#Powder Recovery Booth

[the-iron-orchid]

The novelty of having himself portrayed in the style of an erotic temple painting or wrathful god only lasted so long for Lucio, in his typical fashion. Eventually, more of Yeshe's time went to decorative projects around the Palace in order to please the Countess.

Evander Murena happened upon xem working on precisely this, during one of Lucio's soirees for the nobility. While seeking out Marcus Aquila (who at the time was very young, very new to eir position under the Quaestor, and very stressed), he paused to admire the swirling gilded lotuses Yeshe was painting around the door to one of the many bath chambers of the Palace.

The polite and respectful inquiry from a passing noble rather took xem off-guard. Their conversation ended with an agreement to decorate the bow of Evander's personal watercraft with makara, an auspicious and protective emblem.

Over the course of this, Evander became aware of xir other forms of work, beginning a rather more fulfilling sort of client relationship as Palace demands on xir time began to lessen. In the final year before the Red Plague took hold in the city, xe was largely alternating between xir sacred-art duties and working for Evander - painting doorways, boats, private works, and even the bodies of performers and guests at his exclusive gatherings.

Of course, all of this came to an abrupt halt as the Red Plague rampaged through the city. Yeshe held out longer than most, likely due to the treatments provided by the monks of the temples - over a week. By the end of it, xe was on the brink of death, first delirious, then comatose. Xe then awakened some hours after Lucio's immolation, bewildered and too exhausted to speak... but alive.

Some time after the Plague was confirmed gone from the city, a parcel arrived at Yeshe's residence by private courier, along with a note:

I hope this letter finds you in health. Should you have the inclination, your talents are always welcome. Please accept the enclosed as a token of esteem and a contribution to your work. - Evander

Alongside the note was a carved wooden box, containing small jars of finely ground mineral pigments, and a little enameled container full of a quantity of dun-colored chips, smaller than a pinky nail. Unassuming or even ugly to the uninitiated, these last were in fact a great treasure - pure powdered gold, suspended in drops of binder for safety in travel, imported straight from The Land of Snows. Yeshe was in no shape to make these xirself for some time during xir recovery, but Evander's gift allowed xir to begin painting again, propped up in xir bed.

After a few months, xe was able to be out and about again, albeit with the aid of cane, and wearing smoked glasses to cover xir Plague-scarred eyes. Xe happened upon Heron's booth in the Center City Market, where he donated the magic-imbued necklace that disguises this. In gratitude, xe painted the scarab-and-lotus motifs that decorate the doorways of the eponymous shop. Later, xe was able to make enough money to commission a set of Heron's magically-perfect magnifying lenses to aid xir finer work.

In the present day, xe continues to split xir painting time between the spiritual and the worldly; the one benefits all sentient beings, the other keeps a roof over xir head and food on xir table (and in the bellies of the Temple District's feral cat population).

[randymiller]

Mastering the Art of Powder Coating Equipment Maintenance

Powder coating has revolutionized the world of manufacturing, offering a durable, environmentally-friendly solution for protecting and enhancing industrial products. However, like any industrial process, powder coating comes with its own set of challenges. For manufacturing professionals, equipment maintenance managers, and industrial business owners, understanding common issues with powder coating equipment and how to resolve them is crucial for ensuring seamless operations and maximizing equipment longevity.

Why Powder Coating Equipment Maintenance Matters

Ensuring the longevity and performance of your powder coating equipment is essential for maintaining high production standards. Regular maintenance not only prevents unexpected breakdowns but also enhances the quality of your coatings, reduces waste, and ensures compliance with environmental regulations. In this blog post, we'll explore the most common issues faced in powder coating equipment and provide practical solutions to keep your operations running smoothly.

The Importance of Regular Inspections

Regular inspections are the backbone of effective powder coating equipment maintenance. By routinely checking your equipment, you can identify potential problems before they escalate into costly repairs or downtime. Inspections should cover all components, including the spray booth, powder guns, and recovery systems.

Inspections include:

Visual Checks: Look for wear and tear on hoses, seals, and nozzles. Ensure that the spray booth is free from obstructions and that recovery systems are functioning correctly.

Performance Tests: Conduct regular performance tests to ensure that powder guns are applying coatings evenly and consistently. Check for variations in film thickness.

Record Keeping: Maintain detailed records of inspections and maintenance activities. This helps track recurring issues and guides future maintenance schedules.

Addressing Powder Flow Problems

One of the most common issues in powder coating is inconsistent powder flow. This can lead to uneven coatings, wastage, and increased production costs. Understanding the root causes of powder flow problems is the first step toward resolving them.

Common Causes of Powder Flow Issues:

Humidity: Powder coating materials are sensitive to humidity. Excess moisture can cause clumping and clogging in the powder feed system.

Contamination: Foreign particles in the powder or in the air supply can disrupt the flow. Regularly clean and maintain powder hoppers and delivery systems.

Equipment Wear: Worn-out parts, such as pumps and venturi tubes, can affect powder flow. Regularly inspect and replace these components as needed.

Keeping Spray Booths Clean

A clean spray booth is vital for achieving high-quality powder coatings. Contaminants such as dust, dirt, and overspray can compromise the finish and adhesion of the coating. Implement a rigorous cleaning schedule to keep your spray booth in top condition.

Cleaning Tips:

Daily Cleaning: At the end of each shift, clean the spray booth walls, floors, and surfaces to remove any accumulated powder. Use appropriate cleaning agents to avoid damaging the booth.

Filter Maintenance: Replace or clean filters regularly to ensure proper airflow and prevent contamination. Clogged filters can reduce efficiency and lead to overspray issues.

Overspray Management: Use overspray collection systems to capture excess powder. This not only keeps the booth clean but also allows for powder recycling and cost savings.

Troubleshooting Electrical Issues

Electrical problems can disrupt powder coating operations and pose safety hazards. Common electrical issues include faulty wiring, inconsistent voltage, and malfunctioning control panels. Addressing these problems promptly ensures the smooth functioning of your equipment.

Steps to Troubleshoot Electrical Issues:

Check Connections: Inspect all electrical connections for signs of wear, corrosion, or damage. Tighten any loose connections and replace damaged wires.

Test Voltage Levels: Use a multimeter to measure voltage levels at various points in the system. Look for variations that could indicate a problem with the power supply.

Control Panel Maintenance: Regularly inspect and test control panels to ensure they are functioning correctly. Replace any faulty components, such as relays or switches, to avoid downtime.

Ensuring Proper Grounding

Proper grounding is essential for safety and optimal performance in powder coating operations. Inadequate grounding can lead to static buildup, which can cause powder particles to repel each other, resulting in uneven coatings.

Grounding Best Practices:

Verify Ground Connections: Ensure that all equipment is properly grounded. Check connections regularly to ensure they are secure and free from corrosion.

Use Grounding Rods: Install grounding rods as needed to ensure effective dissipation of static electricity.

Monitor Static Levels: Use static meters to monitor static levels in the spray booth. Take corrective actions if static buildup is detected.

Maintaining Powder Guns

Powder guns are critical components of the powder coating process. Regular maintenance and calibration are essential to ensure consistent application and high-quality finishes.

Powder Gun Maintenance Tips:

Clean Regularly: Disassemble and clean powder guns regularly to remove any buildup of powder residue. Use appropriate cleaning agents to avoid damaging internal components.

Calibrate: Regularly calibrate powder guns to ensure they are delivering the correct amount of powder. Improper calibration can lead to uneven coatings and material wastage.

Replace Worn Parts: Inspect and replace any worn or damaged parts, such as nozzles, electrodes, and seals. This ensures optimal performance and extends the life of the equipment.

Managing Environmental Factors

Environmental factors, such as temperature and humidity, play a significant role in the powder coating process. Fluctuations can affect the quality and consistency of the coatings.

Environmental Management Tips:

Control Temperature: Maintain a consistent temperature in the powder coating area. Use climate control systems to avoid temperature fluctuations that can affect powder flow and curing.

Humidity Control: Use dehumidifiers to maintain optimal humidity levels. Excess moisture can cause powder clumping and affect adhesion.

Air Quality: Ensure that the air supply is clean and free from contaminants. Use air filtration systems to remove dust and particles that can compromise the coating quality.

Addressing Curing Issues

Proper curing is essential for achieving a durable and high-quality powder coat. Issues such as under-cured or over-cured coatings can affect the performance and appearance of the final product.

Curing Best Practices:

Monitor Oven Temperature: Regularly check and calibrate oven temperatures to ensure consistent curing. Use temperature monitoring devices to detect any variations.

Adjust Cure Time: Follow manufacturer recommendations for cure time and temperature. Adjust as needed based on the specific properties of the powder and substrate.

Conduct Testing: Perform regular testing of cured coatings to ensure they meet quality standards. Use adhesion tests, impact tests, and gloss measurements to verify performance.

Implementing Preventive Maintenance

Preventive maintenance is key to minimizing downtime and extending the life of your powder coating equipment. A proactive approach helps identify and address potential issues before they become major problems.

Preventive Maintenance Strategies:

Scheduled Maintenance: Create a maintenance schedule that includes regular inspections, cleaning, and part replacements. Follow manufacturer guidelines for recommended maintenance intervals.

Training: Ensure that all personnel are trained in proper maintenance procedures. Regularly update training to include new techniques and best practices.

Use of Technology: Implement maintenance management software to track maintenance activities, schedule inspections, and monitor equipment performance.

Working with Experts

Sometimes, addressing complex issues with powder coating equipment requires the expertise of professionals. Partnering with experienced technicians and service providers can help resolve problems quickly and effectively.

Choosing the Right Experts:

Experience: Look for service providers with extensive experience in powder coating in Las Vegas equipment maintenance. Check references and reviews to ensure credibility.

Certifications: Choose technicians who are certified by recognized industry organizations. This ensures they have the necessary skills and knowledge to handle your equipment.

Comprehensive Services: Opt for providers who offer a range of services, including inspections, repairs, and preventive maintenance. This ensures comprehensive support for your equipment.

Effective maintenance of powder coating in Las Vegas equipment is essential for ensuring high-quality finishes, reducing downtime, and maximizing the lifespan of your equipment. By understanding common issues and implementing proactive maintenance strategies, manufacturing professionals and industrial business owners can achieve optimal performance and efficiency in their powder coating operations. Remember, investing in regular maintenance and working with experienced experts will pay off in the long run, ensuring your equipment remains in top condition.

[preecar]

Five Axis Auto Spray System Manufacturer in Mumbai

https://nirmalspraytech.com/about-us/

“Established in the year 2008 in Maharashtra,  “Nirmal Tech Fab” is a Sole Proprietorship based firm, engaged as the foremost Manufacturer of Industrial Oven, Perfume glass bottle décor coating plants, Paint Booths, Powder Coating Plants, UV vacuum metalizing plants, Powder recovery Booth, Automatic Spray booth, Conveyorized Oven, etc. These products are offered by us most affordable rates. Our products are high in demand due to their premium quality, seamless finish, different patterns, and affordable prices. Furthermore, we ensure to timely delivery of these products to our clients, and through this, we have gained a huge client base in the market. We also provide Fabrication Services.

[generalcoat1]

The easiest Powder Coating Booth and Oven are developed for a single operator to manually apply powder to a stationary product. Powder coating spray booth shells are made of painted steel, but more powder-coating booths and Powder Coating Curing Oven are made of polypropylene, stainless steel, polycarbonate, or other clear plastic, and a few are made of polyethylene or glass or sheet.

[lowlights]

hi laura! wishing u a speedy recovery (electrolyte powder was very helpful to me btw)

I'm wondering which pedro boy would you pair with this sweet prompt: ❛ i haven’t laughed like this in a long time. ❜

Hi J!! Thank you so much. Adding electrolyte powder to my grocery order as we speak....)

Ok I could have picked like...all of them. But.

I'M GOING WITH FRANKIE. (Santi is in the story just barely, but this pic was too good not to use.) To be clear: this is their characters, not them. Thaaaaaanks. Also I straight up stole most of this idea from @flora-screeches but they gave me permission ok I'm not a thief I swear.

Frankie x f!reader. Both drink alcohol, everyone curses in this. It's all cuteness, ok? Very short.

*

"Morales, get your ass over here. You said you'd buy the first round," a voice calls out over the muted commotion of the half-packed bar.

You whip around in your seat. Surely, it isn't-

"Francisco?"

The man you're staring at stops in his tracks, still turned away from you. The hair is longer, more unruly, but you'd recognize that broad back and casual swagger anywhere.

He turns around slowly. "Holy shit."

Your suspicions are confirmed the moment you see him, but there's no question for anyone watching that you two know each other when you barely make it to you feet before he's crashing into you.

God, no one hugs like Frankie does. You squeeze him tightly in response to his crushing embrace.

"It's been -"

"More than ten years, I-"

"Still in the military?"

"Nah, I'm out. Are you still working for -"

"Hell no, left them in the dust."

"Still with what's-his-name?"

"Left him in the dust, too. What about you-"

"I got a kid. Four years old."

"Wife? Girlfriend?"

"No to both."

"Francisco."

"You're the only one who calls me that, you know."

More crushing hugs.

You introduce him to your friends, but they can see immediately that they've lost you for the night. Frankie pulls you over to the other side of the bar, where Santiago gives you an equally strong hug. He introduces you to a bevy of faces that you don't recognize, and you're too lost in Frankie's adoring gaze to bother remembering names.

You catch up over rounds of cheap beers, cuddled into the small corner booth while the rest of the group plays pool next to you. Not that you really notice what anyone else is up to.

During the second round of drinks, you ask about the Miller brothers and Tom. "The idiot brothers will be here later," he says. You don't push further.

A few rounds later, he tells you what happened in Colombia. You know he leaves a lot out. You hold his hand.

A couple of rounds later, you spill everything about your shitty string of break-ups. "Fucking losers, all of 'em," he assures you with an arm slung over your shoulders. He doesn't mind when you snuggle in.

When the alcohol imparts enough liquid courage, you turn to him and ask the question you've had for fifteen years.

"Why didn't we ever...you know...?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you over his glasses. "Why didn't we what?"

"Shit, are you gonna make me say it?" You roll your eyes at him.

He grins. "Yep." Damn him.

Taking a steadying, sobering breath, you give in. "Why didn't we ever get together?"

He looks at you with as much seriousness as you've ever seen. "Because I'm a fucking coward who thought I missed my chance."

Oh god, you really want him to kiss you. He looks like he wants it, too.

Santiago's voice breaks the spell. "Hey, lovebirds, someone come play pool with me. I've kicked everyone else's asses. Let's go!"

Frankie whips his head around and curses. "Oye, cabrón!" You slap his chest playfully before pulling him out of the booth and over to the green felted table. You both feel the effects of the alcohol as you try to get your feet under you.

You pick up a cue and chalk it excessively. "Alright Santi, Francisco and I are on the same team because I'm garbage at pool even when I'm sober. And I'm far from sober," you tell him as you gesticulate with the top of the pool cue.

A wide smile breaks out on his face as he racks the balls. "I had no idea, baby. You seem just fine to me. In fact, why don't you break?"

"Terrible idea!" you exclaim with a giggle, although you move into position. Frankie crowds up behind you and you can't help the shock of electricity that shoots down your spine.

"Now listen, you wanna hold the cue between your fingers like this, and aim right there. Want me to show you?" he says seductively, words just a little slurred.

You shrug him off of you. "Sir, you are distracting me."

He hums in your ear, "Oh, I like that," before moving around to the other side of the table. Fuck, he looks so pleased with himself.

Focus. Focus on something that isn't the way Frankie smells or the stupid glasses on his face. Focus on how you don't remember the last time you saw him without a hat on and damn, you just want to grab handfuls of that hair. Focus on anything, anything at all.

You pull back to break, but suddenly Benny Miller walks into your field of view just as you rocket the cue ball off and-

"Well, if this isn't a blast from the past- OOF!"

-right into his groin.

You drop the stick and run over to where he's crumpled on the ground. "Benny, oh my god. Are you alright? Shit, I'm sorry!"

"Honey, that's a hell of a welcome after all this time!" he groans, curling over into a ball.

Frankie kneels down next to you both. "Nah, he's fine! He's been kicked more than once in the balls."

A long-lost memory resurfaces in your brain from a night you haven't thought of in years. "Francisco, do you remember the time with that girl who-"

The flash of humor in his eyes tells you he knows exactly what you're referring to. "That chick that Benny brought to karaoke! The one he called Hannah Montana on stage and she got so mad that she kicked him in the balls and yelled-"

"Don't disrespect Miley!" you both finish together, dissolving into a fit of drunken laughter.

"Jesus, what did I do to deserve getting razzed twice tonight?" Benny wonders aloud as he gingerly stands up. "I just got here!"

You and Frankie look at each other. "Razzed??" you ask in tandem, leading to more giggles. Santiago helps both of you up, muttering about how you both can't hold your alcohol for shit. You shuffle back over to your booth and collapse into each other, still chuckling.

Frankie hugs you against him as you both catch your breath. "Damn, I haven't laughed like this in a long time," he says with a sigh. You don't know if it's a happy sigh or a sad sigh. Maybe it's both.

"Me either, Francisco," you say with a hopeful smile.

He pauses. "Can we just-"

You speak at the same time. "I don't want to go another-"

Then his lips are on yours, and it's the soberest you've felt all night.

You both share the same thought:

Finally.

*

Oye, cabrón! = Hey, asshole!

[goldenfawnwriting]

Birds Of A Feather- Part 10 Hawks Fic

Summary: Finch is finally returning to work where she’s faced with a series of struggles, one being the infamous winged hero himself.

A/N: Here you go readers. Hope you enjoy

Warnings: Just angst lmao

Finch slid on her heels with a sigh. Today was the day, she had talked herself up over coffee all morning but, as she swung her purse up onto her shoulder she honestly wasn’t feeling any better. She was nervous, nervous to return to her job, nervous to see everyone again... Nervous to see him. 

That was what it really was, but she wouldn’t admit it. She was terrified to face him again after the blatant betrayal. She knew he didn’t see it that way or he would never do what he did. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care, maybe this was his way to get her off his back. She didn’t have the guts to ask him even if she did see him, which she would. It was inevitable. 

And so she locked her apartment door before heading off to work, walking a little slower into the building when she got there. Her wings bristled as she looked up to where his office would be. The windows gleamed in the light, the very top one open wide, as usual. It was getting warmer now, the air giving the feel of a new beginning. 

The elevator music was a little sickening but she endured it, walking into the office and setting her things down before heading to briefing. Her throat was tight with anxiety. She knew this would be when he saw her. Her wings brand new, not crippled anymore. 

She stood next to the boss, looking out at all the other workers there. Everyone was waiting for Hawks to show up but after a few more minutes of silence the boss cleared his throat. As he began talking Finch jotted down notes and grimaced. No sign of Hawks anywhere. Was he avoiding her? 

When she got back to the office she looked around and noticed Hawks’ seat was still pushed in, meaning he still hadn’t gotten here. So much for his schedule, she grumbled in her head. She clicked through his schedule on her computer, thankfully there were only a few things astray from her stand in. Beginning to take calls and fill in times she was beginning to worry. He still wasn’t here. It was going on an hour into the work day. 

She sighed, pulling out her phone to find his phone number, calling from the office phone so that maybe he’d actually answer. It rung twice before going to voicemail. He had done that, he had declined her call. She huffed angrily, calling again. After the third time, someone finally picked up, but it wasn’t the voice she wanted to hear. 

“Can I help you?”

A grumpy voice came over the line. Finch felt her stomach drop before she cleared her voice and put on her service voice. 

“Hi, this is Mr. Hawks secretary calling from his office, may I ask who I’m talking to this fine morning?”

“U-uh, it’s Amika...”

“Hello, Ms. Amika, pray tell, is Mr. Hawks available?”

“Y-ya, let me wake him up for you.”

There was rustling on the other end of the phone and Finch felt absolutely sick. This was ridiculous. If he could make her first day back any worse she would be surprised. There was a grumble from the other side before his voice rang through. 

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hawks, this is your secretary calling, it seems you’re late to work by- let me see- an hour and 20 minutes now.”

She gave in a grumpy tone. He gave a rushed reply.

“Oh uh- fuck, Finch, I’ll be there in 10, I am so, so sorry-”

She hung up on him. He looked at his phone with surprise, running a hand through his bed head. She was livid, he already knew it. 

Back at the office, Finch fixed her makeup in a compact, accidentally letting a few tears run, stress and a tiny bit of heartbreak finally squeezing it out of her. She was so tired of this. The dancing around her feelings, dealing with his bullshit. 

She was just pressing powder into her under eye, trying to rid the mascara, as he came in the window. She glanced at the time. 5 minutes, instead of 10, color her impressed. 

“Looks like someone finally decided to show up...”

She grumbled, he started to come towards her but she stopped him. 

“You have a meeting in 3 minutes with the chief, try not to be late this time.”

“H-have you been crying?”

“Can’t you find anything else to worry about?”

She snapped, closing the compact and stowing it away in her purse right as there was a knock on the door. It was the chief of commission, probably coming to save her ass by stealing him away.

“Hawks! I didn’t see you this morning, I was almost worried.”

“Haha, just taking an early morning fly to stretch my wings!”

Finch couldn’t help but roll her eyes dramatically. What a lame excuse. It seemed to have worked though, the chief laughing with him and throwing an arm around his shoulder as he lead Hawks off to the meeting room. Finch sighed. 

Today was going to be full of trial and tribulation, she already knew it. So far, not much was going to plan. While he was gone she answered phone calls and sent the usual emails, stretching and working out her fixed wing all the while. The PT didn’t end when she didn’t have anymore appointments sadly. She worked on it whenever she had time, wanting to fly more than anything and as fast as possible. 

It was maybe 30 minutes later and the door to the office busted open, catching Finch’s attention quickly. It was Hawks, sighing loudly as he brushed back his hair with his hand. She busied herself with another email, keeping her eyes glued to her computer screen. Her attempt at making herself invisible through sheer willpower seemed to not work though. 

“I’m glad you’re back...”

He started, looking at her from across the room. She ignored him, continuing to type quickly. 

“Are you mad at me?”

Her face was getting red with frustration. She wanted more than anything to tell him off but, she reminded herself that her feelings didn’t matter in the situation. He advanced, sitting on the edge of her desk. She grumpily pried a paper out from under his leg. 

“Why were you crying earlier?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were, you still have mascara on your jaw-”

He reached out to rub it away from her face but she jerked away from him quickly, turning to look at him.

“Don’t you have hero stuff to do?”

“Why are you acting like that?”

He confronted her, looking at her sharply. She looked away from him, his gaze penetrating. 

“I-uh-”

“You were crying this morning, you were pissy on the phone and now, what is going on with you, you’re never like this.”

“I just don’t want to talk about it ok?”

“Is everything going ok with your recovery?”

She blushed hard and fanned her wings in reaction to him mentioning them.

“Ya, they’re fine...”

He paused for a moment, looking them over. 

“Wow, birdie, your wings might just be bigger than mine.”

“N-no they aren’t!”

She stuttered, blushing even harder, the red contrasting with her freckles. He pulled her up  and spread his wings out to their full size.

“Spread your wings I wanna see.”

“H-hawks-”

“Aw come on dove, let me see them!”

She crossed her arms as she spread her wings. They just barely came short of his.

“Wow...”

He trailed off, looking them over. He circled her, like a shark, taking in his prey. She cleared her throat as he came behind her, running a delicate hand over her feathers making her shiver. 

“D-dont t-”

He ran his hand along the edge of them, feeling the silky brown feathers and the light speckles that adorned them. Her face reddened even more if it was possible, her body betraying her as she let out a small pant at the feeling.

“Doesn’t it feel good to stretch them out? Have you tried flying yet?”

Her wings bristled with the stimulation and she gave a small squeak in reply.

“N-no.”

“Really? I figured that would be the first thing on your mind-”

His fingers buried themselves into the tiny downy feathers where her wings connected with her back and she couldn’t help herself, moaning lowly at the feeling, electricity being sent all the way through her body, making her roll her eyes, her cheeks blazing.

He chuckled as he pulled away from her wings, walking across the room and side eyeing her coyly. He knew exactly what he was doing, his wings were just as sensitive.

“Someone’s a little worked up..”

She panted as she came back down from her slight high, looking over to him with her pupils resembling the head of a pin. 

“Take a breather birdie. Maybe in an hour or two we’ll try flying.”

She blinked away the rest of the fogginess and gave him a look.

“That was absolutely not fair Hawks.”

“Aw come on lovebird-”

“Stop calling me stupid nicknames, you have a girlfriend!”

She snapped, hugging herself to try and make herself seem smaller. She didn’t feel right with him acting like nothing happened. 

“What are you talking about?”

He asked lowly, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“The red head Hawks! Amika? It was all over!”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Oh you saw that?”

She was getting increasingly angry.

“She isn’t really my girlfriend, more like an old friend of mine that came to visit...”

Finch snorted, trying to hold back laughter. 

“Are you kidding me? She literally answered your phone this morning.”

“Finch, she’s been staying in town is all, she’s an old friend of mine from back when I was in school-”

“Look I don’t care, have fun with her, I’m going to lunch.”

She grabbed her purse, storming off, and closing the elevator doors as Hawks tried to board it with her. She knew if he really wanted to he would just fly down but she almost wished he wouldn’t. As if the stubborn man wouldn’t.

“Why’d you close the doors on me?”

He asked as she walked out the front doors of the building. She ignored him as she made her way down to the line of booths selling street food. She got an order of roasted sweet potato before Hawks caught up to her again. 

“Finch you can’t seriously be mad-”

“Why did you stop coming to see me? You ignored all my calls.”

“Well I-”

She threw a hand up.

“Save it. You were with her. Asami didn’t even have the guts to tell me. You know its bad when she of all people hides something from you.”

He didn’t have a reply and Finch walked off, making her way back to the office as she ate silently. How ridiculous could he be?

It was silent for the rest of the day until they were about to get off, Finch shutting down her computer and grabbing her purse. 

“H-hey uh.. did you still want to go flying?”

Finch rolled her eyes silently. 

“I’m sure Amika is waiting for you at home.”

She replied, giving a sarcastic, tight lipped smile. She made her way out, the elevator dinging before she started on her way home. What a first day...

[penniesforthestorm]

Twin Peaks Recap, Extra Special Edition: “Fire Walk With Me: The Missing Pieces”

OK pals, here’s what’s up: I hadn’t planned on tracking down the rumored ‘missing pieces’ cut of Fire Walk With Me for this project, but as it turns out, the Criterion streaming site has it on the page for the film. If it was going to be that easy (I shelled out for a subscription as a birthday present to myself), I thought I might as well. Since it is essentially an edited-together collection of deleted scenes, it fits my usual note-taking style a little better than the film, which is an added bonus. If you’re looking for a reason to watch it beyond mere curiosity, it retroactively clarifies some details in the original series and the film, and sets up quite a bit of business for The Return (which I will be covering in the coming weeks, or...months...or whenever I get around to it...). Let’s dive in, shall we?

Part One: “Her name is Irene, and it is night. No need to make anything more out of it. There’s nothing good about it.”

-We open with Agents Desmond & Stanley leaving Teresa Banks’ autopsy. Stanley says, “I didn’t realize so many hours had passed.” Desmond doesn’t dignify this with a response. We see a little more of the Hap’s Diner scene; Desmond questions the guy in the entryway about Teresa--she had no friends, and/or never mentioned any, according to him.

-Desmond fistfights Sheriff Cable to persuade him to hand over Teresa’s body so they can take it to Portland. In Portland, we see a familiar face-- our own Dale Cooper, standing in the doorway of an office, talking to...Diane. Diane doesn’t answer, nor do we see her, but as far as I’m aware, this is the only moment in the original series that establishes Diane as a real person (beyond a margin of debate, which is settled in The Return...)

-Coop questions Agent Stanley, who shows him the ‘T’ they found embedded under Teresa’s fingernail.

-Another familiar face: Philip Jeffries, shown here at a hotel in (I assume) Miami. He asks the concierge if “Judy” is there, and takes a message. We flash to the room ‘above the store’, where the Man from Another Place is saying, “From pure air we have descended.”

-Jeffries appears in Philadelphia, in an extension of the scene from the film. He tells Gordon, “Judy is positive about this” and begins to explain. He mentions “the ring”, before laying his head down on Gordon’s desk and moaning in pain.

Part Two: “The Norwegians are coming!”

-Quite a bit here, but most notably, Sarah Palmer and Laura interacting like a relatively normal mother and daughter. Sarah even says, “You can tell me anything.” (Having been a teenage girl myself, let me just say this is rarely the comfort that people think it is...) Leland arrives, in buoyant spirits, telling them about the Norwegian delegation that’s coming to look at Ben Horne’s Ghostwood project. He teaches Laura and Sarah a Norwegian greeting, and it’s all...horribly...painfully...ordinary. That’s part of the tragedy, of course-- in a different world, the Palmers would have been a happy family.

-A few more glimpses into town life: Pete Martell (!!!) on the job at the Packard sawmill, helping Josie deal with the irate old banker upset that his 2x4s are not exact. (This reminded me of a story my mom, who works in a bank, told once-- a customer complained that he had measured his new checks with dental calipers, and they were noticeably thinner than the old ones, and how could they justify using such cheap paper...)

-At the RR, Ed & Nadine drop in for a cup of coffee, but Nadine runs out to avoid Norma, meanwhile, Norma gently nudges Shelley to help Laura with the Meals on Wheels. The diner is empty except for giggly Heidi nursing her bloody nose, and Norma sits down in a booth to cry.

-Laura, in shock from spying on Leland, runs to the Heywards. Donna brings her inside, and it turns out Eileen’s in the kitchen with a fresh batch of huckleberry muffins. Doc arrives, attempting a little magic trick with a red scarf. He teases Laura about her smoking, and she teases him back. She’s safe here, with these good people who love her...

-On the stairs at home, Laura has a vision of the Lodge. She’s brought out of it by Sarah, who looks noticeably disheveled. Laura and Sarah go into the living room, and Sarah keeps saying, “It’s happening again.” (In the timeline of the film, this is the night she dreams of the white horse...)

Part Three: “Looks like it’s just us girls.”

-Norma and Ed get snuggly in Ed’s truck!

-A clarification: in the film, it looks like Laura, Donna, the two johns, and Jacques just go into another part of the Roadhouse, or somewhere nearby, but this shows them driving some distance to another dive, clearly established as being on the Canadian border. The door to the back room has a sign: “The Power & the Glory.”

-we see Philip Gerard/the One-Armed Man sitting amongst a circle of candles, intoning, “Fire walk with me...”

-flashback to Teresa Banks’ liaisons with Leland; this is the most we see of her character, and she seems sharp and competent. After Leland bails, Teresa joins Laura and Ronette in the motel room, triumphantly waving the money. Then she calls up Jacques, asking him about Laura and Ronette’s fathers. Finally, a call to Leland, which unfortunately sets her fate.

-Forward again, to the Twin Peaks sheriff’s office. Joey, the biker with the curly hair, has alerted Hawk and Sheriff Truman that Bernard Renault is the one ferrying the cocaine across the border. I knew the bikers were important, especially once we see Joey at the Book House in S2.

Part Four: “Who am I talking to?”

-The morning after Bobby shoots the Deer Meadow deputy, he hands Laura the $10,000 to put in her safety deposit box. Later in the day, he discovers that the deputy gave them laxative powder.

-Laura gets a call from Dr. Jacoby, who tells her, “You’re going to have to deal with all of this,” and asks her for another tape.

-At the Briggs house, when Laura stops by, the Major is reading to Betty from the Book of Revelation while Bobby sulks in the basement. (I say this entirely as a compliment: Dana Ashbrook does some damn fine sulking in this series.) This plays more or less the same in the film-- Bobby saying to Laura, “You don’t want me; you want the blow, don’t you?” The thing is, Bobby’s a dreamer, and he’s quite upset that his fantasy has turned into a nightmare.

-Poor Margaret Lanterman, sitting alone in her house with the lights off, cradling the log as she hears the distant screams from the woods...

-”Some months later” we’re at Glastonbury Grove, then at Calhoun Memorial as Annie Blackburn, injured but alive, is rushed inside.

-in the Lodge, Cooper and the Man From Another Place are standing by the marble table, and the jade ring has vanished. “Someone else has it now,” the Man tells Coop. Annie, in recovery, repeats the speech from Laura’s dream. The nurse waves her hand in front of Annie’s face, but gets no response. She then steals the jade ring from Annie’s finger.

-Cooper/BOB, in the bathroom at the Great Northern, sinks to the floor as Doc Heyward and Harry burst in. They help him to his feet, and Doc tells him sternly, “You’re going right back to bed.” In a cold, flat voice, Cooper insists that he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet, and explains what happened. “It struck me as funny, Harry,” he growls, covered in blood.

The thing is, I don’t need to know everything. David Lynch and Mark Frost created a mystery; I’m not going to sit here and complain about not having the answers. But, in watching this full series again, I do want to pick up what I can, and now that I’ve seen this, I have more of an idea what I want to look for. So, onward and upward....

[strawberriestyles]

Part 4: Pentagram

(BANNER MADE BY MY TALENTED SWEETIE PIE @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you’re persuaded to help a young witch named Harry.

Read previous parts here.

Word count: 5.1k+

Author’s note: HEY HI HELLO. There will be one more part and a short epilogue after this. WE’RE NEARING THE END. I’ve had and am still having so much fun with this series. Fantasy is my favorite thing to read, and to be able to blend that with fanfiction has been super cool and experimental. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG, LEAVE FEEDBACK. It’s super helpful to writers and can also aid in motivating them. Xx

“Hello, dove.”

When you glance up from your books, you’re unsurprised to find Harry standing at your table. You’ve been wondering when he would show up. But you start at his use of that pet name. He holds a steaming coffee in one hand and an entire meal in the other, and he doesn’t ask permission before he slips into the booth across from you, setting his refreshments down on the tabletop, laying the plate of food on top of your book.

“Had a lot o’ trouble finding yeh today."

“Why’s that?” you ask as you sift your way through the contents of the sandwich he’s placed before you.

“Dunno. Maybe whatever magic’s in your blood is sparkin’ up. Yeh’re gettin’ hard to trace.”

“You trace me?”

“Not with a spell or anythin’,” he says with a shake of his head. “Jus’ been pretty easy to kind o’ feel out your presence. Air feels weird around yeh.”

“Well, that makes me feel good about myself,” you mumble with a thick sigh. “Why did you buy me a panini? I’m not hungry. And how do you know that you picked something I like?”

“Well, I was guessing based on what I know about yeh, but yeh could have said thank you.” Harry sips his coffee and leans his head against the back of the booth. "Or yeh could at least not act rude about it. Just thought yeh could use a good meal right about now. Wha’s wrong?”

You sigh again and settle your chin into your palm, picking at the sandwich bread with your free fingers.

“I have all these midterms coming up. And they’re not for my major-required classes they’re just general classes that everyone needs to graduate. Which is stupid because why do I need to take a college-level math course as a Latin major? That makes no sense. Any career that I end up—“

“I get it,” Harry says with a soft chuckle. “But it might come in handy. I liked t’skip out on my Latin studies when I was younger, and look where that got me. I need a mortal t’help me perform fuckin’ spells.”

“Well, first of all, I’m not all mortal,” you tell him with a frown.

“Mortal enough,” he mutters, twirling his coffee cup to stir its contents. You ignore him for the time being.

“And second of all, that was rude of you. Are you upset that you need me? Because I can just stop helping you at any time.”

“No, Y/N, no.” Harry smiles that annoyingly amused smile of his. “Not upset that I need yeh t’help me with translations. Just upset that I can’ do ‘em myself. Makes my mum crazy proud o’ me, I’ll tell yeh that much. Eat your food, please.”

Despite your prior statement, you do find your stomach aching for the panini he’s ordered you. It’s nearing eight thirty in the campus library. The other students that have been working throughout the day have already trickled out in search of their own dinners or a Netflix recovery session from all the studying they’ve suffered through. You wish you could join them. The fluorescent lights above you haven’t helped to keep you peppy and motivated.

You cave and take a grateful bite.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him when you’ve finished chewing. “I actually haven’t eaten for about six hours. I’m just stressed out.”

“Well,” he says, leaning forward with a quirk to his lips, clearly smug, “tha's perfectly fine, because I think I have the perfect way to relieve your stress. Yeh ‘bout ready t’be done for the night?”

There are surely mountains of work for you left to do, preparations to make, papers to map out—but with your mouth full, you give him a desperate nod.

***

“Was that your first time on campus?” you ask.

Your voice quivers with a faint wariness. Nicks, for whatever strange reason, has decided that she doesn’t mind a close proximity to you. At least for today. She’s sitting on the arm of the couch, just a foot or so from your elbow. Granted, she’s not paying you much attention at all, but it’s a start.

“No.” Harry is laying down a large, thick black cloth. It’s stitched with a white design that only becomes clear as he pulls the fabric out flat—a pentagram. Like a satanic blanket. “I took a few classes a couple years ago. Just t’see what you mortals learn in your higher education.”

“Not a mortal,” you remind him. “Speaking of…”

As Harry skims a page full of his notes from the spell in his book, you remember the warning he gave you that first time you ever helped him. It’ll burn the eyes right outta your skull.

“Can I actually look in the book? If I’m not fully mortal, I mean.”

“No.”

You sigh and Harry begins to lay items out around the edges of the cloth, just outside of the pentagram’s circle. Closed jars and bottles, a bowl of ground up somethings that you’re not sure you want to ask about, something that looks like criss-crossed bones tied together with twine.

“What are we doing?” you ask. “I thought the spell wasn’t going to happen until tomorrow night.”

“’S not,” he says, sprinkling some red powder over the inside of the pentagram. When he stands up he hands you a different sheet of paper with his usual translations and begins to arrange the candles that the two of you made last week at the five points of the pentagram. “This is just a preparation.”

You frown as you lower your eyes to the Latin scribbled out in front of you. They’re odd commands about the arrangement of the items around the pentagram. You glance up at the cloth intermittently to second check Harry’s placements.

“Um,” you mutter after a few minutes, “this says something about a human fingernail.”

“Yeah. Where does it go?”

“Is there any point in me asking you where the human fingernail came from?”

“No.”

You shake your head as you point toward the pentagram. “It’s supposed to go where those bones are right now. And the bones are supposed to be two places counterclockwise.”

Harry rearranges his items while you scan over the rest of the Latin, right up until the words make you freeze. As he stands back up to survey his work, you toss the page to the other end of the couch.

“’S that it?” Harry asks when he turns around again. He travels back toward his shelves and pulls down the jar of Hellfire that the two of you prepared a few weeks ago, still burning dark and ominous, even with its lack of oxygen. He reaches his hand inside and scoops the flames out, kneeling down to light each of the candles and then returning the remainder of the fire to its glass jar and replacing it on the shelf where he found it. He glances up at you when you still haven’t answered him.

You nod your head, perhaps too vigorously, and he sits down beside you, his ringed fingers splayed out over your thigh.

“Harry, I…”

Your voice trails off as he settles his cheek into your shoulder, his lips prodding at the curve of your jaw. You let your eyes fall closed for only a short moment before throwing yourself onto your feet. At the sudden motion, Nicks hightails it from the room.

“What are you doing?” you demand, pressing your lips together as you stand before him.

“Says we’ve gotta fuck, righ’?” Harry asks. So nonchalant. "I may be shit at Latin, but I do know the word for orgasm.”

“Harry.” You let out a disbelieving, airy laugh and shake your head. "You’re just assuming I’ll have sex with you because some dusty book says so?”

“Well, I was hopin’ yeh’d want to.” He gives you that signature smug look that often makes your blood run with heat and his arms settle over the back of the couch. Then he raises an amused eyebrow. “Wha’? D’yeh want it t’be more romantic? I’ve already got candles lit and everythin’.”

“Those are ritual candles burning at the points of a pentagram, Harry.”

“Good observations.”

Your jaw tightens and you turn toward the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Y/N, stop.”

“No, you can’t just expect—"

“Please.” Harry’s footsteps follow you. He doesn’t touch you as you reach the door, but the tone of his voice makes you stop. You fiddle with the zipper of your jacket slung over your forearm. “I need your help. Can yeh help me?"

Your teeth close around your lower lip as you stare at the front door. Candlelight flickers against the walls, painting Harry’s shadow just beside yours. “How do I know this is what the book actually says and that you’re not just making it up?”

“I guess yeh’ll just have t’trust me,” Harry answers. You hear him lean against the wall. "Would it be so bad if I wasmakin’ it up? That I’d wanna have sex with yeh even if the book didn’ say so?”

Your eyes close. He has a point. Haven’t you been drawn to him from the beginning? Didn’t his kiss from last week leave you reeling for days afterward? What would be the harm, really?

When you turn around you’re still hesitant, but Harry stays where he is, his eyes steady as he watches you.

“You make me a little uneasy,” you whisper.

“‘M sorry.” Harry straightens up just by a little bit and smiles very softly. It’s not an expression that you’ve seen on him before. “Get that a lot, actually.”

“It’s not anything you do, really,” you assure him. “It’s just…”

“Yeah. The witch part.”

You bite at the corner of your mouth to keep your laugh at bay. When he smiles at you again, you close the few steps between you and rise up onto your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips with almost the same amount of confidence that he kissed you with last time.

“Yeh trust me?” Harry mutters when your mouths part for a short moment. You fall back on your heels and he looks at you, all hazy-eyed.

“Depends,” you reply. “Are you gonna slit my throat in the middle of this and make me a sacrifice to the devil?”

Harry chuckles to himself and grasps your hips. His fingers press into your skin and you drop your jacket as he pulls you sharply forward. “Not today, dove.”

You fold. Harry gathers you up in his arms and kisses you hard, hands roaming, lips feverish. You lower your fingers to the hem of his shirt and he lets you go only long enough to peel the layer away from his skin.

The trip back down the hall is a mess of clashing teeth, bruising lips, stumbling over each other’s feet. By the time the two of you reach the couch, you’re in your bra and underwear but Harry is somehow still wearing pants. You fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans as he leans against the arm of the sofa. He distracts you with wet kisses that trail down your jaw, fingertips that pluck at the straps of your bra. His pants pool at his feet and he wastes no time shedding his boxers right along with them.

It’s almost as though Harry can sense your persisting wariness as he kisses at the top of your chest and toys with the clasp of your bra. You see his free hand lift beside you and then lower, palm toward the floor, slowly, in time with the dimming of the candles lit around the living room. You sputter out a laugh that makes his teeth scrape against your sternum. Your bra falls to the floor beside his pants and boxers. He sits back on the couch’s arm, that smirk on his face, unashamed, waiting for you to slip out of your underwear.

“You swear this isn’t some weird sacrificial ceremony or something?” you ask him, thumbs poised in the sides of your panties. “You’re not gonna hurt me?”

“Not unless yeh want me to, dove.”

Harry grasps your wrists and pulls them toward your knees, dragging your underwear down with them. His eyes lick back up your body like flames until he’s focused on your face again, and you swear that for a moment they glow that electric blue. But then he’s standing straight again, hands hot against your bare waist, lips prodding at yours, and he’s walking backward with a confidence that you can feel in every step. He begins lowering himself to the ground, dragging you down on top of him, and it’s only when you break the kiss that you find the two of you are positioned in the center of the pentagram, surrounded by odd relics and candles, their wicks lit with Hellfire but their wax still unmelted.

Harry lays back on the blanket, his head positioned in the center of one of the pentagram’s triangular spokes. You’re perched on his hips, very aware of every bit of bare skin that touches him. His fingers curl around the thickest part of your thighs and he says nothing, only blinks lazily up at you.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth as you shift, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his hard dick. You guide him to your entrance and all of your nerves diminish when he’s inside of you. His hands tighten on your flesh as you sit back. Slowly. Gently.

You settle your palms over his ribs, fingertips curling into the tattoo of a butterfly painted there. The light in the room flickers as you roll your hips to acquaint yourself with this experience—Harry sprawled out on the floor, his hair mussed from your hands as he draws his tongue in a stripe across his lip. You don’t know if it’s the pentagram or Harry or if it’s only your imagination, but your senses feel heightened. A brush of his thumb over the bend in your hip makes your entire body shiver. Like he knows exactly where to press. But it’s still all so foreign.

“Go ‘head, dove,” he whispers, as though he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He stretches out his neck and gives you that smug look—it’s the familiar in this uncharted territory that you needed. A touchstone. “Fuck me.”

Your fingers curl further until you can feel your nails digging into his skin. Harry only flutters his eyes closed. You lift your hips up, forward, feel his cock dragging against your walls, lower yourself back down. Harry lets out a huff of air. He pushes against your thighs, urging you on. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm once you ground yourself to the feeling of him inside of you, thick enough to make you ache. Your body works for you without the need for thought.

“More,” Harry mutters after a minute. It’s not gentle. It’s demanding. One of his hands drift up your stomach to spread across the area between your breasts. Your belly lurches as the fingers of his other hand grip into your waist with a bruising strength, and you whimper, picking up your pace.

“There yeh go,” he praises. He lifts his head up far enough to watch your hips meeting, to see the way your legs quiver. His hand sneaks back to grab at your ass. There’s no question to his movements, only a dauntless fluidity that makes a thin sheen of sweat collect at your hairline. He kneads your cheek and tips his head back against the pentagram. His own skin is growing slick beneath your hands. “Yeh’ve gotta come, dove. Can’ do that if yeh’re holdin’ back on me, yeah?”

Harry lapses back into silence as you find a beat in this candlelit room, quickened by the pressure of his fingers, by the draw of his unsteady breath, by the urgent pulse of his heart beneath your hands. Your knees are chafing against the cloth laid out under the two of you, but you don’t slow. Sweat trails along your scalp and into the tracks of your hair as you tilt your head back. You close your eyes and find the image of Harry’s face imprinted there, cut into slivers between the glint of regular candlelight and the shadow of Hellfire.

You’re jolted out of your own mind when Harry delivers a harsh smack to your ass. You can feel yourself tensing around his cock, even as he rubs soothingly at the sore area of your bum. You’ve stilled on top of him, your chest heaving, a guttural moan poised at your lips. It’s translated into a gasp as he flips the two of you around, settling your head gently within the pentagram where his was positioned. He’s slipped out of you and you don’t think going without food for a week could leave you feeling this empty.

“Let go for a second,” he whispers when you’ve latched onto his arms where they frame your head. “Wanna try somethin’.”

You loose your fingers from his biceps and settle back against the cloth beneath you as Harry reaches to the perimeter of the pentagram’s circle to grab a candle. The Hellfire burns steady and straight, unswayed by any air flow. The wax around the wick looks melted, liquid, but it doesn’t run down the sides. It’s unnerving. Especially when Harry leans back and tips the candle over your chest. Hot wax spills and stings the skin between your breasts. You gasp, pushing Harry’s hand and the candle away, stomach thrashing up against him, but he surrounds you like a cage.

“Hey, relax,” Harry says, settling his hips between yours at last. He leans down to kiss you for the first time since the two of you have entered the pentagram. His lips graze down your neck after leaving your lips, along your collarbone to your shoulder, a peck to the outside of your breast. He lets out an airy chuckle. “Yeh like it, don’ yeh?”

“What?” you mutter, tilting your head forward. The wax has hardened and begun to cool on your chest. He still holds the candle in his hand.

“Nipples are hard,” he observes, raising a brow. “Yeh like it. Hurts for just a second, yeah? A good pain?”

Your response is swallowed back down your throat as Harry tongues your hardened nipple, teeth grazing along your skin. The fingers of your right hand tangle up in his hair, yank at the roots as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. More hot candle wax spills across your skin, this time along your upper belly. You shy away from the quick sting but it only lasts for a moment and you find yourself moaning as the wax dribbles up the side of your body, heats your other breast. The flame of Hellfire still doesn’t sway. It also doesn’t burn up toward the ceiling as a regular flame would. It remains in line with the candle.

Harry sighs at the sound of your moan and hurries to return the candle to its place on the pentagram. He reaches down to stroke his cock once, twice, and then thrusts into you without a warning.

“Jesus,” you gasp out. It feels different when he’s the one moving. He takes no time to find a rhythm, just fucks into you with all of the force of his hips. Your ankles curl around the backs of his knees and the hand not buried in his hair grapples for a hold on his back.

“There’s no Jesus here,” Harry mutters, lowering his face into the crook of your neck. His teeth tease at your pulse. “Yeh feel like a fuckin’ goddess, though—fuck. Tha’s what I wanna feel.”

He moans when your walls clench around him. His thrusts drive deeper, arms trembling on either side of you. One hand lifts to lay across your side, over your ribs, and you can feel the dried wax there heating up, dripping down to pool beneath your back.

“Wanna fuck yeh harder,” Harry groans. “D’yeh want it harder? Can I fuck yeh harder?”

“Please,” you breathe out, “please.”

The air is forced from your lungs as Harry’s hips smack back into yours. Your body is tingling beneath the weight of him, thighs aching at the stretch of his hips between them. The skin behind your ear heats with pain as he sets his teeth into it. And he’s fucking you relentlessly, desperately, so urgently its making your mind grow fuzzy.

“I—” You can’t even finish your words. The pits of your stomach are coiling up like a spring. The fuzz in your mind is making your vision grow dark around the edges as you stare up at the wooden ceiling. All you can do is squeeze at Harry’s back, tighten your hand in his hair.

“Yes, fuck yes,” he grates out. The hand covered in melted wax snaps to the back of your thigh, angling your hips up and yanking you to meet his thrusts as he fights to finish himself off. “‘M gonna come.”

Your throat is thick with words that can’t escape as he fucks you over the edge. One hand falls to the blanket at your side and curls into the fabric. You let out only a strangled moan. Harry grunts as he feels you coming around him. He pulls his face out of your neck and props himself up on his arms, tipping his head back against his own shoulders until he’s jerking into you, swearing into the silence of the house. This time you’re positive that you see that blue glow around his irises before his eyes close. You shake while he empties himself inside of you and all at once the flames around the room are snuffed out.

Harry huffs out a breath of exhaustion and lowers himself back down on top of you, forehead smearing sweat along your shoulder. You can see almost nothing at all while you gasp for breath. Your body still buzzes in the darkness. You can smell the subtle sweetness of smoke from the extinguished candles.

There’s a pressing silence filled with nothing but heavy breathing. Harry’s become almost a dead weight on top of you. You can feel liquid leaking from you, his skin sticky where it meets yours. The knowledge somehow doesn’t worry you.

“Thank you, dove,” Harry whispers right into your ear. His lips plant a wet kiss to the edge of your shoulder, waxy hand thumbing at your hip.

The moon peeks out from behind a thick layer of gray clouds. It seeps through the grimy window above your heads, filters through the wisps of smoke that hang about the room, illuminate the drops of sweat that linger on Harry’s back. You close your eyes for a moment—only a moment—and when you open them there is a face at the edge of the pentagram, just beyond it. An entire body mere inches from your feet. His eyes are wide, still, staring down at the two of you, graying hair frazzled around the lines of his frozen face.

Air is drawn loudly into your lungs but then it traps itself. You can’t scream. You can’t exhale. Your body tenses, fingers pressing into Harry’s spine, his scalp. He feels the shift and lifts his head to look down at you. Blocking your view of the stranger. But you can still see him behind your eyelids as you blink.

“Wha’s wrong?” he asks when he sees the wild look in your eyes. His brows pull together, fingers smoothing up your jaw. “What?”

The face looms up again behind the mess of Harry’s hair, leaning over the two of you, its expression still frozen in place, and the air finally finds a way to escape your chest.

You scream, shoving at Harry’s body, scrambling out from under him. He doubles back for a moment before you reach the edge of the pentagram and he catches at your knee, pulling you back toward him. The cloth is pulled beneath you. Candles topple over and the twined bones are sent scattering across the wooden floor. “Stop—” You swipe at his hand and he catches your wrist too. “Stop, Y/N, stop!”

Your lungs are heaving as you struggle against his grip and spin your head to survey the room. It’s empty. There’s no one else here. Not even a suspicious shadow.

“I thought—” You stop struggling and shake your head. Your fingers are trembling. “There was a man standing right there,” you whisper to him, pointing to the spot just outside the circle. You sound crazy. At least you think you do for just a moment before you remember that Harry is a witch and the two of you just had sex inside of a pentagram, surrounded by candles burning with flames from Hell. You squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Okay, okay.” Harry shifts onto his knees and wraps his fingers around the back of your neck, nodding. “Okay. He’s gone now though, right?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I believe yeh. Why wouldn’ I?” Harry leans in to kiss your forehead. It’s so gentle, so sincere. You can feel your pulse beginning to slow when he pulls back and you tip your face into his chest. He slides his hand down your spine and rubs at your lower back, still slick with sweat.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’ be.” He pulls you away from his chest and kisses you with a slowness that you find gratefully comforting. “’S dark in here. How ‘bout we get some candles lit and get yeh cleaned up, yeah?”

You nod and let Harry help you up to your feet. He steps gingerly out of the pentagram and makes his way to the nearest candle, on the wall by the hall to the kitchen. His fingers close over the wick until it sparks to life and illuminates his flushed face. He gives you a soft smile and reaches for his boxers by the side of the couch.

“C’mon, dove,” he says once he has them pulled on, "I’ll make yeh some tea.”

***

“Yeh okay?” Harry asks as he comes back into the room. He’s carrying a hot mug of tea. You notice the way his hair is still standing up around the sides, where your fingers have left it tousled.

You give him a short nod and continue peeling at the dried black wax encasing your ribs, holding your shirt up with one hand. Harry sets the tea on the floor in front of the couch and then sits down, turning your body away from him. He picks at the wax on the back of your thigh, in the vague shape of his hand.

The room is much brighter around you. Harry has lit every candle in the vicinity that wasn’t meant for rituals and spells. But you still find yourself glancing cautiously into the corners every few minutes. You can still see that jarring face whenever you close your eyes.

“Hey.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, turning your attention to Harry when he’s finished ridding your thigh of wax. He shakes his head and helps you finish with the wax coating your side.

“No, yeh’re spooked. ’S okay.”

You chew on your lip. Harry finishes and brushes his thumb over your skin.

“Was that supposed to happen? Did you know that was going to happen?”

“What, the guy?” Harry asks. He allows his hand to fall to his lap as you take a step back from him and shakes his head. “No, I didn’ know that was gonna happen.”

“Well, do you know who it was?” You pull your shirt—Harry’s shirt—back down your abdomen to meet the line of your underwear.

“Think I might.” He says nothing more and you shake your head.

“You’re not gonna tell me? Really?”

“I can’ right now, dove. ‘M sorry.”

“No you’re not.” You let out a dry laugh and rub at your tired eyes. You know he’s not going to give you any more information. You’ve grown used to his secrets and mysteries. It’s really no use pushing. “Do you get spooked?” you ask him instead.

Harry sits back and lets out a soft sigh. “Not really. Not anymore, at least. Used to when I was a li’l bit younger.”

“Right.” You sit down beside Harry, close to his side. You hate to admit it but touching him really is comforting when you’re this shook up. His hand falls to your opposite arm and rubs gently at your skin. “You haven’t really told me about when you were younger. Do you have siblings?”

“Have an older sister.” He gives you a tight smile. "She’s a much better witch than me.”

“You always say things like that but I don’t think you’re bad at any of this.”

“Yeh should tell m’mum that.”

Something topples over onto the floor and you jump, hand finding Harry’s in your panic. When you turn your head, you find Nicks prowling around the edges of the pentagram, pawing at the items the two of you haven’t cleaned up yet. Harry chuckles quietly.

“Drink some tea, dove.”

You shake your head in an effort to clear it as you lean forward to grab the mug off of the ground. It’s warm and sweet-smelling as usual. For the first time since he’s begun brewing the tea for you, you sip it without hesitation. Harry kisses your temple.

“Do you not like your mom, then?” you ask, settling your cheek against his shoulder.

“Like her just fine. I just happen to disappoint her. Sucked at Latin because I thought it was borin’. Fucked up a bunch of spells. Tha’s part of the reason I moved across the fuckin’ Atlantic.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper out. You feel dizzy. Maybe it’s just everything that’s happened in the past few hours.

“’S okay. Pretty close to provin’ I’m not entirely useless. Thank yeh for that.”

Your vision suddenly blurs, so quick and so sudden that you have to close your eyes. The mug falls from your hands, crashing to the floor. Harry catches you as your body slumps forward.

“Shh, shh,” he hushes when you try to speak.

Your limbs all but melt as he lays you back on the couch. All of your senses begin to fade against your will, and you don’t even have enough energy to panic.

“‘M sorry, dove,” he mutters into your ear. “I really am. Hope yeh can forgive me.”

And then you’re pulled into unconsciousness.

Part 5: All Hallows’ Eve

[lalainajanes]

45 and 53

45. chocolates of romance + 53. mutual pining. This is the last of the trope x trope prompts!

Sweet As

Caroline’salways a bit tired the morning after the full moon but, given how many of herneighbors also feel the moon’s effects, she’s far from the only one. She doesn’t turn furry and spend thenight racing through the forests. She just sacrifices sleep to prep for therush of wolves that pop by her café the following morning.

She’d notedthe ragged edges of her customers her first month in business, how even thededicated caffeine freaks chose hot chocolate, how all the non-chocolate dessertselections got passed over. Still new in town she hadn’t quite been able to puther finger on the reasons for the change. Her neighbor had filled her in.

Bonnie’s awitch, a powerful one from an old family, and Caroline had learned long agothat witches made better allies than enemies. One never knew when a protectionspell would be needed – sometimes the urge to put down roots was too strong forher to fight and she could be slow to wake when comfortable in her tree. Bonniehad been slow to trust but, helped out by her kick ass snickerdoodle recipe,Caroline had managed to win her over.

Uponlearning that her new town housed a large pack of werewolves, as well asfrequent wolf-y visitors, Caroline had recognized a business opportunity.Chocolate helped with a wolves recovery from turning, provided a much neededpost moon pick me up. As an admitted chocoholic Caroline had developed a decentrepertoire of recipes to soothe her own cravings.

Using themfor profit? A no brainer. The day after the full moon has become one of the busiestof the month, helps to pad her emergency funds nicely.

She usesthe tips to buy herself something pretty. Caroline figures she deserves it. Shespends the night at the shop, first slaving over a hot oven, later crashing onthe couch in her office. Her home is surrounded by forests and while she’sstrong enough to fight off a werewolf she likes the town, it’s quirky mix ofsupernatural types and oddball humans. She sees no need to rock the boat byinjuring one of the wolves, or risk the pack retaliating. They steer clear ofher cherry grove, likely able to sense the magic of it even better in theirwolf forms. Caroline appreciates it, would like for her little bubble of peaceout in the forest to stay pristine.

When thebell above the door chimes, a familiar frame slipping inside, Caroline’sbleariness instantly melts away. She straightens as Klaus pushes the door shutfirmly, locking out the chilly fall air. She wriggles her fingers in anenthusiastic greeting – it’s been a couple of days since she’d seen him last. Hesmiles, weaving through the mostly empty tables and chairs to get to thecounter.

Perhaps the leader of the werewolf pack has somethingto do with her desire to keep the peace. A smallsomething. He’s very nice to look at,walks and talks with a confidence that she can’t help but be intrigued by.

They’ddanced at the town’s fall festival a few nights ago and Caroline’s beenthinking way dirtier thoughts ever since she’d gotten up close and personalwith the way his body can move. He’s been busy with pack business, hasn’tstopped by, probably a good thing because Caroline probably would have blushedhighlighter pink had she run into him that first morning.

She’d neverviolate the health code the way they had in her dreams but taking Klaus’ coffeeorder with the images so fresh in her mind would have been awkward. Today, witha few days to let the images settle, she’s able to smile back and flip herponytail over her shoulder, confident she can have a completely normal, onlymildly to moderately flirty conversation with him.

Withoutstaring at his mouth, hopefully.

A goodthing because she does like talkingto him. He’s funny in a way that skews slightly mean, so Caroline’s beencomfortable enough to drop her perky customer service façade drop and beherself.

She pourshim a mug of hot chocolate as he leans a hip against the counter. “How wouldyou like it today?” she asks.

His lipscurl, a challenge sparking in his eyes, “Surprise me.”

Huh. That’snew. She thinks back, running through the list of things she’s seen himconsume, but Klaus’ tastes are varied, he rarely orders the same thing. She’staken it as a personal challenge, mentally pats herself on the back when heasks for something a second time.

Makes sureit pops up in the bakery case more often.

She drumsher fingers on the counter, twisting to consider the row of flavored syrups andpowders and toppings she has. “If I had a liquor license this would be easier.”She’s run into him at the bar plenty of times and he’s much pickier aboutbooze. It’s always bourbon on the rocks, from a fancy, slightly dusty, bottlethat Enzo seems to pull out just for him.

Klaus makesa low sound, a laugh he tries to swallow, “Ouch. Not sure that’s a flatteringstatement, love.”

The curl ofhis lips doesn’t fall and Caroline has no problem scoffing. “Please. I didn’tmean it like that. It’s a pretty well known fact that werewolves can hold theirliquor. Besides, even if it was a dig yourego can handle the blow.”

“PerhapsI’m feeling fragile. I did break most of the bones in my body not four hoursago.”

She turnsback to him, running her eyes over his body anew, looking for signs of aninjury. Klaus’ pack had been hosting another from a territory on the coast. Afew strangers had wandered into her shop, had been pleasant enough, if a littleintense. She’d felt like a butterfly pinned under glass a time or two when she’dcaught one of them studying her.

She’dfigured they’d just been trying to figure out what she was. Dryads are muchrarer than wolves or witches.

She wracksher memories, trying to remember if she’d said anything about Klaus to thevisiting wolves. She hopes they hadn’t been hanging out at her place in hopesof spotting one of his weaknesses. Klaus doesn’t often mingle outside the pack.Caroline is well aware that his attempts to get to know her are an anomaly.

She hasn’theard anything this morning about the meetings going awry, had assumed they’dall happily howled at the moon together last night, but none of her wolfcustomers had been particularly talkative. They’d all been too focused oninhaling as many chocolatey confections as possible. Perhaps it had been a postbattle fatigue, not just the regular human to wolf to human transformationfatigue.

The urge toround the counter, to touch him and check for injuries, is nearly overwhelmingand Caroline presses her hands to the chipped wood to still herself. Pressingher hips to his in time to music was one thing. Tearing his shirt off mid-morningand running her hands all over him is another. “Are you alright?” she asksanxiously. “I can pop next door and see if Bon has…”

Klaus’ handcovers hers, pressing down until her tense fingers relax, “I’m perfectly fine.”

The tensionleaks from her and she straightens, attempting to recover her former perkiness,“Glad to hear it! But you’ll be better once we get some chocolate in you.”

She turnsfrom him again, hopes he doesn’t notice the slight shake of her hands.

Apparentlyher feelings for Klaus had tipped beyond the slight crush point. It would havebeen nice to not have that realization rightin front of him.

Carolinecan feel him watching her, resists the urge to glance over her shoulder and seeif she can read his expression. She works quickly, adding a hint of the spicysyrup she makes herself, a healthy dollop of whipped cream, and a pinch ofcinnamon.

It’ssignificantly more frou frou than anything she’s ever seen him drink but he’sthe one who’d pointed out his recently broken bones. She slides it over, “Enjoythe extra calcium.”

He dips hisfinger into the mound of whipped cream and Caroline ducks down, sliding open doorto the small refrigerator behind the counter. She doesn’t trust herself not tostare should Klaus do what most people do with a whipped cream coveredfingertip. His quiet hum of enjoyment has a small shiver racing up her spine.

He’s made asimilar in her fantasies a time or two.

She’d hiddenaway some things just for him and she sets two plates on the counter in frontof him. He’s surprised, his eyes widening, but she can see that he’s pleasedtoo. Still, a pang of self-consciousness washes over her. Before, when she’smade something she knows Klaus likes, she’d just plopped it in the case witheverything else and waited for him to stop by. This is more deliberate. Anobvious signal. Caroline smooths an escaped curl away from her face, “I madethe chocolate cherry cheesecake brownies that you liked. And I had some extracherries so I figured…”

Looking atthe plate, the artfully arranged chocolate cherries, Caroline can’t believethat she’s just now considering howthe freaking romantic implications of the gesture.

“I figured…”she stutters, barely noticing that she’s repeating herself.

Klaus turnsaway from her, finding Marcel sitting in a booth across the shop. “Marcellus,”he says, firm and commanding in a way that is not helping Caroline get herhormones under control at all, “Ineed to speak with Caroline for a moment. Privately. Mind her shop, will you?”

Itobviously hadn’t been a question because Klaus takes a few quick steps, flipsup the top of the counter, and eases behind it. He reaches for her, his longfingers gentle as they wrap around her elbow. He nods behind her, “Shall we usethe kitchen? Or perhaps your office?”

The pullout bed is still open in her office and Caroline suspects if they enter thatroom they won’t be doing much talking.

And whilethat wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world she thinks they need to clarify athing or two before any hot office sex happens.

“Kitchen,”she says.

Klausreleases her, his hand skimming down her arm. He nods to the swinging door,snatching up the plates she’d set out for him. “Ladies first,” he murmurs.

A quicklook around the shop tells her that the few customers are watching themcuriously. Marcel’s slid out of the booth and when she catches her eye he seemsamused. “Don’t burn down my shop,” she warns, before she leads Klaus into thekitchen.

She hearstwo clinks and then he’s grasping her arm again, stopping her motion. She canfeel him hot against her back and when his hand hovers over her stomach shepresses it down, against her. His lips brush the side of her neck and Caroline’sknees go unsteady as she leans into him. He inhales deeply against the curve ofher shoulder. “You do smell of me,”he rumbles. “I half thought that a taunt.”

Okay, thatwas weird.

“I what?”she asks, the words shriller that she’d meant them to be.

“What doyou know of mates, Caroline?”

She peelsherself away from him, circling until the steep prep table is between them. She’stempted to put her flushed face to the cool surface, maybe that would help herthink. “Mates,” she repeats. “Pretty common amongst supernatural species.Varying degrees of free will are involved.”

It’s a ceremonywith Dryads, a binding of souls, old and complicated. It’s written in a bookCaroline’s mother had gifted her with when she’d left home. She’d skimmed it,ages ago, hadn’t figured she’d ever need it.  

Maybe she’dbeen wrong.

Klausshifts, seemingly restless. He looks… nervous, a state Caroline’s never seenfrom him. “I don’t know that I consciously chose to mark you when we dancedaround that bonfire. I wanted it, certainly, but I’d always planned to broachthe subject while we were sober and aware. But between the punch and the magicin the air it happened and I couldn’t stop myself once I realized.”

“Sorry, butyou marked me? How?” There’s been nobiting, not even a kiss. They’d just danced, for ages, yes, from sunset to thewee hours, but Caroline doesn’t remember any marking.

“It’smagic, sweetheart. Mine reaching out to yours to signal my intent. Had you beena wolf you would have smelled it. I’m sorry I didn’t think to explain beforenow.”

Carolineducks her head, attempting to smell herself, glaring at Klaus when his lipsquirk up like he’s going to smile. She smells like she always does, like thevanilla lotion she uses and baked goods (it’s an occupational hazard but no onecomplains), a hint of fresh cherries and the forest that always lingers, nearlyunnoticeable. Super senses aren’t a part of the Dryad bag of tricks, however. “Idon’t smell you,” she says.

“My packdid. I do too. It’s faint but it’s there. I imagine our recent werewolfvisitors did as well.”

“That mightexplain the weird looks,” Caroline mutters. Klaus’ eyes narrow and she cuts himoff before he can say anything that will annoy her, “Will it go away?”

“Should youdecide that you don’t want me after all it will fade. A wolf’s scent onlylingers when a mate is receptive.” His satisfaction is obvious, in both histone and his face, a hint of gold shining around the edges of his pupils. Heplucks one of the cherries from the plate, popping it into his mouth. His eyesflutter closed in pleasure as he chews and Caroline swallows hard, fights theurge to go to him once more.

This timeit’s not worry that’s causing the itch in her fingertips.

When he’sdone his eyes drift open slowly, darker than before, lit with a hunger that hasnothing to do with food. “Are you, Caroline? Receptive, I mean?”

She’s notthe least bit surprised he wants her to say it. She lifts her chin, “I wouldn’thave made you those if I wasn’t. Everyone else gets the cherries I pick up atthe market, you know.”

He goesstill, eyes darting from her to the plate. Then he’s circling the table, fasterthan she’s ever seen him move in public. She lifts up onto her toes when heburies his hands in her hair, moans when his open mouth settles over hers. Helicks into her mouth, all certainty and want, kisses her like it’s all he’sbeen wanting. He tastes like cherries and chocolate, the tiniest hint of cinnamon,and she wishes she’d been bold enough to make a move months ago.

When helifts her onto the counter she stops thinking about much of anything, too busytracing the flexing muscles of his torso under his shirt.

A crashfrom outside breaks them apart and they take a moment to tug their clothes backinto place and smooth their clothes before they venture back into the shop.Their hasty attempt at hiding what they’d been doing fools no one and Carolinecatches quickly hidden smiles and hears smothered titters. Marcel is attemptingto sweep up a broken pile of china and Klaus shoots him a glance that’spositively murderous.

Carolinemakes him a new hot chocolate on the house. His timely interruption had saved her from violating the healthcode so he deserves it. Klaus clearly doesn’t agree but his temper is easy enough to cool. Caroline tells him to pick her upfor dinner at six, smirks and murmurs that they’ll pick up where they left offafter dinner.

She offersto bring dessert.

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