Florida International airport and the Twins and Red Sox training facilities !!

First Impressions are Everything. Circle + Paver Driveway with Florida Style Natural Plantings and a lush green lawn. The Stepped up Front Entrance with Double Door sets the stage for the interior of the home. You will be wowed by the formal living room that captures the essence of the entire home. Comfortable, sophisticated & modern. You can see right through the home to the pool. Your own suite & den-study is situated to the right of this area for Privacy and tranquility. Walk in closet with built ins. Formal dining room is nestled to the right with an adjacent Butler’s area, great fo r entertaining. Family room, kitchen & casual dining view of the pool and lanai area. Three bedrooms + den, 3 ½ baths, large open lanai with heated pool, spa & covered seating. Pool & Hot Tub are heated with all new pool equipment including filter, heater & ozonizer. AC units 3 ½ years new. 3 Car Garage. Golf, Tennis, Fitness, Restaurants & more available with purchase of equity membership Shopping, Beaches, Great Restaurants, SW Fl International Airport near by.

This villa home with an open floor plan & bright and fresh interior has the feel of single family living. It includes a 2 car garage, large corner lot, separate driveway, large living space and water view! Wyldewood Lakes is a delightfully wooded neighborhood tucked inside the Whiskey Creek community. This home has a screened front entry that features a double-glassed doorway ,entry way foyer and an open living room. The recently updated kitchen opens into a breakfast area/family room; plus a large Florida room with a view of the lake. Master suite has a walk-in closet, a 2nd clothes cl oset AND linen storage. Master bath has dual vanity and walk-in shower. The split floor plan allows for privacy when entertaining. The large inside laundry area has extra storage, and full-sized two-car garage has a separate storage room. Community has year round heated pool, plus lighted tennis courts. Close to all conveniences, and within walking distance of FSW College, Barbara Mann Performing Arts Center. Only a short drive to beaches!

“The Rose Is Gowned In Petaled Grace And Lovely Beyond Telling”–the words of the poet, Laura S. Beck perfectly capture this beautiful home in our highly acclaimed South Fort Myers!! The very private, children friendly, waterfront community of Hampton Lakes is ideally located, having excellent proximity to shopping, restaurants, championship golf, many venues of culture and fine arts, and of course the sun-drenched beaches of Fort Myers, Sanibel and Captiva! This home is absolutely immaculate! Its loving owners had it built and have cherished it–and it shows! Cook up a storm in this fa bulous kitchen that’s trimmed out nicely with granite and stainless steel appliances. The high ceilings and open floorplan will promote gracious dinner parties or intimate gatherings effortlessly. The master bedroom suite is wonderful, the guest bedrooms have great water views, and the pool bath is nicely appointed. You’ll love the sparkling heated pool and generously sized lanai all overlooking the lake and splendid tropical landscaping! The view is absolutely to “live for!” The lake is suitable for fishing and kayak adventures; you may see the eagles known to reside here! Oh it’s Paradise alright!

beautiful top floor unit close to elevator and laundry. this unit is ready for you to bring your tooth brush and live the seven lakes lifestyle. newer kitchen cabinets and lovely golfcourse view. how inviting? move in to seven lakes and enjoy the over 55 active adult community w/ no green fees or trail fees to play golf. the ‘tee’ room restaurant & bar onsite for your enjoyment & convenience. tons of activities and resources! 6 heated pools, 6 tennis courts, bocce-ball, pickle ball, shuffleboard, billiards, woodshop, hobbies, crafts, cards, full time rec. dept. dinners, dancing, educati onal seminars & more! 24 hour manned guard gate, nearly 200+/- acres located minutes to fort myers beach, sanibel-captiva island. central location in south fort myers florida! directly across the street from the bell tower shops & near to rsw international airport. travel south to naples, miami and the florida keys.

The location is fantastic, walking distance to Bell Tower for great shopping and dining. Unit is move in ready! Just painted neutral color in entire home. New appliances (refrigerator, stove and dishwasher) in kitchen, additional extra refrigerator in Laundry room with washer and dryer, also laundry sink just off the garage. Kitchen is large enough for a small den area or casual dining area. More formal dining could be in large living room area, presently a beautiful glass dining room table and chairs will stay with the house. An enormous mirror attached to dining room wall will also st ay with the house, this reflects the beautiful wooded area just off very private patio. There are 3 sets of sliding glass doors adding lots of light inside unit, which are off Living Room, Kitchen and Master Bedroom. The Sunroom is a great spot to enjoy the private peaceful natural wooded area just off the patio. Condo is just steps away from the community pool. Hurricane shutters are installed on all windows, shutters installed in Sunroom are electric. For part time residences only 15 minutes to Fort Myers Airport.

If you are looking for a newer single family home with no HOA, direct gulf access and a heated salt pool, look no farther! This home was built in 2006 and features 4 bedrooms with recently updated 2.5 baths and 2451 sq. ft. Hop in your boat from your private back yard boat dock and travel 15 minutes to Estero Bay and 20 minutes to the Gulf of Mexico. With a living room, dining room, and large open family room/kitchen gathering area, this home is great for entertaining and enjoying all that Southwest Florida has to offer. Home offers granite countertops, Plantation Shutter s, a security system, oversized garage with 8’ tall doors, 10,000 boat lift and paver driveway. The house is equipped with a Mana-Block valve water system and a Clean Sweep Foot Care on the garage stairs. The house also has a Heat Reclaimer on the A/C that heats the water in the Hot Water Tank using the heat generated by the A/C. It is difficult to find a newer direct gulf access property with low maintenance pool in this price range. You owe it to yourself to see it before it’s gone. Price includes Built-in Refrigerator and washer & Dryer.

Great location heading towards Downtown just past golf course. Must see this well maintained, 4 beds, 2 baths with just over 1300 living plus an enclosed porch adding an additional close to 400 sqft more of living. Part of the home has been converted to a 1/1 in-law living space. Home has received many updates including tile floors throughout, updated kitchens and bathrooms. Interior has fresh paint and shows very clean inside. Home features a neat covered garden area to enjoy some quiet and private relaxation outside plus plenty of shade trees. Yard offers an 8×8 shed to store lawn ite ms. This is one home you do not want to miss.

Character and charm galore found in this great 3/2 pool home on a wonderful street between the river and McGregor. Canterbury Drive is not a direct through street so it is nice and quiet. Looking for a 3 bedroom home with a pool between the river and McGregor for under $300,000, this is it. Wood floors, french doors, interior laundry room, fenced backyard, and roomy 2 car garage are just some of the features found in this home. Come and see for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

from Houses For Sale – The OC Home Search http://www.theochomesearch.com/houses-for-sale-in-fort-myers-fl/ from OC Home Search https://theochomesearch.tumblr.com/post/157938016035