#Six Harbors Brewing Company

[huntingtonnow]

Huntington Art Week to Feature Music, Exhibitions

Downtown businesses and organizations will host Huntington Art Week Feb. 19-26, offering the public more than 50 programs, including art exhibits, music, film screenings and workshops. Presented by Ben & Jerry’s Huntington and organized by digho and Colored Colors, this community-driven event aims to support local artists, engage residents, and boost local businesses. Event…

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

Ms. Gracie didn’t boop me until 5:30 this morning. I’m grateful she allowed me to sleep in. If I could get her to let me sleep until 6AM that would be amazing.

The Hybrid React Native/Native app I’m working on is really starting to gain steam. We’ve shipped some new features and have a couple more big ones coming at the end of next month.

I’ve learned a lot about integrating React Native with native code and my learning continues. I mentioned before I hope I can work on this app through, at least, the end of the year. I know we can also improve on native performance, app UI spit-n-polish, and improve the network API do more with fewer calls. It’s been an amazing project!

Hope you enjoy the links.

Keith Allen and Alisha Ebrahimji • CNN

Louis Gossett Jr., who won an Academy Award for his performance in “An Officer and a Gentleman” and an Emmy for the groundbreaking miniseries “Roots,” has died at age 87, according to a statement from his family.

RIP

[Justin Fenton and Giacomo Bologna • The Baltimore Banner(https://www.thebaltimorebanner.com/community/transportation/key-bridge-collapse-YDNMRSLMDREE7ADUZJQFQJ3WDA/)

The Francis Scott Key bridge collapsed early Tuesday after being struck by a ship, and rescue teams were searching for multiple people believed to have fallen into the Patapsco River, a Baltimore Fire department spokesman confirmed.

A horrible tragedy for the city of Baltimore and the families of the six men who lost their lives. ❤️

I hope they’re able to learn from the collapse and build in additional safety measures to help avert an accident like this in the future.

Also, why don’t tug boats escort these big ships into the harbor? I’d venture to guess it’s about the money?

Louie Mantia

A lot of people want to make a website but don’t know where to start or they get stuck. That’s in part because our perception of what websites should be has changed so dramatically over the last 20 years.

I’ve had a blog since February of 2001 — that’s 23 years! — and I’ve never been this inspired to build my own blog completely by hand. Inspired.

Decoder with Nilay Patel 🎙️

Nilay talks to Jay Graber, CEO of Bluesky. It’s a really good conversation about tech and community. Recommended

Sara Stewart • CNN Opinion

I don’t want to state the ass-numbingly obvious, but nobody wants to sit through more than half an hour of “content” before the nearly three-hour film they paid too much to see. It defies all logic to expect people to fork over more to be bombarded with ads and trailers they can’t mute or forward through the way they’d be able to do at home — where they can also sit on a comfier couch and eat better food.

YES! I don’t remember where and when this happened to us last but it was so frustrating.

Movie theaters, please, don’t do this.

Juli Clover • MacRumors

Apple’s Phil Schiller Works 80 Hours a Week Overseeing App Store

Major control freak vibe. Who knows if it’s even true but Mr. Schiller should be enjoying some of that wealth and let Apple evolve.

Of course this is why I’m not rich. I don’t have that kind of drive anymore. I did my 80 hour weeks in the early 90’s and 2000’s. I’m over it. I don’t mind putting in extra hours here and there but when it’s the norm to work 60 hours a week, well, that’s just stupid.

Joe Kukura • sfist.com

The winning bid for the up-for-auction Anchor Brewing Company was supposed to be announced at the end of January, but things appear to be delayed, and a company rep tells us “a winner most likely will be announced in late April.”

This still saddens me. Anchor was an iconic San Francisco brewer who made good beer. As with everything else I suppose you have to change with the times or fold. 🍺

Ryan Goodman and Andrew Weissmann • The Atlantic

Donald Trump is determined to avoid accountability before the general election, and, so far, the U.S. Supreme Court is helping him.

The best way to save our democracy and our republic is to vote for Joe Biden, even if you are a Republican. Just hold your nose and vote for him.

It’s also the only way we’ll see Justice applied to TFG. He’s terrified he’ll be tossed in prison without access to his social network, rallies, hair care products, well done stake with ketchup, and orange makeup. 👮🏿

Chris Trottier

If you want to know why Truth Social looks like so much other Fediverse software, it’s because it runs Mastodon with a Soapbox front-end.

I remember the hubbub around Truth Social using Mastodon. It’s nice we’ve defederated it. He wanted a captive audience of wing nut MAGAs anyway.

How fast will the newly minted public company come tumbling down? I’d call it meme stock of the year.

Molly White • Citation Needed

Sam Bankman-Fried maintains that his crimes were victimless and resulted in zero losses, and therefore warrant only six years of imprisonment. Prosecutors argue that 40–50 years are justified.

I heard Scott Galloway on Pivot say Bankman-Fried didn’t deserve the 25 years he got. Why not? Rich people never want their kind held accountable.

Bankman-Fried is young. Don’t worry, he will be young enough when he gets out to commit fraud again.

By Michael M. Grynbaum and John Koblin • New York Times

Facing an extraordinary on-air revolt by its leading stars, NBC’s top news executive said on Tuesday that he had decided to cut ties with Ms. McDaniel, the former chairwoman of the Republican National Committee, who was hired last week as an on-air political commentator.

Rachel Maddow was on fire Monday night. She always has the best lead in to her stories. If you missed it, [go watch on YouTube(https://youtu.be/CqassXP6HAU?si=WvkcAYe2chaWSYNP) . It was really great.

John Gruber • Daring Fireball

A few readers have asked about my speculation that Apple, along with the other DMA-designated gatekeepers (none of which are European companies of course), might reasonably pull out of the relatively small EU market rather than risk facing disproportionately large fines from the European Commission.

Gruber has an interesting take but I think it would be so much better if Apple just did the right thing and opened things up for developers to “side load”, create their own stores, and allow different payment methods.

Keep on providing awesome hardware and the platform developers love and let us help you grow the platform even more.

Look, I’m a nobody who doesn’t make much on the store. If I’ve made $2,000.00 on the store since 2009 I’d be shocked. I’ll continue to use the App Store and abide by the stricter rules because it doesn’t affect me directly but a lot of Indie Devs could benefit by paying way less than Apple’s 15-30%.

That opinion and $10 can get you a mighty fine drink at Starbucks.

Kate Yoder • Grist

But the same politicians don’t seem ready to acknowledge the root cause of these problems. A bill awaiting signature from Governor Ron DeSantis, who dropped out of the Republican presidential race in January, would ban offshore wind energy, relax regulations on natural gas pipelines, and delete the majority of mentions of climate change from existing state laws.

Florida continues to prove it’s the state with the biggest number of wack jobs in the union. Once that waterfront property starts disappearing folks can just sell their homes and move, right Ben? 🤣

Stephen Hackett • 512 Pixels

With Threads starting to federate, there has been push back in corners of Mastodon, with some server admins blocking users from @threads.net entirely. I think just about everyone has complicated feelings about Meta, but I think this kind of move only harms users of the Fediverse.

I’m going to follow a few few folks on Threads because I enjoyed following them on Twitter and they don’t have, and seemingly won’t have, Mastodon accounts.

If it turns into a shit show I don’t have to follow Threads accounts. Easy peasy.

Gabby Del Valle

For months, Elon Musk has been dropping decidedly unsubtle hints that he believes in the great replacement, a conspiracy theory that liberal elites are “importing” immigrants into the United States, Europe, and Australia to wage political and biological warfare against white people.

Musk is a full on disgusting human being. He proves it more and more with each passing day.

How he’s still the CEO of Tesla and SpaceX is beyond comprehension. ☣️

W. Evan Sheehan

First and foremost let me state that this post is not about excluding people from the IndieWeb community. I am not here to be a gatekeeper. Rather, I am trying to call attention to a disconnect I see in how I’ve seen the IndieWeb movement promoted and how the IndieWeb community presents itself.

I agree with a lot of this piece. The IndieWeb is still very immature as a product platform but everything is there to create great experiences. It’s up to us to do it and do it in a way that’s easy for the masses to use.

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep33

Micro Brew Macro Data

In any other city, the property overlooking a monumentally beautiful lighthouse such as the Battery Point Lighthouse would be worth billions of dollars. There’s definitely a cognitive dissonance associated with staying at the Oceanfront Lodge. Our room has a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean from the spacious patio. Battery Point Lighthouse stands proudly on its own little island about 100 meters off shore. It is as iconic and beautiful as the Golden Gate Bridge or the Lone Cypress. If that lighthouse was in Santa Barbara or Malibu, my hotel room would cost $2000 a night, and feature Three Michelin Star dining and a world class golf course. But here we are, for under a hundred dollars, with chipped paint on the walls and a shit brown duvet. It’s hard to believe that tourists and property developers haven’t discovered this place yet. But clearly … they haven’t.

I’m unpacking my pannier on top of the cheaply veneered desk, River has her pannier on the luggage rack. The six drawings are sprawled out across one of the beds and River is on the other bed trying to wiggle her way out of her motorcycle boots. She lets out a little squeak as she’s trying to get the boots off, so I offer my unsolicited help by grabbing the heel of her boot and pulling it off. It reminds me of being a kid and helping my dad take off his boots after work.

We freshen up pretty quickly. River pulls on fresh jeans and sneakers, then rolls the drawings and snaps a rubber band around them. There’s still plenty of light left in the sky, so we decide to walk into town to find something to eat. The front desk attendant recommends a Thai food place located just across the harbor, an easy walk, maybe 15 minutes.

Front Street is a straight shot heading east from our doorstep and that’s where we’ll find the Thai food. Between us and dinner there’s a misnamed Beachfront park (it is clearly a Harbor-front park) filled with beautiful windswept coastal cypress trees. We decide for a romantic walk through the park, but our plans disintegrate about a quarter of the way into the park when River spots a building bustling with activity and a big sign out front that reads “SeaQuake Brewing Company.” Thai food will have to wait for another day.

The hostess tells us there’s a wait unless we don’t mind sitting at one of the communal farm tables in the middle of the dining room. “Sounds perfect to me!” River tells her and we’re quickly whisked away to our seats. We’re sat at one end of a long, hightop table with a butcher block top and barstool seats. There’s a lively crowd here tonight. Led Zeppelin is playing over the loudspeakers and there’s football on the big screens. Everyone seems friendly. It’s a brewing company, so we order flights of their in-house beers for tasting plus calamari strips and garlic cheese knots for a starter. For dinner we share the Thai chicken salad as a sort of consolation prize for not actually getting Thai food. After the waitress clears away our plates, we order more beer and River uses her napkin to wipe down the tabletop so we can look at the chalk drawings without ruining them. River removes the rubber band from the roll of drawings and lays them on the table.

“Let’s recap …”

“Somehow you made your way north along the coast and ended up at Fern Canyon, that’s this drawing with me in Fern Canyon and me setting with Dave Jr.” she observes.

“RIP Dave Jr.”

We toast and take a gulp of beer to commemorate the passing of my beloved potted fern.

“Then, clearly the picture of me in the red flannel is actually Paul Bunyan” she muses.

“Yes, and the portrait of your face matches the wood carving of Paul Bunyan’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I gotta be honest with you, that portrait wasn’t the most flattering but now it makes sense.”

“That was the one drawing that never made sense to me. Why would I have drawn you to look wooden and lifeless?? I think you’re gorgeous.”

That comment elicits a warm smile from River and she leans across our little high top table to give me a kiss.

“That leaves Thor’s Well, which we know is north of here, plus the picture of me rolling around in the tulips, and the portrait of me somewhere in Europe.”

“Thors Well, okay. I get that. You rolling in flowers, sure. That could be anywhere. The Europe connection I just don’t understand.”

“That’s the one that has definitely got me stumped … for sure.” says River as she’s arranging and stacking the pictures on the table so she can re-roll them and put them away. The most flattering shot is the one of her rolling around in the tulips so she places it on top and leaves them on the table for a minute while she finishes her beer. The waitress checks in on the table and sees the drawing.

“Wow, beautiful! Did you draw that?’ she says in amazement.

“I did. Yes.”

“Amazing. So much detail. Are you a professional artist?”

“No. It was actually after a night of … well, let’s say it’s just a hobby. A new hobby we’ll call it.”

“That seems awfully modest. I’ll bet it’s more than a hobby.”

“Thanks.”

“Where y’all from?”

“Monterey.”

“You two must be coming back from the tulip festival then?”

River’s eyes light up.

“Tulip festival?”

“Yeah, in Skagit Valley. Isn’t that were you drew this? That’s the only place around here where you find tulips like that.” the waitress proclaims. We are both in absolute amazement. Could this be the clue we’re looking for?

“Actually, we’re trying to solve a bit of a mystery here. I bumped my head and I can’t remember where I drew this.”

“Like, amnesia?” the waitress asks.

“Well … not like amnesia” I tell her “It’s actual amnesia.”

“Wow that’s crazy. I’ve never met anyone who has actually had amnesia before. I thought that was just in the Jason Bourne movies. So what are the rest of the drawings?”

“We’re trying to retrace our steps since I can’t remember the last month.”

“Oh wow, that’s crazy. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Please. We’ll take all the help we can get.”

The waitress flips through all of the drawings and then asks “Okay, looks like you were on a journey. Were you going north to south?”

“No, south to north.”

“Okay, so you’ve already figured out Fern Canyon, and Trees of Mystery then?” the waitress asks.

“Yeah, and we figured out Thor’s Well too” River adds “It’s the last two we can’t figure out.”

“It looks like you came up the coast, went to Fern Canyon and Trees of Mystery, then passed through here on your way to Thor’s Well. Then it looks like you went through Leavenworth on your way to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival.”

“Leavenworth?”

“Yeah, Leavenworth Washington. It’s a little Bavarian themed town in the northern Cascades. It’s where all of the Pacific Crest Trail hikers stop for groceries.”

“There’s a Bavarian village on the way to the tulip festival?”

[waywardimpalawriter]

Could you do a Bucky/Reader fic for 16 on the smut prompts?

The intimacy of shaving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Bucky Bingo Square: New haircut square

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson

Setting: three months after the end of Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Rating: M (Mature), E (explicit), NSFW, +18 only please

Warnings: fluff, angst, bickering, smut, oral female receiving, yearning, pining, unrequited love, smutty dreams, broken bones, mention of torture, Bucky’s old memories,

Word count: 10,800

Summary: Frustrated with being left behind, worry taking hold after finding out just a fraction of how bad your boys are. Making you start to search your feeling's for both men. Especially with the intimacy of giving Bucky a hair cut and shave. Unexpected emotions surface on all parts.

Notes: Sequel too “My own worse enemy," filling in a bingo square for #buckybingo and also an Anon request asking for smut prompt #16 “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.” Hope you don't mind me adding Sam into the mix sweetie. Also for my head cannon Sam uses Delacroix LA for his base of operation. Wanting to help take care of his family while taking on the mantle of Captain America. Hope you enjoyed doll.

Tag list’s: Are open

@buckybingo

Forever’s: @jedi-mando @chickensarentcheap

Bucky Barnes list: @learisa @eclipses-and-moondust

Story list: @sammyissassy @feelmyroarrrr

Wearing a path from the kitchen to living room ignoring Sarah’s stare, thumb nail damn near nibbled to the bed with how much your chewing the poor abused finger. Cell phone pressed to your ear, listening to Sams deep baritone, “What’d ya mean three places Samuel? How the f-ing hell did you both managed to get so banged up?”

“Explanations will roll out once we touch down Y/N for now know at least he didn’t break his funny bone that’s still none existence,” glancing towards Bucky stretched out over the metal helo bench. Right arm in a sling snug to his body, thick plaster cast covering from mid bicep to mid palm, fingers still visible.

“I heard that and I do to have a sense of humor just not your brand of stupid jokes bird brain,” deep voice unmistakably Bucky’s catching a wobble in the cadence not there when last they spoke.

Swiping a hand over your face wanting to kill them both for leaving you behind. Plans to do just that forming in your mind while snarking, “Remind me again why exactly you chose to leave me behind?”

Staying home you could’ve possibly worked with, the unknown danced on your nerves more than you’d give credit to. Having grown even closer to both men over the last six months, always brushing those pesky feelings and thoughts away that surface during weak moments of worry or sleep.

“To dangerous and I’m not arguing with you on those semantics it’s bad enough cyborg got the shit beaten out of him,” quickly pulling the phone from his ear at the high pitched sound from down the line. Forgetting a moment your attachment to both men, “You finished?”

Low growl in answer, biting off the curses you wish to fling at both Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Don’t worry you’re in for it once you get home. ETA?” Checking the watch strapped to your left wrist, “I’ll come pick y’all up, gotta stop in town for supplies anyway.”

“No worries my trucks at base I’ll get Buck and myself home.” Glancing at his watch, “Landing in about two hours, think you can grab a couple of Miss Bridgette’s pecan pies?”

Too many years working with that man not to know what he likes, “For the shit you and Barnes pulled get your own pie man.” Soft chuckles lets you know Sarah heard you. Eyes locking with her’s for a moment seeing the worry in those warm browns matching as you knew in your own. “Just bring you asses home so Sarah and I can roast them.”

Almost feeling the deep groan from over the phone line, “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing since that’s what I got,” shaking head tips to the side picking up on Sam’s easy breathing and the helo’s engines in the back ground. “Just get home dumbass,” affection in your tone. Ending the call, slipping the cell into your front pocket to flop down into the worn out but still comfortable couch.

“They get hurt?” Anxiety tainting her voice from across the room.

Peeking through your fingers at her, dropping them to your thighs to run the length of denim covered skin, “Don’t know really, Sam sounds fine but a concussion or another type of head injury wouldn’t show it’s self right away. From what I did gather they finished up the mission a little over four hours ago, in flight for the last two.”

“What about Bucky?” Meeting your eyes having confided in her years ago about the crush harbored for a certain metal armed ex-assassin turned Cap’s left hand man. Always leaving out the other part of your secret crush. “Speaking of which you ever gonna tell them how you feel?”

“Busting chops about that again Sarah?” Exasperated sigh marches passed barely parted lips, “Something’s broke in three places that’s all Sam ‘Stubborn ass’ Wilson would say. Just not which one of them or what body part exactly.” Firmly ignoring her last question and not picking up on the fact she said them instead of him. To stand hands to hips, leaning back to stretch and possibly pop your spine. “I’m going to town you wanna come or need anything.”

“And you call Sam stubborn,” head shaking with a fond smile tipping her lips upward. Picking up the subtle shift in your demeanor as relief floods your system with knowing they're coming home at least safe. Having guessed your feelings for her older brother not long ago however, keeping that little tidbit to herself. “I’ll come with, give you company and grief along the way. The boy’s won’t come home till later anyway.”

Eyes roll you reach for the car keys on the coffee table, patting your back pocket to check for wallet and the front for cell phone. “Ready to roll?”

Hour and a half later arms loaded with grocery bags, making sure to hide Miss Bridgette’s pie’s from Sam, you and Sarah set to work putting everything away. Setting to work fixing dinner efficiently dancing around each other like a well oiled machine working together in tandem getting each task done. Back door quietly trying to open, Sam poking his head around the well loved oak wood door. Showing a face littered with cuts, a busted bottom lip and dark shadow of a black eye around his left. But his smile still widens flashing pearly whites at seeing the two of you. Entering, Sam places a large locking suit case and round leather carry case not far from the door.

Soft gasp leave’s Sarah’s lips, quickly moving towards her brother to look him over, “You were ugly before now it’s just worse bro.”

Snort existed through his nose, stepping fully into the house with a limp on his right side, accepting the hug she gives him carefully. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’m the other guy,” voice slightly strained but still light almost playful unlike the Bucky of months ago. Though seeing him coming around Sam, arm cradled close in a black cloth sling. Peeks of plaster noticeable making you groan, head shaking at the very sight of him. Assortment of bruises littered his face, his own busted lip, and a three inch cut circling just above his collarbone. Seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, “No we didn’t fight and Sam didn’t cause these wonderful souvenirs.”

“Stupid ass got captured, wouldn’t listen to my plan…”

“You didn’t have a plan Sam not a logistical one…”

“Oh, so you bulldozing in like a raging bull in a China shop worked so well. Who got capture?” Pressing a finger behind his ear to lift the shell listening for Bucky’s answer. “I’m sorry I can’t hear you. You’re gonna say you right Robo soldier cause that’s the correct answer.”

Exasperated with them both, “Shut it and sit down dinner’s ready. I swear the two of you fight worse than Cass and AJ.” Authority ringing through Sarah’s tone cutting eyes at both men.

“Oh sweetheart Cass and AJ have nothing on these two bone heads, more maturity in their little bodies than both of them put together.” Rubbing your temples trying to fend off the building migraine behind your eyes. “Listening to constant bickering I wanna put them in a ‘Get along shirt.'”

Scowl in place while giving them a full once over. Cataloguing the damage you could see and wondering about that which you couldn’t. Noticing the length of Bucky’s hair almost a shaggy just falling a little over his ears and brushing the collar of the black t-shirt he’s wearing. Full beard dusting his cheeks and chin reminding you of those days long gone back in Wakanda. In contrast to Sam’s neatly kept mustache and goatee, close cropped haircut smartly framing his handsome face. Looking much like the day he and Bucky left three months ago on their reconnaissance mission. Knowing better as looks deceive and clothes cover up places eyes can’t see without stripping them naked. The very thought peeking interest but pushing those thoughts back with a frown. Of course it doesn’t stop you from wanting to hug them both mindful of injures unseen that brings a scowl to your features.

“You wouldn’t?” Traces of fear slicing through those deep russet browns. “I thought you loved me Y/N?”

Speaking over Sam, “What’s a ‘Get along’ shirt?”

Caught between wanting to roll her eyes and chuckle, “It’s a big shirt we’d put the two of you in till ya stop bickering like children and actually get along.” Dishing up dinner, Sarah looks towards both men. Trying hard not to burst out laughing at the sour look on Sam’s face nor the still slightly confused one on Bucky’s.

“I see smoke coming from his ears,” snarky quip receiving a back handing smack to his arm.

Bowel’s placed at the table, “Aim for the head next time Sar.” Taking the seat on Sam’s right offering him a cheekily smile, “Might actually knock the few brain cells he has left around and jump start the hamster running the wheel.”

“You both wound me,” clutching his chest dramatically. “With friends and family like this who can you trust.”

“Dramatic’s must come with handling the shield,” cerulean eyes rolling edged with teasing tone. Glancing towards Sam first then you beside him, going to explain for Sarah’s benefit. “Steve could put on some high melodrama back in the day. Much like Samuel here.” Scratching at his chin with vibranium fingers, a low hiss only you catch sounds when the plates catch the little hairs.

Scoffing, “Only Sarah calls me that first off, second look who’s talking Mr. Bionic Staring machine scaring off everyone who comes within two feet. Dramatics run through your veins just as well. ”

“Children,” both women exclaim hands coming down to slam the table at the same. Before time digging into dinner as the back door opens with Cass and AJ storming inside with excited chatter upon seeing both Sam and Bucky.

Each asking about what happened, how’d the mission go and why exactly Bucky’s sporting a sling and cast. All questions peeking the interested of both women with brows raised and narrowed eyes.

“Settle in first and eat dinner,” Sam intones wanting to keep most of what happened from his family. “For the most part the mission went successful.”

Very unladylike snort leaves your nose hidden behind a glass of sweet tea you sip from, “At least you came back in one piece or three in someone’s case.” Eyes narrow even farther on Bucky who has the good graces to look sheepish and divert his eyes.

“But the super serum why didn’t it help like that,” AJ snapped his little fingers for emphasis on the quickness the serum should work or so he thinks.

“Doesn’t quiet work that way AJ,” Bucky starts running a hand through his longer than usual hair. Giving a short frustrated tug before returning to the topic at hand. “Yeah the serum helps speed up the healing process it’s not instantaneous and,” pausing to side eye you not wanting to admit there’s more injures than just his arm.

Scowl returning having a feeling you know why he’s paused in explaining, “Takes longer to heal when multiple injures are involved.”

Dinner finishes with other questions, skirting the full truth about the mission, discussing the coming week with work and school. Sam’s boyish smile appears when Sarah brings out the pie, cutting out slices to pass around with Reddi-whip, coffee for the adults, milk for the kids. Silence settles for a moment the enjoyment of pie more important to savor and only once done do you raise to start cleaning up.

“I’ll,” shooting Sarah a look with a shake of your head.

“You got paperwork to catch up on babe I’ve got this, besides Sam volunteered to help. Didn’t you Sam?” Shooting a look his way, clearly speaking volumes if the answer comes back no.

Brow arched in question but thought better then to ask, though he flips the script on you, “Of course, Bucky volunteer’s.” Quickly moving away from the hand threatening to land a hard punch to his right thigh. Almost toppling to the floor in his hast to move Sam tweaked his hip a twinge of pain slicing through his features.

“Serves you right Wilson,” thought a slice of regret skates across your thoughts. Head shaking you stand gathering plates as the boys excuse themselves to play video games.

“Homework first or I’m taking those games away,” Sarah yells after them looking in your direction for a second. “You got these two?” Pointing at each of them in turn with her own frown dropping her lips downward.

“Sadly yes,” exasperation clearly written in the rigidness of you stance and narrowing to slits of your eyes. “Blissfully unaware or want to know everything?”

“Unaware I’m just happy their back whole,” nodding Sarah takes her leave, heading for the home office.

Times flown, six months in fact since Karli’s death and Sam taking over the mantle of Captain America. Going above and beyond to change how the worlds become and see’s the shield. Using Delacroix as home base to keep himself grounded and around for his family. Surprisingly enough including you and Bucky the house feels a touch over crowded but wouldn’t want things any different.

“Care to explain what that means?” Limping with hands full towards the sink, Sam places his arm load down watching you move around the kitchen. Putting leftovers up, setting to work on the dishes, the familiarity you exude warms a place in Sam’s heart. Always pushing those thoughts from his mind, your his best friend and wouldn’t see him in any other way. Especially with your heart firmly filled with Bucky.

Giving your back to both men and only acknowledging their presence when Bucky comes over with a bowel. “Thanks,” leaves your lips with a nod.

“We’re sorry for leaving you behind Y/N, but Sam and I agreed things were to dangerous neither of us wanted you to get hurt,” trying to reason Bucky leans his back against the counter beside you. Tugging once again at his too long hair that gets slightly tangled in the plates of his fingers.

“You actually agreed on something?” Catching his actions, your head shakes grabbing for the towel to dry soapy hands and help with his dilemma. “Instead you both come back looking like train wreck’s all beaten, broken and bruised. With a busted arm,” finished with untangling his fingers to point at his arm. Whirling around to assess Sam who’s trying not to put weight on his right leg, “Banged up hip and God know what else internally. Neither one of you are spring chickens for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t know what your talking about Y/N? I’m not a day over twenty-five,” taking an aim to make you smile and ease the tension in your shoulders. Frown appearing when your countenance doesn’t change but deepens, “Talk to the resident Centurion who got his ass captured and tortured for over a week.”

Low growl leaves your lips pursed together in a grim line, “Do either of you think about the consequences of your actions? Of what’ll happen without either of you in this God forsaking world?” Tossing your hands up and turning back to dish washing, something to keep from chocking the life outta the two of them, or spilling your inner most thoughts. Afraid to loose either man the very thought making your heart clinch painfully in your chest, breathing picking up as tears gloss over your eyes. Plates clang loudly, forcefully slamming them into the drying rack making both men wince at your actions.

“Y/N,” coming up behind you large warm hands carefully rest on tense shoulders. Aware of your feelings for a certain cyborg the thought a little bitter to take but Sam resigns himself to the role of best friend. “We’re sorry really,” taking a breath and clearing his throat wanting to make amends and explain. “We thought, planned, things just…”

“Went to shit around us, it’s not like Sam or I wanted to get the crap beating out of us doll it just,” shrugging vibranium hand coming to rest on your shoulder beside Sam’s. “Got complicated.”

Taking a deep breath drawing in the scents of Sam’s citrus and cider wood cologne you couldn’t put your finger on naming, mixing with Bucky’s old world sandalwood base cologne of 4711. Eyes close for a moment blinking back the tears, and to gather thoughts, righting them in an order that makes sense. Trying to keep out the feelings currently jumbling up your brain. “I know,” body sags back against Sam’s strong chest while unconsciously leaning towards Bucky’s hand. “Neither of you will do that shit again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not if things go dark side like this time, we’re not putting you in harms way,” feeling you stiffen Sam steps back, Bucky’s hand drops back to his side when you whirl on the man behind you. Stance ridge and firm, Sam crosses his arms adding his own glare and not backing down. “My decision is final on the matter and no amount of arguing will change that.”

Understanding Sam’s position, however the thought of staying behind, waiting to find out if… no you push those thoughts aside. “Mine, that’s who makes the choice not either of you,” heat of annoyance flaring to life as you look between the two men. “Knowing what I signed up for, choose to stick around and help put this broken blue marble we call home back together. I won’t sit out the next mission we clear on that?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, barely audible hiss leaves Bucky’s lips at having hair yanked out by the roots. Though his voice is steady when asking, “Why did you stick around? Thought once Walker handed over the shield, the Flag smashers agenda crashed and burned you’d skip out on the next train back to normal.” Not that he minded of course, in fact Bucky rather enjoyed your company, reminded him of those first months out of cryo getting to know each other. Plus his questions distracted you from getting an answer that won’t satisfy.

“I have my reasons,” giving a half hearted shrug you turn back to finishing up the dishes not really wanting to explain. Not fully sure yourself why you’ve stuck around though deep down you know it has to do with both men. “Reasons neither of you need to know.”

Sharing a look with Bucky, “Don’t pull that shit with us sweetheart you demand answers now we ask the same in return.”

Sure they still argued like an old married couple but a begrudging understanding has built between the pair, coming to an almost friendship neither would fully admit to. Both wanting to protect the small family friend’s circle patched together like grandma’s old quilt. Tattered, frayed and a few wholes but well loved and always cared for. Eyes landing back on you to watch the forward slump of your shoulders rounded inward along with your chin dropped to your chest.

“I have the two of you house broken,” idea forming to steer the conversation away. “Don’t need that headache on repeat and I wouldn’t leave the two of you bone heads alone to kill each other or drive poor Sarah crazy,” quicker than either can react you’ve scooped up hand fulls of soap bubbles to smash into both their faces. Deflecting the conversation away from having to answer and lightening the mood. Or so you hoped with the playfully murderous looks both men shoot you. Skirting Sam’s grabby hands heading to put the kitchen table between yourself, Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Now boys that’s just all in good fun and your both hurt so I suggest you think about your actions before retaliating.”

Wiping the remains of soapy bubbles from his face, thick fingers making wet tracks over denim to dry hands. Sam edges a little closer intent on trying to snag your arm. That ghosts through his fingers, “For now but remember paybacks a bitch sweetheart.” Bright smile tugs his full lips, head shaking though he knows there’s so much more your hiding from both he and Bucky. One day he’ll crack that secret you hold so dear, for now Sam lets you cling tightly.

Watching him go you turn towards Bucky who’s smirk sets you back a moment. “I don’t think I like that look Barnes,” arms crossed mustering a half glare. “Sam’s right you really can see the smoke rising from your head.”

“Hahaha that jokes getting old,” light hearted quip falling from his lips, eyes raking your form as you near the sink. Catching you looking between finishing the dishes and making sure Bucky’s not going to retaliate. “I come in peace promise besides I’m too old for revenge I’ll leave it to you young whipper snappers,” throwing his voice to sound like an old man.

Laughter rings full and deep from your parted lips, soapy hands gripping the sink to keep from toppling over in mirth. His own chuckle exists on a grin, cerulean eyes taking in how carefree you look. Tension and worry melted away with his well played grandpa joke. Making Bucky wish he got to see you like this more often but then he remembered why he never searched. Why he left you alone and only within the last ten or so months managed to reconnect the missing dots in his life. Sure there’s still blood on his hands he tries to scrub clean with each mission, to make those amends and not just avenge. But truly help people in ways that didn’t require lead or blood.

Still wondering, so he gives voice to those thoughts, “Why didn’t you go back to your life doll?” Feeling he’s perpetuated a grave error in asking the question but a part of him wants. No needed the answer to know why you’d give up a happy life for one of danger and uncertainty with him and Sam.

Sobering, his question hitting you like a ton of cement bricks keeping you from turning to face him. Wincing when another hiss echos around inside your head from your right side. “Tell you what Buck you let me cut that hair and beard of yours I’ll answer your questions.”

“I get you don’t… wait… what?” Not sure he’d heard you right. Pain making a return to fog his brain for the moment as throbbing radiates across his broken clavicle to the dislocated shoulder, dancing along the fractured radius and painfully tingling his fingers. Soft curse exists his lips reminding himself to take Sam’s suggestions next time though he wouldn’t let the other man know. “Don’t happen to have any pain meds do ya doll?”

Eyes narrow, “Which parts did they break?” Holding up a hand to stop him from answering while you head towards your room. Grabbing up the small med kit Sharon gave you months back for times like these. Pausing to scoop up the hair scissors and trimer, along with a shaver and cream, both of which belonging to Sam. “Now you were saying?”

Placing everything on the table, unzipping the medium size unassuming black bag pulling out a small bottle to pop the top and wiggle out two pills. Handing those over to Bucky who just stares at them resting in his metal palm.

“Trying to kill me doll?” Teasing tone to the cadence of his words while popping them into his mouth and excepting the glass of water. Downing in one go and handing it back, “Never did like pills reminds me of Steve.”

Resting a gentle hand on his bad shoulder, “If I tried to kill ya Buck you’d see it coming,” snickering at the wide eyed look he gives you. Sobering with understanding filled eyes that stay locked with his, “I’m sorry it”s not my intentions to bring up the past.” Moving to put the glass down, you stay at the sink looking out over the backyard, orange and reds dancing over the rippling surface of the bayou. Sinking sun creating a cornucopia of color heralding the on coming twilight and the end of another day.

“You didn’t Y/N,” coming to stand next to you watching the golden ball of life giving light slowly sink into the horizon. On the tip of his tongue to speak about Steve, the abandonment he felt acutely with the absence of his best friend. Slowly filled by your present, that of Sam’s and his family. “I guess ‘Till the end of the line’ meant just till he could get back to who he really missed.” Anguish heard loudly through soft spoken words not meant for your ears but once uttered there’s no going back.

Out of your peripheral vision you study Bucky for a moment heart breaking for the man who’s lost so much to then fully face him. His own gaze staying straight ahead staring unseen out the window with tan lace curtains framing the coming twilight. Over head light casting shadows in the hallows and angles of his features, bringing out the bruises highlighting the cuts, making your heart ache for this man in ways you’ve tried to push aside. Ways you didn’t want it to feel in case of rejection but couldn’t help the tightening in your chest nor the want to embrace and hold Bucky close.

“Come on,” without thinking your hand slips into his vibranium palm tugging till he follows and only dropping to scoop up trimmer, combs and scissors before heading out the back door.

For a moment Bucky stood there thankful to Shuri for the ability to feel warmth and the weight of your hand in his vibranium limb. The very thoughts your simple gesture conjures damns his heart making it beat triple time. When your head pops back around the door sweet smile crossing those kissable lips. Bucky has to remind himself you’re off limits friends nothing more and to breath. Your beauty stealing the air from his lungs, making it hard to focus on anything except your present.

Catching the out of focus look in his cerulean eyes mind swirling with questions as to what he’s thinking about. “You gonna stand there taking root or get your silly ass out here,” motioning with a jerk of your head over your shoulder smile still firmly in place. Making sure he’s actually moving before existing to place a stool about middle of the back porch. Patting the hardwood barstool then reaching up to tug on the pull string as light floods the area casting a bright glow.

Transfixed for a moment in the doorway with the peek of skin allowed to his eyes. Your heather grey band shirt riding up teasingly tormenting him. Cursing internally, tongue trapped between indenting teeth to keep the sounds at bay. Till the hard slap of your palm against wooden seat draws his attentions and he robotically takes the seat. Stiffening with the fluttering of a barber’s cape hating to have things around his neck. Only to settle once you have it in place and buttoned reminding him your not there to hurt or torture him. Fingers brushing lightly over the exposed skin of his neck, creating goosebumps to dance across his flesh.

“Not too tight?” Gently running nimble fingers through his hair, blunt nails scratching the scalp. Finding it hard to keep from rubbing into your hands and fighting the urge to purr with each pass. You work the larger knots out carefully, pulling a comb from the back pocket of your jeans to run through his hair. “You with me Buck?”

“Hmm?” Simple noise issues from the back of his throat lost in the tingling sensations your fingers bloom across his body. Wanting to chase the feeling bringing peace to his mind much like the soft cadence your voice takes on with the intimacy surrounding the two of you. Sweet chuckle music to his ears and snaps him back to now, noticing you’ve paused your hands waiting for a response, “Sorry no I’m good.”

“Enjoying yourself Barnes?” Teasingly quipped while adjusting the cape to cover his back. Making sure all his hair lays over the edges and carefully combing out the smaller knots your fingers missed. Secretly enjoying the soft chestnut strands as they curl around your fingers. Massaging his scalp hoping to relax his tense posture when a particularly stubborn knot has you accidentally giving a not so gentle tug. Garnering a low moan from the man in front of you. “Sorry Buck,” working the knot out with a little more care taking the sound as one of pain.

Throat clearing, thankful his crotch is currently covered to not give away the secret he’s concealing. Praying to all the heavens you’ve taken the moan as one of pain instead of pleasure that’s surfing through his veins with a simple hair pull. “Yes, and it’s fine,” words pushed passed lips held taunt to keep from letting any sound out. Searching his mind for a topic to settle on, willing his body to stop reacting to the warmth of yours.

Each brush of fingers sends heat flaring to life along his nerves. Knowing the pain killers don’t worked through his system that quickly. Yet, the throbbing ache once present has diluted to a low annoying thump with the heat of your hands on his cotton covered shoulder. Wanting to lean back into your body but holds himself ridge from doing something stupid like enjoying the moment. Therefore clears his throat, “You’ve got me at your mercy doll ready to answer my questions?”

“Should I worry what you’ll ask?” Moving from behind him to head back into the kitchen. Grabbing the empty spray bottle to fill with warm water and head back out.

Eyes close with the first spritz of water, chin dropping to chest as you work to wet his hair. “Why?”

“Why what?” Knowing what he’s asking, your distracted for a moment putting the spray bottle’s trigger through a belt loop incase its needed once your satisfied with the wetness of his hair. “I’ll need more specifics than just why. Why’s the sky blue? Why’s it so damn hot? So many why questions you gotta stop wasting your breath Buck.”

“Cheeky doll very cheeky you know damn well what I mean,” keeping his head still to prevent you from severing an ear.

Smirking, setting to work on trimming up the top back portion of his head, trying to keep from childishly making faces. “Sure don’t Sarge.”

Groan slipping passed before he’s able to trap and swallow the sound at the off handed use of his military rank. Wondering which deity had it out for his ass today. Cursing the fact he’s let you so close to breath in the flowery scent of your body. Gentle use of those skilled fingers through his hair not making things any better for the growing problem tenting his jeans. Returning to himself when you move to his left shortening the hair over his ear. “Why’d you stay with us? I thought,” remembering those painful words back in Madripoor. “I thought you had a happy life to go back to.”

“Ear hustling Barnes?” Switching sides and glancing down with a raised brow you know he doesn’t see.

Looking up to try and catch your eye your focus on cutting his hair makes the attempt impossible. So he settles on, “Don’t know what you mean doll. Just asking a question,” trying to hold the shiver at bay when your fingers brush over the shell of his ear.

“Since your asking it means you didn’t hear everything Sam and I talked about,” thankful that’s the case or things would get a whole lot complicated. “I lied.”

Head whipping to the side so quickly you fear he’s damaged his neck with the wince taking over his handsome features. “Lied why?”

“Reasons,” ‘Ones I won’t tell you James,’ speaking the last words in your mind, careful probing fingers check for anything popped out. Garnering a hiss of pain when you’ve found the break in his clavicle. “What did you break besides the hamster running your wheel brain?”

Bitting off the curse as pain flared over his right side. Gritting out, “Clavicle, dislocated shoulder, fractured radius, you can see the cuts and bruises so take it a little easy on this old man.”

“How… Why did you get captured?” Worry fights fear both dance with anger marching through your veins as a Thanksgiving Day parade band would down the streets of New York City. The very thought of both your men hurt and so far away from home torn a hole in your heart. Thoughts you try to push away and focus on the job of cutting Bucky’s hair.

Finishing up what you could on the back of his head, Bucky feels you come around to the front. Knees spread to accommodate your body, closing his eyes to keep from staring at your breasts. Licking suddenly dry lips with having you extra close, he tries to gather an answer to your question. “We needed an in so I made a decision.”

“One I’m sure Sam disagreed on,” carding your fingers through the top, snipping pieces checking length. Jealous over how soft his hair feels between your digits. Woodsy pine scent reaching your nose that twitches in pleasure at the fragrance matching what you always thought he’d smell like.

“Yeah well we ran out of time doll. Couldn’t let what remains of LAF get away,” eyes quickly open only to slam shut again with having you still too near for his own good.

Every brush of your fingers, thighs brushing against his with every move, your flowery scent wrapping around his heart to squeeze tight. Breath punched from his lungs when your knee makes slight contact with his erection. Shooting pleasurable fireworks off behind his closed lids. Wishing for your hands on his body, wondering what they’d feel like over bare skin. If you’d shy away from the scars littering his flesh or… he wouldn’t, didn’t need to think about the alternative.

Unsure why he gasped you move from between his legs and look upon his face confused as to his ridge posture eyes held tightly closed. Insecurities rushing through your mind, setting up shop to remind you no man let alone someone as handsome as Bucky would ever want to look at you. Shoving back those thoughts to ask, “You okay Bucky?”

“Fucking fabulous doll,” bitting out the words while trying to reign in the need to grab hold of your hips, bringing you back against him. Wanting to find out if you’d fit as good or better than what he’s imagined during those dream filled nights he doesn’t talk about with anyone. “Finished?” Praying you’ll say yes, the temptation becoming almost unbearable.

Unconvinced by his words but pushes that aside and stepping farther back to round him, grabbing up the trimmer on the way with a numbered comb. “Almost but then I still have your beard to do.”

“Fuck,” low gravely voice intones the single word hoping you’ve not heard and cursing the heaven for this test of his will and desires. In another life Bucky wouldn’t have hesitated to ask you out, wine and dine with dancing till midnight. Taking you home with a simple kiss of promise with more to come. But he’s different now and you don’t deserve to have a broken man on your hands.

Swallowing harshly to cover your growing need to escape and bury yourself in another program or book to distract from those awful thoughts running around in your mind. Replaying all the brush offs and look aways as rejection shattering your heart. Pushing you to finish his new hair cut that much quicker. “Done, now how short you want your beard?”

“Gone,” knowing exactly what he’s saying and damning himself to the torture of a different kind.

Coming back in front of him, you slip between his parted knees so easily a thought you try to push away while switching the trimmer combs and flicking the on button. Carefully cupping his left cheek while shortening the right for a closer shave once your done. “Surely you didn’t just let them capture you.” Returning to a safer subject other than how good his bearded jaw felt in your warm palm. Wondering how it’d feel in other places.

“Offered myself up for a little bloody torture and a few broken bones. I’m here to tell the tale instead of those guys Y/N. They're off the streets and we have the information needed to finish taking down LAF.” Teeth gritting to keep from rubbing his jaw into your palm, from turning to kiss the center and devour you with his mouth.

Pausing a moment, “But you could’ve gotten killed James.” Sorrow coloring the cadence of your tone, eyes filled with fear at what could’ve happened. “You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped.”

Heart stopping, never had you spoken his first name, always Bucky or Buck, Barnes when your angry but never James. Opening his darken cerulean orbs breath trapped somewhere between lungs and mouth at the sorrow written deep in those eyes he never could not stare into. Heart hammering back to life with the subtle brushing of your fingers over his cheek, “Would it have matter?”

Confusion tips your head to the side, “What you dying or me helping?”

“Dying,” single word dropped like a bomb destroying everything in the path.

“James,” softly spoken with so much emotion held within the countenance of your features. Watching the ghosts float through those beautiful cerulean eyes, memories of a time he couldn’t control, of deeds done to people who didn’t deserve the pain and death he dealt out as the Fist of Hydra. Tears gloss over your eyes once again trying to blink them away to keep them from clogging your emotions filled throat. “It matter’s Barnes, matters to a lot of people you’re just too stubborn to realize that.” Shaking your head to clear the fog and get back to work.

Speechless Bucky just sits there letting you finish up trimmer the hair away as if trying to erase the past months, the torture he let happen with no regard to his personal well being. During this time your words chase around his mind, combined with Sam’s out right demand of him to never put himself in harms way like that again. Adding more questions added than any true answers. Delicate fingers brush over trimmed facial hair bringing him back to the present right as you move to take the barber’s cape from around his neck. Missing the warmth of your touch, heat radiating from your body, your scent filling his nose and making him drunk on you.

Folding the cape to drape over your arm, “I’ll shave you as well come back inside.” Voice slightly rough with unshed tears avoiding looking directly at Bucky and missing the longing written in the ocean pools. Mistaking his lack of response for rejection of your words and feelings. You enter the house placing the small hand load down and moving a chair over towards the sink. Returning to grab up the shaving cream and razor, pulling a fresh wash cloth from the draw by the sink too wet it hot.

“You don’t have to,” entering and closing the back door with the heel of his boot. Bucky leans against the counter watching you with a closed expression. Pain dull but still worming its way through his veins along with so many thoughts.

Glancing his way, “I know,” motioning with a wave of your hand, “but if I don’t that beard’ll come back in short order and we’ll have to do this all over again.” Going for playful to ease the tension built from the lingering words of out on the porch, “Bring your ass over here Buck.”

Your change in mood has a confused frown pulling his mouth down but complies with the order. Taking up the seat with spread legs and turned up face watching you wring out the wash cloth. Using your elbow and tipping his head back to gently place the hot cloth around what’s left of his beard to soften the hair and wake up the pores. Catching the small muffled groan, “To hot?”

“No, perfect,” faintly hearing the two simple words you grab up the shaving cream to put a generous amount in your palm before pulling the quickly cooling cloth from his face. Tossing it towards the sink and applying a layer of cream to his skin. Left overs rinsed from your hands quickly before drying and grasping the razor with steady hands. “Just a little off the top if you please,” boyish smirk slips over his lips tipping cream covered cheeks up while trying to be funny.

Eyes rolling, “To late for that one top’s already taken care of.” Using the pad of your thumb to push the skin of his cheek taunt. Carefully dragging the razor over his flesh intending to keep your gaze directed towards working the blade over his check. However, you’re unable to do so while cleaning the razor as your eyes dart up catching the fact Bucky’s gaze firmly rests on your face. Heat blooming across your body, eyes drop back to his cheek intent on getting finished quickly to avoid any farther embarrassment.

Meanwhile Bucky maps every feature of your face, the slant of your nose, set of your eyes, cupids bow of your top lip. Visions of drawing the plump flesh in for a bite and pull before letting go with a wet pop, filter through his mind. Finding himself in a rather precarious predicament, thighs spread to accommodate your body, his palms itch to grasp and tug you into his lap. Bitting back a moan each touch brings, the gentleness tearing a new hole in armored covered heart. Wanting to keep you out but finding it harder to do every time you show the kindness his life lacked for decades.

Minds eye drawing the curves of your cheeks, lips twitching to caress, fingers tapping trapped in plaster and cloth against his body. Wanting to brush his knuckles over your throat to gently grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips against his for a slow sweet drink of the tempting cavern of your warm mouth. Only snapping back to reality with the soft brush of your fingers along his jawline.

Searching for any hairs left behind, soothingly palming his cheeks with cool hands desperate to taste his skin. Drag your lips over the same spots the razor just graced. Teasing the tip of your tongue along the hard edge of his jaw to place a kiss just below his ear. Tempted to even suck a mark for everyone to see. You swallow harshly removing your hands from his cheeks to rinse and warm up the cloth to clean off any residual shaving cream from his face.

“Finished,” clearing your emotions clogged throat, stepping towards the sink, your profile the only side Bucky sees as you work to clean up the mess.

Feeling rather than hearing him stand heat radiating of his body just a few inches shy of brushing against yours. “Thank you doll,” impulsively leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. Lingering longer than he should but unable too stop himself from pressing soft slight chapped lips to the corner of your mouth. “Next time I need shavin’ I know who to come too,” breathing the words before pulling away, taking his leaving quickly to keep from doing something even stupider. Like wrap you up into his arms and actually kissing those pillow soft lips. Backdoor swinging closed a little harder than he meant in his bid to get away from your warmth and tempting body.

Frozen in place, skin tingling from just that slight press while your heart beats almost out of your chest. Pounding against your rib cage so hard fear it’ll crack a rib any second now. White knuckles grip the sinks edge, heat flaring across your body to pool low and throb through your lady parts. Thighs unconsciously rub together needing friction to alleviate the ache growing between your legs.

“Did you cut him or take a hunk of hair out and now he looks like Frankenstein monster?” Teasing tone to his quip, Sam enters the kitchen still staring at the back door. Having watched the exchange from the darkened hallway. Reverting his eyes to your back, taking in the ridge posture of your spine with a slight very subtle shake. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Swiftly coming up behind you, hands gripping your shoulders to turn you around. “Did Bucky say or do something wrong?” Worry creasing his brow the want to hold you close growing with each second your not in his arms.

Looking up into the kind russet eyes flashing with concern and worry, “No,” head shaking, “no he didn’t Sam just…” unable to stop yourself from burying your body against Sam’s firm chest. Trying to figure out how to explain what’s running around in your head. The indecision, thoughts you know shouldn’t roll through your mind doing just that as your arms wind around his trim waist.

“Just what sweetheart?” Wanting to help smooth things over between his two best friends even if it meant swallowing his own feelings.

Keeping your eyes closed, breathing in his cedar wood and citrus scent, burying your nose against his collarbone. Always able to calm the raging storm of emotions boiling through your veins. Confusion setting in with those same tingles you feel when Bucky touches you now dances across your body at the warmth of Sam’s arms cradling you close. Reminding you of earlier when his chest pressed to your back strong hands gently placed on your shoulders. The shiver you suppressed at the touch of both men. At the memory your eyes pop open and you quickly push away from Sam as if he’s burnt you. Needing to escape and figure out what’s going on.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry,” feet quickly taking you from the kitchen into the safe arms of your bedroom.

Missing the confused look marring Sam’s face that turns into hurt at the way you’ve shoved him aside. Body sagging against the counter, hand rubbing at the back of his neck searching for what’s changed in such a short period of time.

“Men, blind and just plain foolish,” landing a hard hit to his shoulder, which he rubs to alleviate the pain. Sarah comes up beside her older brother with a raised brow. “Still don’t get it? Searching for exactly why she reacted so strongly? Think Samuel use that big brain you have and actually put it to good use.”

Frown creasing between his eyes and drawing his lips down, “Left behind sucks Sarah that’s all it amounts to. But we… I couldn’t have her along, wouldn’t risk her life like that.”

“Has nothing to do with leaving her home Sam,” giving him a meaningful look that still bewilders him. “Why didn’t you want her along but you took Bucky with you?”

“He’s a super soldier Sar he can take the hits not that I want him hurt either. Shit when he let himself get captured,” moving towards the abandoned chair to plop down heavily. “He scared the living shit outta me, I thought…” hard to swallow the memories of watching those men pulling an unconscious Bucky into a van. Driving off before he could plant a tracker and barely able to get up with bruised ribs making breathing painful. Sam runs a hand over the short hair unsure when things got so complicated between the three of them.

Pulling up a chair in front of Sam, “You’d lost him?” Seeing the nod Sarah’s features softened knowing from the tell’s she picked up watching the three of them for so long. “You love them?”

“What?” Head whipping up so quickly making Sam wince. “Of course I do but not like that I mean their family, you know I’ll do anything to protect my family.”

Hand resting on his shoulder, “You keep telling yourself that big bro maybe one day you’ll actually believe it and able to push those feelings away good enough to keep them at arms length.” Looking up at her, “Just a word of advice,” seeing him nod, “don’t push those emotions away, you deserve that love they both would readily give you.”

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

Softly closing the door behind you heading towards the ensuite bathroom for a nice cold shower, preforming your nightly routine, and shutting off every light except the one beside your bed. Falling into the soft mattress with your current book keeping you company for the rest of the night. Eyes start to droop, words blur and you read the same sentence half a dozen times. Book falling against your chest as a yawn takes over your features.

Body stretching out against cool sheets jumping when a soft knock echos around your room, eyes darting towards the clock to see its just a little passed mid night. Slowly getting out of bed, pulling the extra long dark blue with little pink flowers dotting the sleep shirt down to cover your ass and thighs. Thinking its Sarah checking on you, eyes shocked wide with the small crack you open the door to spy Bucky standing there fidgeting.

“Everything all right Buck?” Opening the door wider to lean against the casing arms crossed just under your breasts.

Swallowing, glancing from your eyes to lips repeatedly. Trying to form the words he wants to speak when the decision makes itself clear and Bucky surges forward. Gently wrapping vibranium fingers around the back of your neck and bragging you against his strong chest. Slanting his lips against yours, nipping your bottom lip to make you gasp and slipping his eager tongue passed into the warm depths of your mouth. Leading the kiss and praying he’s not wrong.

Rewarded by your arms winding around his neck careful of his injures. Fingers tugging at the now shorten strands thanks to your expect hands. Garnering a low moan from the depths of his chest, one that rambles with a pleased hum as you return the kiss. Tangling your tongues together making nothing soft nor gentle about this melding of mouths. Only breaking apart for both of you to gasp for air.

“No, nothing’s all right doll. I can’t stop thinking about you,” resting your foreheads together sharing common air. Fingers at the base of your skull massaging the tension with surprisingly easy pressure. “I’d done fighting, done pushing you away, I need you Y/N.”

“James?” Lips tingling from a kiss you’ve only dreamt about as confusion marring your tone, eyes blinking a few times to make sure you’ve pushed the sleepy haze from your mind.

Soft groan issues at hearing you whisper just first name, hand slipping down to wrap around your waist and pull your taut to his body. “If…” trying to push the next words past his lips, “if you don’t want…”

“Us, we need to know now sweetheart. We won’t push you into anything you don’t want,” Sam’s voice full of desire and longing cuts across Bucky’s for a moment.

Making you look up from eyes locked with Bucky to stare at Sam trying to process his words, the look in those beautiful russet eyes you can’t pull yours away from. Till Bucky presses a kiss to just below your ear, “We know it’s a lot to take in doll and you can say no…”

“I,” gulping like a fish out of water, heat thumping through your veins at the unspoken promise both sets of eyes show. “I don’t know what to say.”

Stepping forward to push you back a step so Sam can fully enter your bedroom and close the door. He comes behind you sandwiching your body between two walls of muscle and masculine warmth. Pressing a kiss to the opposite cheek, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “There’s no going back sweetheart you’re ours if you say yes. But if the answer is no I’m not going to lie things will change. Awkward as hell yes especially at first but I,” Bucky clears his throat to which Sam nods, “we would work through that with you. Loosing your friendship can’t happen no matter what.”

Removing yourself from between their warm bodies to collapse at the end of the bed, head in your hands. Mind so confused, a jumbled mix of desire and lust touched with a heavy dose of love that scares the living shit outta you. Feeling the bed dip on either side, removing your hands to glance at both men. Seeing the reassurance in those cerulean and russet orbs you swallow to wet your parched throat. Gaining strength to finally speak, “I don’t want to loose either of you,” looking between both men. Taking each hand within your own, “But this last mission taught me I don’t want to deny my feelings any longer.”

“What feelings doll?” Giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

Looking into Bucky’s cerulean eyes, “I’m in love with both of you.” Switching to Sam’s russet orbs seeing the blatant want shining only boosts your confidence to lean over. Cupping his jaw and bringing your lips against his. Different from the kiss you shared with Bucky. Who’s bottom lip begs for a nibbling, Sam’s fuller lips press against your own in tender caresses.

Gentler too, a soft slant of his mouth against yours, pressing twice at different angles before tracing over your bottom lip. Gaining entrance on a sigh of need to check in with your tongue before tangling together. Heated palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over the apple twice while he artfully pillages your mouth. Drawing out a low moan squeak following when a set of lips slide over the side of your neck nibbling a short path to suck a mark behind your ear. Making you weak and boneless against Sam, who releases your cheek and hand to grip your hips, having you straddle his thighs.

Kiss breaking for air, “I’m to heavy Sam, your hip.”

“You’re prefect baby girl no arguing understand?” Cupping your ass in both hands to roll your hips against the hard bulge of his erection. Teeth gritting at how good you feel in his arms, the damp heat of your core only serving to make him grow harder with each brush against your cloth covered pussy. Sam reclaims your mouth, this kiss much different. Desperate and demanding taking no prisoners this time as he immediately slips his tongue back into your mouth. Pulling a groan from deep within your chest, arms going around his neck to help move your body against his. The delicious friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating out over your body, clit throbbing with a need you’ve never felt before.

Hissing at the cool sensations of Bucky’s vibranium fingers drawing circles across your back. Pushing your sleep shirt off your body arms raising, breaking the kiss to accomplish the task. Looking over your shoulder at the bare chested Barnes, mouth salivating at the sight eager to touch and kiss every inch. Brought back to Sam with the heat of his mouth connecting to your pulse, adding his own mark to your body while his callused fingers dances across your back.

Cursing his rotten luck for not having use of one hand, Bucky steps forward lowering to his knees carefully. Brushing his lips along your spine while cool alloyed fingers sweep around your body between you and Sam to trace a line between your breasts. Head dropping back to Bucky’s shoulder and baring your breasts to Sam’s hungry glaze and Bucky’s questing fingers.

“So beautiful,” words whispered reverently from Sam’s lips against the damp column of your throat. Mouth tasting each inch of your skin he can reach. Till moist heat circles your nipple, wet tip of his tongue coming out to flick the tightly budded peak before sucking harshly. In contrast to the cool patterns Bucky draws, taking the time to tug before pinching just hard enough that your back arches into Sam’s mouth.

Pushing into Bucky at your back a whimper parting your gasping lips. Needing more of both men surrounding you, slick coating your trembling thighs as you clinch around nothing. Dragging a whine of desperation from you soul,“Please,” single word escaping your mouth.

“What doll? What do you want?” Drawing his lips up to your ear, nipping the lobe bringing it between his teeth giving a sharp bite at the same time Sam flicks his tongue over your nipple.

Letting go with a wet pop, smiling at the whine exiting your heaving chest, “I think out girl needs more Buck. Any thoughts on how to please her?” Brow wiggling over your shoulder at Bucky who just smirks.

Fingers sliding down then under the band of your panties to find you soaked and pulsing. Cool metal meeting heated flesh makes you jolt in Sam’s arms. Grinding down into those wonderful fingers and against the thick ridge of Sam’s cock.

“Don’t stop please,” gasping head lolling back, your eyes close as sensations crash through your veins. Tight coil starting to form with just the brush of his fingers.

Maneuvering closer to slip two fingers into your clinching channel. Deep groan vibrating through his chest and into your back, “Fuck Sam she’s tight and so wet for us. I bet she tastes just as good as she feels.” Rocking your hips, fucking his fingers desperate for that high traveling up from the bottom of your spine. Tickling your tummy with jolts of pleasure only to have it diminish when Bucky pulls his fingers out.

Frustrated whine leaving your lips only to choke on air when Bucky offers one of the fingers perviously buried inside your cunt to Sam. Who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the single digit, groaning at the very taste of your essence. Circling the tip with his tongue, making sure to clear every drop off while keeping eye contact with Bucky. Mimicking with his mouth how he’d suck Bucky’s cock, garnering a growl from deep within his chest. Letting go with a smirk, “Even better Buck and I bet from the source it’s simply heaven.”

“Only way to find out,” answering grin firmly in place he raises from the floor. Helping you stand on shaky legs turning you to face him. Capturing your lips in an open mouth kiss, flicking his tongue against yours, teasing your bottom lip and drawing out another frustrated groan making him chuckle. “Don’t worry doll we promise you won’t go unsatisfied we’re going to take care of your every need.”

“Don’t tease her Buck it’s not fair,” glint of mischief sparking through those russet eyes that only Bucky catches since your still face him. Sam comes up behind to pressing his bare chest against your back, hands resting on your hips, tugging and letting the band of your panties snap back against your skin. “You can still say no.”

Wiggling back against Sam then pressing forward to feel the hard line of Bucky’s erection against your lower tummy. Knowing why he’s asking, seeing the same sentiment mirrored in Bucky’s eyes that warms your heart filling with love for both men. “Now who’s teasing Samuel,” reaching behind you to slide your palm over his ridged cock giving a squeeze at the same time you palm Bucky. “I’m sure my loves,” enjoying the answering growls from both men. Before another word leaves your lips Sam tugs down your panties letting them pool at your feet as Bucky moves you towards the bed.

Swiping the book from the mattress to lay on the nightstand, smile on his lips at finding the well loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Bringing you to sit then lay back against the cool sheets, trailing his vibranium fingers from your cheek down between your breasts. Circling each nipple, giving the right a light pinch that has your back arching and a gasp existing your paired lips. Distracted till Sam gently grips your left ankle, spreading you open to slide between your legs. Pressing kisses alone the inside of your leg towards your thigh. Soft bread tickling your skin making giggles erupt from your mouth.

“I think she likes that Sam,” the comment spoken against your ear. Placing a kiss to your cheek, “Have to remember to let my own beard grow back out.”

Whimpering softly at the thought one hand fisting the sheets as Sam draws his tongue over the crease between thigh and groin. Purposefully avoiding the spot you want him most, “Payback is a bitch boys,” words growled out right as Bucky envelopes your left nipple into the heat of his mouth.

“Teasing half the fun sweetheart have patience,” looking up from between your legs. Stiffen tongue drawing up from your entrance to clit, circling the little throbbing nub and making your back arch, gasping for air.

“Fuck,” single word breathed from deep within your body. Sweat starting to bead across your forehead. Head tossed back into the pillow free hand carding through Bucky’s chestnut hair tugging the strands harshly till he lets your breast go with a wet pop. You guide his mouth up to yours, demandingly taking the kiss over, slipping your tongue into his mouth this time. Swallowing your moans of delight with each thrust of his tongue. Matching the pace Sam sets against your dripping cunt.

Rutting into the mattress to find the prefect friction hoping to ease for a moment the throbbing of his cock. “Stop stealing all those pretty noises Barnes I wanna hear our girl,” reaching up to smack the other mans thigh hard enough to break the two of you apart.

“Sorry not sorry,” giving him a smirk while licking his lips from the heated kiss.

Filing away the fact Bucky knows what means only to have any thought fly from your mind as two thick fingers enter your quivering channel. Slowly thrusting, his mouth suctioned onto your clit, drawing little short patterns making your thighs shake around his head. Slacking off to lazily place kisses over those thighs but still pumping his fingers, crooking them into a come hither motion to brush over that special spongy spot.

Blooming stars behind your tightly closed eyes, “Watch him doll, see how much you loves devouring that pretty cunt.” Voice rough with arousal against your ear, Bucky’s metal fingers dancing over your chest only adding to your heighten state of desire.

At his command you eyes open to lock with Sam’s passion blown blacken eyes. Moaning at the picture he presents you with, panting breath as you keep drawing closer to your orgasm. Only to have Sam back off creating frustrating tension in your body. Gritting out, “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.”

Smirk showing in those beloved eyes as he doubles down on your clit. Lips puffy but forming a perfect O too suction and flick his tongue over the engorged nerve bundle. Fingers, third added to stretch you open and picking the pace up as your mouth drops wide in a scream Bucky devours with a deep kiss. To keep from waking the kids or Sarah, his own body on fire with a need to have you both.

Tingles quickly dancing through your veins, breath panting as you break from Bucky’s mouth, one hand gripping the sheets below the other still buried in his hair. Body on fire as you near that perfect orgasm Sam’s intent on giving you.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt as your eyes pop open at the knock on your door. Reminiscent of what your sluggish brain comes to understand as just a very vivid dream. One that makes your heart drop with the book that’d lay on your chest now face down on the carpeted floor. You stand checking the time of mid night before heading to the door and finding Sarah on the other side with ice cream in hand.

“Figured you might need some cheering up,” letting her in and taking the bowl of your favorite ice cream.

Vivid dream lingering though you don’t share feeling a TMI moment she doesn’t and most likely wouldn’t want to know about her big brother. You steer the topics away from the non existent love life to plans for tomorrow and the coming weekend.

[chaoswillfallrpg]

CECELIA ABBOTT is TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD and a HEALER in the ‘DANGEROUS’ DAI LLEWELLYN WARD: SERIOUS BITES at ST MUNGOS HOSPITAL. She looks remarkably like HALEY LU RICHARDSON and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:  

tw: death, blood

Benevolent yet self-preserving, Cecelia Abbott is the uncertain quiver in a wavering voice, the sweetness of peaches and drunk silence laced in a room filled with champagne problems. Born to PHILIP ABBOTT - the second born to Cecelia’s grandparents ARTHUR and EDITH -, Philip was a stern wizard who held blinding loyalty to family tradition, while MARIA WARRINGTON held a warm heart and an adoring smile. Though their marriage was initially contracted, the pair grew to love each other dearly and settled together in Cambridge. As an only child, Cecelia was cherished wholeheartedly. Spoiled under an adoring glow the Abbott’s exuberated the essence of privilege. Basking in lavish expenses and the praise that came with being members of The Sacred-Twenty Eight; she grew in an incandescent glow. Under the scrutinising gaze of her grandmother, Celia formed like fragmented light held trapped in the crystal glasses she admired; beautiful, magnetic, but confined. Comforted in the company of best friend ABIGAIL FERNSBY and cousin AUGUSTUS ABBOTT; the three were inseparable in their youth. Finding contentment when all there were were regulations; they dreamed by grand fireplaces, shared iced buns adorned in cherries and longed for a moment where they could simply be children and not just mere pieces in a Pure-Blooded game of chess. Protected under her parents guiding hand, Celia grew naive to the world around her. Encapsulated in an idealistic bubble, Celia danced in delicate daisy chains blind to the inequality that ravaged the community she held so dear. 

Words like ‘mudblood’ and ‘half-breed’ hung in the air leaving her baffled and confused; especially when they had been held in her father’s voice; only she swore she never saw his lips move. As time drew on, her ears were left ringing with thoughts that were not her own. Mind screaming like a whistling kettle, Celia was left overwhelmed and drowning in the pain of others. Pure-Blooded children namely NEPHTHYS NOTT scorned her insane after Celia suggested Nephthys had a squib for a sister after overhearing conversation amongst adults. Only, they were in another room entirely. Outcast from the esteemed likes of Nott and Wilkes, Cecelia was held in contempt for even in the wizarding world hearing voices was deemed strange. Left with tear stained cheeks from the rejection of peers she so desperately longed to please, Celia weeped to her mother for the burden and sorrow she harbored was too heavy for any to bear. Soothing her daughter, Maria explained that for a descendant of her blood line it wasn’t unusual. Inheriting the rare gift of Legilimency, an art that only a mere few harbored from birth, her mother warned that for a witch as compassionate as Celia, she could grow to feel suffocated in the pain and hatred other’s beared, but to not let darkness drown out her light. While her youth was glowing golds and sunkissed, as she grew Celia would claim she only remembered happiness in tales of a hundred fleeting moments. In the gentle memory of her mother’s smile, the laughter echoing from her father’s chest and the joy that lifted them all like starlight. 

Memories faded, she holds hope in lost dancing figures from crumbled photographs like whispered thoughts that fill her dreams. Pushing aside horrors as if they were simply nightmares and not her painful reality. The death of Maria Abbott struck the Abbott house like a meteorite, casting everything in darkness. Blurred in her memory with the ominous storm that rattled their grandmother’s home as if the sky itself was weeping, a romantic vacation between her parents ended in her father’s hunched figure, drenched in rain with his wife limp in his arms. Celia could feel the agony in every fibre of her body, swearing it felt like her heart was going to concave. Nothing was ever the same after that fateful day. Without her mother, her father grew cold and bitter for the loss of the only woman he’d ever loved. Controlling and determined not to lose the last piece of his wife he had left, he clung to Cecelia tightly; vowing to keep her safe no matter the cost. From then, her life became regimented. Barely able to take a shuddered breath without her father knowing, Celia bore his overprotective nature as misplaced love. Her gift enabled her to see into the mind of a broken man, with everything the pair had suffered, Cecelia played her part as to not give her father more woes than he was able to bear. While her father was ragged with worry at the idea of letting her out of his sight, under the watchful eye of family friend POMONA SPROUT, Celia was boarding the Hogwarts Express thrilled at the notion of spreading her wings outside of her fathers bounds.

Finding herself in an empty carriage, one by one fellow first years joined her sharing loud opinions of houses they’d soon join. MARIANNE MACMILLAN, BOOKER BAGNOLD, COINNEACH MCKINNON, GIDEON and FABIAN PREWETT, were all vibrant in their own ways; though they’d all be sorted into different houses they became Celia’s long standing group of confidants alongside LAURENCE GREEN. Despite his last name, with his paranoid thoughts about his false identity; Celia learned long before she was told that he was in fact an Abbott. While she wanted to greet her cousin warmly and question why they’d never met, doing so would reveal her secret talent; something that Celia wanted to harbour to herself in an effort to find normalcy. Sorted into Hufflepuff, Celia flourished with her fellow badgers as she held many of the traits commonly shared amongst the yellow house. Patient, hard-working and loyal, Celia dreamed in soft yellow’s and shined like sunbeams in dainty floral dresses, hand in hand with fellow Hufflepuff, cousin and close confidant ALYS WARRINGTON. As time passed, Celia drew closer to Booker who too dreamed of a better world. While he researched werewolves and vampires under the cover of night, Celia spent her days in the greenhouses at Hogwarts brewing healing potions; desperate to make a difference in the world just like her mother had once dreamed. Despite their differences, Celia held a romantic heart. Adamant that they were forged together in the stars, there was no part of her that doubted Booker was her Romeo and she, his Juliet.

The lingering feeling she held closely to her chest since that first day on the train showed no sign of dimming and it wasn’t long after Hogwarts that the pair started dating; affection slowly blossoming into love. Knowing that despite the odds, they’d find a way because love always prevailed. After years of stolen glances, to a hopeful girl it felt as if they were finally and simply meant to be. Though nothing was ever that easy. Booker spoke of liberation, of a world where creatures could be equal and free just as they were; but to her it was more complex. Torn in the lingering trauma of her mother’s death at the hands of a vampire, while Celia wanted to live in light and not let past turmoil make her fearful of the night; with her relatives' views weighing her under, she was left juggling family obligation, her relationship and own beliefs. Efforts to persuade her father to see reason against his purist ways fell on deaf ears. Asking if his heart darkened by hate was what her mother would have hoped for them, only left him bitterly agitated and hopeless. When Booker approached her with his petition, Celia knew with a sunken heart she couldn’t bring a quill to parchment with her name. Arguments arose, while Celia needed time to consider her high position within the Abbott name as the only child not smeared in the scandal of Albert Abbott, Booker needed action and pleaded with her to choose her place instead of lingering in the grey. Left with sour words, little did she know she’d never hold him dear again after his murder at Halloween 1982.

Hands clutching honeycomb hair to drown out others woes, Celia is left trying to find a path through cloaked darkness, desperately searching for peace in a world that doesn’t have Booker Bagnold in it. Drifting like a mere ghost of herself, while Laurence and Marianne offer comfort, kind words and warm affection to ease her, it did little in the face of grief over last words and broken promises. While ELEZAR SMITH offered more welcomed distractions, lingering lips gave peace to her war raged heartbreak despite the pain she knew it would cause FLORENCE JONES, Celia was too numb to comprehend the consequences. Using her gift for good despite herself, Celia is trying her best to make Booker and her mother proud with her actions as a Healer. Bringing light to those with her compassion and empathy, she offers a gentle hand and freshly conjured daisies with a soft swirl of her wand; hoping to take their heart ache for her own so they didn’t have to bear loss like she had. The first healer on the scene of BENJY FENWICK’S attack, Celia has become the wizard’s primary caregiver. Caring for him in bittersweet sorrow, with lacerations to the neck, Celia confirmed the incident as a vampire attack to Auror ALASTOR MOODY. While she longed to believe that creatures weren’t the monsters they were deemed as in fairytales like Booker claimed, with every passing attack Celia can’t help heed her father’s words of caution. As attacks continue to ravage the community and with Booker’s murderer SILAS CRUMP slipping through the grasp of the ministry, she fears her father was right all along. If even Benjy and Booker weren’t safe from their grasp, then who was?

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality  → Up To Player

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Hufflepuff)

Family → Philip Abbott (father), Maria Abbott (mother), Arthur Abbott (grandfather), Edith Abbott (grandmother), Albert Abbott (uncle), Augustus Abbott (cousin), Laurence Abbott (cousin/close friend), Gilfred Abbott (cousin), Alys Warrington (cousin/close friend), Trystan Warrington (cousin)

Connections  → Marianne MacMillan (best friend/room mate), Gideon Prewett (close friend), Fabian Prewett (close friend), Booker Bagnold (deceased best friend/ex-boyfriend/potential love interest), Abigail Fernsby (childhood best friend), Eve Diggory (close friend/colleague), Elezar Smith (friend/romantic liaison), Florence Jones (friend), Keira Grey (colleague), Olivia Pomfrey (colleague), Poppy Pomfrey (colleague), Nephthys Nott (adversary), Persephone Wilkes (adversary), Benjy Fenwick (patient) 

Future Information → N/A  

CECELIA ABBOTT IS A LEVEL 5 WITCH.

[forsakentoast]

Wildflower

Chapter 3- Basically plot part 2

As the sun rose in the sky, the heroes stirred from their slumber and began to filter out of their rooms, all with the exception of three. Laughter and a groan were heard from the room that housed the other three companions.

Wind was about to volunteer to see what was going on with the other three when Warriors came out of the room struggling to contain a fit of laughter.

“Baby faced boy!” before all other words were lost to laughter.

As the others rushed to the room, they were met with a concerned Hyrule speaking to a mass under the blankets.

“Wild, it’s not bad! Just come on out.”

A muffled no was heard.

“What’s going on?”

“Warriors hasn’t stopped laughing.”

Off in the distance, the cackling continued as broken words of apology spilled from the young man.

“Shut up,” came the muffled reply.

“It’s just… Wild has regressed and-”

The small mass moved, “Don’t you dare say it.”

“His voice cracked,” Hyrule whispered to the group.

A groan just resounded with the blankets.

“Wild, it’s okay! Just come on out.”

With a sigh of resignation, Wild removed the blankets and stared at the other six. Messy blond hair accompanied a disgruntled face. 

“Pfft… Baby face! I’m sorry. I need to go.” Legend left to go join Warriors outside.

Wild just deepened his glare. Baby blue eyes soon landed on the other five. Smiles of varying degrees were observed. “Just out with it, will you.”

“You are so adorable!”

“Honestly, it isn’t that bad. You still are you, cub… Just younger.”

“I look stupid!” Eyes became wide. Snorts of laughter left some and Wild just hid. “My voice sounds so stupid!”

Despite Time being amused, he gingerly placed his hand on the mass under the blankets. “Your voice cracked. We all went through that.”

“Yeah, Wild. I sometimes go through that myself. But you look pretty neat though! And don’t mind the baby face. I also suffer from the syndrome as well.” 

“Okay, okay. Can you please leave? I’ll get ready so we can see Impa.”

As everyone left, Twilight stayed behind, “If you need help, just call out, okay?”

Scoffing, Wild became offended, “As if. Now get out of my room.”

“Bossy, bossy. We’ll be waiting for you.”

----

Legend and Warriors waited for the others as they regrouped nearby.

“I shouldn’t have laughed. But the way his voice cracked made me lose it. Normally I don’t let things get to me, but it was just different. I guess it was the baby face that did me in.”

“He’s not ready to go?” Legend looked around.

Before anything else could be said, the sound of a creaking door grabbed the attention as eight heads swiveled around to see a meek-looking face peering from the side.

“Twi? I need help.”

-----

Exiting out of the inn, Legend commented, “Oi, didn’t your clothes shrink with you or something?”

The boy harbored his usual garb, minus the boots. His champion tunic hung off of one shoulder and his pants were rolled up and a piece of torn fabric looped around the belt loops to keep the pants somewhat in place.

Looking Legend up and down with a glare, Wild responded, “Wouldn’t you and your pasty knees like to know.”

Laughter erupted from almost everyone.

Flabbergasted, Legend became offended. “You leave my knees out of this, brat!”

He only earned a stick of the tongue. Legend had to be held back by Sky before he smacked the young boy upside the head.

Upon arriving at the grand home, two sheikah guards stood at attention and blocked the entrance to the staircase with their weapons. Shoving the others aside, Wild came up to the two men.

“Hey guys! I’m here to speak with Impa. It’s for important business. And these guys are with me.”

Upon looking at the young boy, both men saw the sheikah slate hanging by a piece of fabric- at the demand of Wild to Twilight.

“Ah, Master Link! Apologies. We have been notified by Impa to be expecting your visit. We did not recognize you at all.”

“As stated, please step on inside. Impa awaits your visit.”

“Thanks Cado, Dorian! Come on guys!” Wild began making his way up the stairs as he held on to his loose pants and looked behind him as the others all filed along and followed after the smaller boy. Upon reaching the grand doors, Wild adjusted his pants once more and pushed the doors open, allowing himself and his companions to enter along. 

“Ah, young champion, I have been awaiting your arrival,” an old voice called out. “So there was truth to what Purah had said. You do not look a day over ten.”

“I assume Purah has told you everything there is to know?”

“Indeed I have been made aware of the unfortunate incident that has befallen you. It has been such a long time since these old eyes seen such a young lad.” Impa hadn’t missed the bashful smile that graced Wild’s features. “But I must ask how you have been feeling so far, young hero?”

As Wild began to delve into how he had been feeling, soft footsteps took the attention of the others in the room as a young sheikah woman made herself known.

“Grandmother? Has Master Link arrived yet?”

She stopped at the footsteps and her bashful nature took over as she noted the others who were in the room. 

“Ah! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t r-realize our guests were here al-ready!”

“Paya!” 

A gasp left the woman as she was soon overtaken by a hug from a young boy. Looking to her grandmother, she received a nod from the elderly woman and realization dawned that the young boy hugging her was the champion she deeply admired and low-key crushed on.

“M-Master Link! S-so good to s-see you!” She couldn’t help but hug back awkwardly. 

“Paya, why don’t you accompany the young champion and get him at least a set of clothes that will properly fit him. Link, here. This should be enough to buy you something.”

“Such kindness you harbor for me, oh great village chief. Thank you.” Taking the rupees, Wild immediately ran to Paya, grabbing her hand and leading her outside with such energy that the poor young woman did everything to not trip over her own two feet.

The smile soon faded from Impa as she directed her gaze back to the others in the room. “Purah tells me that there were instances that he recalls memories of long ago. What has he said or what has he shared?”

Both Warriors and Hyrule looked at one another. 

“Well, when we arrived at the dead of night at the inn, Wild, I mean, Link, was just exhausted. Swaying as if he spent days with no sleep.”

Hyrule continued, “He just started responding to someone or something. Something about flowers and how he needed to go see you. I tried to bring it up this morning, but he had no recollection and was angry.”

“Angry? Because of his predicament or because of something else?”

“Well, you see,” Warriors became a bit meek, “I laughed at his voice. It just cracked. I don’t know why it made me laugh, but it did.”

“I see. But nothing else?”

All heads shook.

“Just to clear things up, Purah did let you know that his behavior would change, correct?” all heads nodded. “The display of affection was not of his character. At least it hasn’t been since a while. I know questions are whirring in those minds of yours, but do not utter them. Those conversation pieces you heard last night must be from his young life that is bleeding into his current memories.”

“So you say that it’s not just behavior that would change but memories will  surface?”

“Aye. how far and to what extent is truly unknown. I pray to Hylia above that it is not harsh on him. I do have one major concern for him. The Yiga.”

The room became cold. Time swore his breath could be seen. “There has been mention of that group.”

“A group of assassins whose goal is to murder the Hylian champion for the blood spilt from their lord and master. With the defeat of the Calamity, the pursuit of the hero has decreased some, but not enough to stop completely. Link is not out of danger. I am aware of the switching of worlds, but I urge you all to use caution when you are in this world.”

“I think we can manage,” spoke Time.

“I believe it to be ideal to pick and choose names when in the company of strangers. I do not believe titles would be wise as the Yiga are aware of the title of the champion. The only ones who are currently aware of Link’s condition are a select few. Zelda has also been notified. But I have a feeling that you lot will not be able to see her as the goddess has a timer currently set.”

“We will be careful. Thank you for that. And we will be taking good care of him, worry not.”

“Thank you.”

And at that moment, the doors opened as the young woman before stepped in, “I’m s-sorry… Master Link demands you all join him and Koko for breakfast.”

Standing up and dusting himself, Twilight turned his attention back to Impa. “I believe that is our cue to leave. You have our promise to watch him safely.”

“May Hylia above grant you patience and strength. He was a wild child.”

“I freaken knew it...”

-------

Exhaling a breath, Paya looked to her grandmother. “He was such an endearing young boy. So energetic and lively.”

“He wasn’t always like that. Younger? Yes. But it felt like eons since I saw that energy once again.”

“It must have been nice to see once more. You were very kind to give him some rupees. He was able to purchase a hylian tunic set. He was a little embarrassed to have asked for assistance in measurements, but he was so elated. He claimed it to be a gift from the ‘Great Village Chief’. He would have thanked you, but he saw Koko cooking and wanted to help prepare a meal for his companions before he demanded I come get them.” Paya could help but laugh as the memory of the small Hylian puffed out his cheeks to come get the others.

“What’s the matter, Grandmother?”

“I have been filled with such great sadness, my dear granddaughter. Those rupees were a mere gift to slowly attone for the sin I have committed against the young champion. I cannot help but fear a storm is brewing. I just hope they all exercise caution.”

Paya wanted to inquire for more. But she did not. Nor did she want to worry her poor grandmother over an acclaimed suspicion of a merchant that both her and Link encountered. Paya, like other sheikah, has been wary of outsiders that come to visit Kakariko. But that one merchant just sent shivers down her spine. There was no time as Link pulled her inside the Enchanted Armour shop, losing sight of that merchant. But it must have been her nerves.

Before she could excuse herself, Cado came bursting in, followed by Dorian.

“A dark portal appeared and Master Link with his companions all went in!”

“The portal then disappeared and there is no trace whatsoever of the young master!”

“Calm yourselves. If it were a dark source of energy, I would have been out the door praying and creating a barrier of some sort, would I have not? It was the will of the goddess that that portal appeared there. You may go in peace. You are also excused, Paya.”

Finally alone, Impa began to pray, “Hylia above, watch over them.”

[aaetherius]

@loreconcepts​

❝ i may not be able to move much, but if you need anything, i'll do my best to assist. ❞ ( nightingale )

Unprompted || Always accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                          ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

     The muffled clamor of clanking cups and eager voices echoed against the cafe’s walls, making carefully balance shelves weighted down with countless supplies rattled where they had been pinned into the thick wood of the Grandcypher. But the hum of boiling water and the whirl of the coffee grinder as he set about fulfilling orders kept his attention from wandering to the crowded tables and the idle chatter that was taking place. His brows furrowed in focus as he carefully measured out roasted beans, and collected delicate cups from the drawers hanging just above the stove. While brewing coffee had become routine to him, he wasn’t used to manning the cafe, but it appeared Sandalphon was out on a mission, and several of the crew members had grown so fond of the drink that when news of his absence had reached them, they had asked him if he would be willing to work it for a few hours. And, well, a few hours had turned into several in the blink of an eye, and now much of the crew was gathered below deck enjoying one of his many blends, with more members on their way - apparently determined to try his coffee while they had the chance. Admittedly, the very idea of being able to aid the archangel in any way makes him eager to live up to their expectations, even if he can’t keep up with all of orders coming in - called through the window by the excited voice of a certain red dragon. 

      He carefully pours a few cups to the rim - the first a strong, black coffee that smelled as bitter as he knew it would taste, the second a foamy latte that smelled of honey and sugar, and the third a creamy glass of milk for one of the crew’s youngest members. And he looks comical as he balances all three in his hands - one just barely clinging to the surface of his palm as he paces over to the door to drop them off for the expectant customers. Smile upon his lips despite the fact that he’s been at this for hours, and the scent of coffee had become so potent in the air that he can barely make out the rich aroma of pie and other baked goods that a few of the crew members had brought into the cafe to enjoy alongside their coffee. And the steam from the water had been more than enough to make pearly locks sag slightly against his smooth features - their normal splendor having dulled every so slightly thanks to the fog from the coffee clouding up the windows. With great care, he hands off each cup to his little helper before pacing back over to spot to start again. 

      This time the brew is a bit milder, and, admittedly, not one that had been ordered in the first place. But that doesn’t stop him from pouring the same about of dedication and work into it as it had the others he had just made. When it came to coffee, he was as unwilling to cut corners as the newly appointed Supreme Primarch it seemed. With a delicate cup of gold and purple, he folded six, shimmering wings behind his back to turn to the small table nestled beside the counter where a young woman was seated. Gingerly placing the still warm cup down in front of her, he offered her a soft smile. “That cup is a Caramel Macchiato, I pray it will not be too sweet for you, but it is one of my personal favorites so I wished to share it with you.” She had kept him company for much of the day, and it only seems appropriate to repay her with one of his best brews, in his own opinion. Especially when he was still mulling over how he could be of a bit more help to her. When they had first met, he had extended his hand in aid to her worsening condition; however, the faint spark of power he still harbored was far from enough to ease her pain, and, it seemed, even if he harbored more than that it still wouldn’t have done her much good. 

     A frown nearly slips onto his features. He is unused to the feeling of helplessness, but he has felt it countless times since his revival now. But his lips never have the chance to twist downwards, not when her voice cuts off his train of thoughts and bright, azure irises flutter up to look at her. “I would not want you to strain yourself,” he begins. “However, I would be grateful for the help. It seems the orders -” He’s cut off by the sound of Vyrn’s voice as the dragon rattles off five more orders before flying back out, and that quivering smile of his turns into a grin. “Will not stop coming in. Perhaps, if you would be willing, you could measure out a few ingredients. If you would like, I could even teach how to grind the beans. Regardless, I must admit I am in need of assistance this time around.” The dragon’s voice cuts in once more, and a faint laugh vibrates in his throat, a gloves hand lifting to cover his lips for a moment until it fizzles out. “As you can see.”  

[moonlightchess]

On Lesser Ghosts, my perpetually in-progress novel, a cast of current characters:

Brandon Graham: 30 years old, police investigator for the Dorset Police Department of Dorset, Vermont. The sole survivor of serial killer Seth Morgan, active throughout the bulk of the 90s and all the way through 2003, when he was captured shortly after a 15-year-old Brandon escaped his nightmarish year of captivity in the Morgan house. Casually alcoholic, gay, entirely jaded and weary of the world, but stronger than he appears at first glance. Recently assigned to the case of Cora Tycho, a promising young physics student from the Lower Prince area of Vermont who has gone missing.

Dr. Casey Tycho: 30 years old, and Dorset PD’s newest medical examiner. A British expatriate originally hailing from north London, Casey is the antithesis to the human disaster of Brandon. Sharp, extensively educated, responsible and diligent, he wears silk-lined suit vests and ties to work and has been sleeping with Brandon for six months in an arrangement that Brandon refuses to acknowledge as any sort of relationship. He’s quietly accepted this, both out of respect for Brandon’s boundaries and because being black and openly gay in a small Vermont town may not be the most desirable situation. His sister Cora has gone missing, and he hates how little he wants Brandon on the case, but he knows better than anyone how unstable the man can be.

Sara Graham: Brandon’s younger sister at 27 years old, a folk musician and “crafty mess” by her own admission. Bright, curious, extroverted and warm, much of her life has been dedicated to worrying about her brother. She makes beaded jewelry and pottery on the weekends, collects coffee mugs, and is a driving force in Brandon’s life, though he occasionally wonders if she doesn’t resent him at least a little for the way his kidnapping and subsequent fame as Seth Morgan’s sole surviving victim dominated her younger years. The two are very close, and she’s determined to not allow him to lie down and give up on the Cora Tycho case, no matter how much tension and distance it’s created between he and Casey.

Sasha Prescott: Brandon’s boss, police chief of the DPD. Tough as nails, but she harbors a soft spot for Brandon in spite of his sporadic displays of instability and recklessness in the past. Especially protective of Casey, having long since come to the conclusion that Dorset’s black community is small at best and they have to stick together - the disappearance of Cora, a young black woman in her town, has been keeping her up at night. Her hawk’s stare and firm hand keep the entire department in line, but this also means that she has a constant target on her back.

Kris Alden: A mystery. Was with Cora Tycho on the night she went missing during a camping trip in the woods. Claims he went home early, a result of stomach problems. Not much intel on him yet.

Audrey and Stephen: The forensic lab techs, working directly under Casey. Odd, dreamy types, ensconced in their own little world much of the time. May know more than they’re letting on.

Read the first few pages below!

                                                   🔍🔍🔍

09.12.19:

A burning and industrious early-morning sun insisted upon bullying the pleasant warmth of Casey’s skin into something too harsh to ignore as Brandon groaned, rolling over onto his stomach in bed.  Beside him, Casey stretched, languid as an enormous cat, his sleep likely having been far more restful. Still, his smile was tender as he reached for him, and the scent of coffee brewing from the kitchen suggested that he’d already been up once to make it for him. The sweetness of the gesture hurt, and he curled away from his touch. “Too fucking hot.”

“It’s only going to be about seventy today.” Because of course Casey knew the day’s predicted weather already, of course he was as on top of it as he was everything else in his life. Casey, with his autumn-brown skin and gentle, fox-gold eyes like candlelit amber, of course he was ready with coffee brewing and the forecast on his phone. They were the same age, thirty, but Casey was one of those rare people who had been an adult since twelve. He’d probably delighted in collecting school supplies for a new year when none of his friends gave a shit, he was the type of person who always knew where his keys were. He had a set-in-stone laundry day, which had blown Brandon’s mind when he’d first learned of it. Even now, at six AM, he smelled like fresh fucking bread. Literally the worst human, Brandon had long since concluded, but the sex was fantastic.

Wordlessly, he rolled over for his first cigarette of the day, ignoring Casey’s softly disapproving sound behind him. He briefly considered reminding him of his total lack of access into his personal life, that whatever happened between them sexually meant ten kinds of nothing outside the bedroom, but Casey had never pushed or questioned his boundaries. He kept his distance as Brandon rolled naked out of bed, ambling to the window to shove it open before disappearing into the bathroom without further comment. He gave him time to shower before following, tapping his fingertips against the glass shower door with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Want company?”

“Oh, uh. No.”

There was a pause, and then Casey’s silhouette nodding silently, turning to go. He was unique in that Brandon never felt so much as a semblance of guilt about bluntly rejecting the affections of anyone but him, and now it felt sharp. The hot spray of water went needle-harsh against his skin, but he still ignored the coffee Casey had left on the counter for him, as well as the text blinking on his phone. Eat something. Don’t be too late for work, Sasha will have your ass. Even now, he did his best to take care of him as much as Brandon would allow, but he rationalized that he’d never promised the man a damn thing. In fact, he’d made his limitations abundantly clear on the first night they’d tumbled, panting, into bed together, roughly six months ago. The problem was, there was another man. He was persistent and jealous, and he was always around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed right now, in fact. Late forties, moon-pale skin and sleek, ink-black hair, his deceptive youthfulness undercut by the coldness lingering in his dark eyes.

Seth waited, silent, watching Brandon dress. The most attention he ever paid to his honey-blonde mess of hair was a quick tugging of his brush, and the woodsmoke cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year was left mostly unused on the dresser. His morning routine had long since boiled down to a quick shower, shave, and brushing of teeth and hair before throwing on whatever happened to be clean regardless of its fashionable implications. Today, Seth watched him button up a loose black Oxford over a pair of battered jeans, before embarking upon a ten-minute search for his keys because he wasn’t Casey and never would be.

A light drizzle began to dissolve the heat of the day like sugar in warm coffee once he was on the road, clouds going dense and dark with the sweet threat of a proper rain. Sasha had already texted him - 9:10, Graham. Late again. Casey had tried to warn him, but then he always did, and Brandon never listened. Elgar helped to swallow Sasha’s nearly tangible contempt for his time management skills as he drove, and beside him, Seth settled into the passenger’s seat to stare thoughtfully out at the increasingly heavy rain.

10.4.2003:

This far north into Vermont, where Seth’s house teetered on the border into Canada, winters descended early and lingered long. The ceiling-to-floor steel and rebar support pipe Brandon had been handcuffed to by the wrists for the past two weeks had absorbed the seeping chill, and Seth had only dressed him in a filthy, tattered wifebeater and a pair of old blue flannel pajama pants that smelled suffocatingly of mothballs. He woke every few hours with numb, stinging toes, shivering and dripping. The handcuffs Seth had restrained him with had to have been ordered from somewhere - there was no soft pink fur lining to suggest an intended use of foreplay, and instead they were solid in a deadly way, a way that thunked every time he slid them locked with a firm sense of finality. 

A fever burned through his bones overnight near the middle of October, and finally some part of Seth seemed to awaken to his basic human needs. He was provided a deeply itchy wool blanket that felt woven from canvas and sandpaper, but it did the job of keeping him warm. Every few nights, his worn boots would thud down the basement steps to offer him a plate of cold, congealed noodles that he’d clearly been keeping in the fridge. His wrists went raw and scabbed with the endless scrape of the cuffs, his knees cramping in their bent position. Stretching his legs was possible, but uncomfortable. The days began to melt together, the constant darkness of the basement transforming time into a static thing. He slept when the wave of exhaustion became too much to fight, he woke and watched the shadows when sleep eluded him. He lost all sense of night or day, the passage of hours.

Three weeks deep, the frantic hope that he’d be found began to fade. The basement began to feel like his place, and he began to forget what it felt like to not fall asleep hugging a metal pipe. Seth was strangely reassuring, an exponential effect that seemed to correlate with his slow acceptance of his situation. As time dissolved and desperation waned, Seth’s approval bloomed. Sometimes, now, the noodles were warm and slick from boiling water, fresh. His blanket was replaced with a less abrasive one, albeit filthy. At fourteen years old, Brandon learned that life began and ended here in his cold, dark basement. The memory of the day he’d been taken seemed irrelevant now, the faces of his parents to whom he’d clung so desperately in those early days.

“I know that you don’t understand.” Seth’s voice was soft, gentle more often than not, sedately erudite like a classics professor on vacation in the woods for the holidays. He was quite articulate, expressing himself fairly eloquently whenever he came into the basement to speak to him. “It sounds trite, like something Keats might have written, but believe me when I say that this is your chrysalis phase, Brandon. It’s tight and uncomfortable and emerging will be a painful struggle, but I want you to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot of you right now, but I also know that your eyes are open and you’ll get there. I trust you already.”

He wore a lot of high-collared fleece sweaters in earth tones and he kept his silky hair longish, framing his face in a soft sort of way that left him mild and relaxed to the eye. Brandon learned to crave him, the only human voice, presence, that he’d experienced in a month as the end of October approached. He couldn’t express this yet, but Seth would smile down at him, bending at the knees to wrap him in a new blanket or to offer him the day’s plate of noodles. Sometimes the blankets were splattered with fresh bloodstains and sometimes the noodles were wrapped around bullets of sausage that tasted blandly wrong, but he was there.

Once, shortly before Halloween, the burgeoning bond between them inspired him to blurt, “I wouldn’t say anything, you know. You could just let me go, you wouldn’t even have to drive me home. I’d never tell anyone, I understand your work here--” because Seth had often referenced his cryptic “work” without elaborating. “I won’t try to stop you, you could just--”

Seth’s open hand slammed into the side of his head, smacking his skull into the metal pipe with a gut-churning clang. The world exploded into white fire, his vision briefly going dark as his brain struggled to retain consciousness. A thick, hot ooze of dark blood began to gush from his nostrils, but he was too resigned at that point to so much as scream. Instead, he moaned softly, sagging forward as his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The agony was blinding, but he didn’t pass out, which came as something of a disappointment.

A month and a week passed.

09.12.19:

Dorset’s PD’s station was one of the lingering bastions of old-school police architecture, all museum-high ceilings and wooden desks arranged in rows. Brandon wove his way between them on his way to Sasha’s office, set high above the ground floor grunts and their ancient desktop computers. He’d always respected the way she’d left the glass panels that made up the front wall of her office intact, leaving her visible to her officers and techs alike. She was typing on her own laptop when he tapped his fingers against said glass, waving him inside. A still-steaming paper cup of Two Brews sat on her desk, littered with loose papers that themselves were littered with her scribbled notes. My office, whenever you decide to show up, she’d texted him.

Sasha Prescott was forty-four years old with dense, dark curls clipped short and precise. With her high cheekbones, full lips and velvet-dark skin, she could easily have been a model even in her middle age, dominating an industry obsessed with youth. And dominate it she would have - there was a carefully cultivated air of laser focus that she wore like armor wrapped around her, her narrow, jewel-black eyes piercing through lies and alibis like a hot knife through butter. She and Brandon’s mutual respect had led to a highly efficient and successful working relationship over the years, and they both appreciated that neither was in any way interested in developing any sort of personal friendship outside of work.

Now, he dropped into the Quaker chair in front of her desk and considered making an attempt for her coffee, which she didn’t appear to have started drinking yet. Her signature plum lipstick had not yet stained the rim, but she zeroed in on his intent with her standard razor perception and shook her head. “I will literally stab you,” she said casually, and he let his hand fall to his knee instead.

“What’s up?”

“First off, roll in here late again and I’ll write your ass up. Secondly, we have a delicate situation in our laps right now and I want some input on how to deal with it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon kept his tone as nonplussed as possible. Too much visible interest might have convinced Sasha to change her mind, one of her stranger quirks. “I’m listening.”

“Cora Tycho is missing, as of somewhere around midnight last night.”

He nearly rose to his feet despite his resolve, an icy fist punching straight through his ribcage to seize his heart. “Casey’s sister?”

Sasha confirmed this with a short nod, her lips pressed tight. “She was out camping with a friend near the Lower Prince quarry. Her friend, Kris Alden, fell ill shortly after they ate dinner and decided to go home. Cora wanted to drive him, but there was no one available to take her back once he was home and he claims he felt guilty about making her miss some super-moon or whatever the hell it is, told her he could make it home on his own. She never came back from the woods, the Alden kid shared a class with her that she skipped this morning and no one has been able to reach her via call or text. It’s not enough to assume that she’s officially a ten-fifty-seven just yet, but people are starting to worry. She’s never been someone to just bail on everything like this, Kris described her as very thoughtful and responsible.”

“You’ve already sent someone out to talk to him? Does Casey know?”

“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted your input on - obviously he’s not getting anywhere near this case, but given the personal nature of your relationship with him what are your thoughts on his capability to handle the work environment in general as it’s investigated? Should I just send him on a vacation until this is cleared, or is he frosty enough to stay professional here at the station while his sister is missing? You know him better than any of us.”

Brandon’s brain reeled. “Personal nature? I don’t know what sort of relationship any of you are under the impression that we--not that any of you should have any impression of our relationship, I mean. Shit. We’re not in a relationship! I barely know him!” His voice was raising in pitch while he remained completely unaware, his knuckles going white around the armrests of the Quaker chair. Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Jesus. Do I need to send you on a vacation too? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled. “Casey is one hundred percent able to handle working while this is being solved, but that doesn’t mean he should. I doubt he’ll let you send him on a vacation, but try anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be here all day, trying to focus on other shit while half of Dorset is trying to figure out if his sister’s body is rotting in the woods somewhere. He should be with his family.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m giving this girl until tonight to turn up, and then I’m issuing a gloves-off ten-fifty-seven.” Sasha’s voice went to iron, and it occurred to Brandon that she cared for Casey as much as anyone at the DPD did. He was the lifeblood of the forensics labs, their unflappable new medical examiner whose lingering British accent left over from a youth spent in west London had a way of soothing even the most panicked and horrified relative of one of his corpses. 

“I need you to go into far more detail about the supposed “nature” of my relationship with Casey, up to and including just how the hell you even knew about it at all. Not that it’s anything. At all.”

“Would you kindly climb off my dick, Graham? I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now.”

“Sasha.”

“Settle down. No one else knows anything, even though according to you there’s nothing to know. It’s just that a lifetime of police investigation have left me a highly observant person--”

“A lifetime? You’re in your forties, don’t start writing your memoirs yet you drama queen.”

“...And as such, I’ve noticed you two leaving work together occasionally, showing up around the same time in very deliberately separate cars but sometimes accidentally wearing each other’s shirts, things like that. Things only I would ever notice, I promise. No one else has mentioned anything to me, and you know they would if the rumor mill was running about it.”

“Fine. Whatever. Any more intel on Cora?”

Wordlessly, Sasha slid a manila envelope across her stately desk. Opening it, Brandon was confronted with a glossy photo of a beautiful young woman, all sparkling honey eyes and rich dark skin like a sunset’s sweet glow, thick black hair meticulously oiled and wrapped and beaded into immaculate dreadlocks that she’d pulled back with a sky-blue silk scarf for her senior high school photo, Cora wore her brother’s beauty as elegantly as he did. They shared the same royally rounded nose and high cheekbones, full lips and dimples. His chest ached, and he brushed his fingertips against the photo thoughtfully without realizing he was doing it. Sasha had compiled everything - her academic records, notes on her hobbies and habits, her generally expected whereabouts on any given day. She had no legal record to speak of, her profile speaking to a bright, clean-cut girl with a gleaming future in physics.

“She was a student at NVU,” Sasha supplied. “Is a student. Solid grades, a quiet type, well-liked by her peers but not known to be a partier. Close with her family, especially our Casey. Loved to cook, according to reports. She entered several baking competitions last year, even won a couple. Played the violin all throughout high school, but turned down a suggested spot on NVU’s student orchestra. Said she didn’t want it to interfere with her study time, according to the orchestra leader I called. She seemed laser-focused on her goal of working for NASA someday, had a whole vision board about it on Pinterest.”

“I’ll start with Kris Alden. I’ll head out to his place today.”

“Start with Casey. I don’t want him to hear about this on the news, and my official statement on the case is going live tomorrow morning.”

“Shit. Okay.” Scooping the file up under his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him, he down in the forensics lab?”

“With Audrey and Stephen. See if you can get him alone, he won’t like his techs seeing him break down in front of them if he reacts poorly.”

“How the hell else do you expect him to react to the news that his sister is missing?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be conscious of how difficult this is going to be for him. You’re not exactly known for your tact, but you have the best shot at holding him together here. You know as well as I do that the longer we go without finding this girl, the less of a chance we have.”

Brandon paused at her office door. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Took me a year to get out of that basement.”

He hated the way her gaze softened, and so he made his way out without a goodbye to make a point, ignoring the irritating hiss of her compressed-air door mechanism that refused to let him leave with a satisfying slam. The forensics lab and department morgue was located in the basement of the station for obvious reasons, a narrow elevator depositing him into the DPD’s underground two minutes later. The temperature dropped by a few degrees once the doors slid open, the stone all around them cooling the air. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, down here, and he found Audrey and Stephen hunched over a severed hand on a sleek chrome examination tray in the lab.

Audrey was tall and willowy, twenty-six with ice-blonde hair wound into a messy braid that she’d draped over one shoulder, so pale and slim that there was something ghostly about her, especially when taking into consideration her gray eyes so light and translucent they were nearly colorless, like a mirror or a deep-sea creature. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a loose, baggy gray sweater - she wore a lot of gray, black and white, and she always looked like a spectre, an overcast ocean. The selkies would have accepted her as one of theirs upon sight. Stephen was only barely as tall as her, with a much friendlier face, soft freckled cheeks and tanned skin suggesting a childhood spent outdoors working off baby fat. He had peanut-brown curls tumbling over his forehead and round, intelligent hazel eyes, a sharply defined mouth and an easily cheery demeanor. Oddly enough, he and Audrey were quite close.

“Hey guys. Anyone seen Casey?”

“Down in the morgue.” Audrey pointed to her feet, indicating the sub-level beneath them. “He left this hand with us and told us to collect data samples and disappeared. He’s been down there all morning.”

“Do you know whose hand it is?”

“Pretty sure it belongs to that wheat farmer who turned up in the hospital last week missing one. I mean, how many hands could there be unaccounted for in Vermont right now?” Stephen grinned, snapping his gum. He took a kind of morbid glee in his work, something Brandon had always suspected Audrey shared with him.

“Left hands, to boot,” Audrey added, shrugging. “How are you, Brandon?”

“I’m fine. I’d love to stay and um, look at the hand with you guys, but I’ve got to talk to Casey. Have...fun?”

Stephen’s grin widened. “Oh, we will, friend.”

“I hate the way you say things.”

Stephen’s laughter followed him back into the elevator, which delivered him to the bottomost floor of the DPD headquarters. Casey was there, bent over his own work, having forgone his stiff lab coat in favor of his neatly tucked-in dove-gray button-down, black silk tie, charcoal dress vest and matching creased slacks. His leftover British sensibilities were evident in his crisply classic style, always semi-formal and expensive even when he dressed “down” in Burberry cashmere sweaters and custom-tailored jeans. He looked so unflappable that Brandon’s faith in him was stirred anew, and he approached with more tenderness than was normal for him. His aura alerted Casey to something amiss upon impact, and he narrowed his eyes at him before saying a word. “Don’t see you down here often, love.” The last word slipped out before he could stop it, and Brandon watched him flinch minutely, almost imperceptibly.

[thekitchenbuy]

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This is a coffee maker that will appeal to people who don’t like things to be quick complicated you can set the Hamilton Beach coffee maker to start brewing by itself meaning you can have fresh hot coffee waiting for you when you drag yourself out of the bed.    

9EXPERT SCOREHamilton Beach 49976 FlexBrew Coffee Maker

The machine is made of plastic, and it's supplied with a glass carafe a that is large enough to hold up to 12 cups of coffee is kept hot on an adjustable hot plate the reservoir holds 40 ounces of water and it's removable making it easy to feel the unit also includes a rotating base making it easy to access the reserver even in small kitchen spaces if you are searching for a coffee maker that is easy to use then you should go for this Hamilton Beach coffee maker with good reviews and ratings online you can get this coffee maker at Online Market Place.

Design9.5Price9Usability9PROS

SINGLE-SERVE

BREWING FLEXIBILITY

SINGLE SERVE BREW TIME

CONS

ground coffee

Best coffee machine in 2020

Check Price At Amazon

Best single cup coffee machine : If you want a good cup of coffee but don’t want to put all the pieces together or spend $5.00 per cup at the local coffee house that’s where the smarter coffee 2nd generation comes on a connected coffee maker that features both Alexa and Google Assistant integration allowing you to start afresh pot from anywhere murder coffee allows you to have full control of your coffee maker remotely by using the smarter app .

smarter app available for download on any iOS and Android devices connect smarter coffee to Amazon Alexa and Google assistant enable devices or to a wide range of another smart home device through their I of triple T services use the smart app to start your day.

the right way with a fresh batch of coffee by setting alarms with wakeup mode why not sleep in longer as well smarter coffees hot plate keeps your brew warmer for up to 40 minutes ready .

when you are smarter coffee even knows when you stepped through the front door prompting you to start brewing a pot with huh mode set up your device takes just seconds with the all-new innovative blink of technology allowing simple and secure pairing to your multiple devices giving you the extra peace of mind.

9.8EXPERT SCORESmarter Coffee - 2nd Generation

Each smarter coffee comes with three interchangeable color panels black cream and red in order to suit your own kitchen decor smarter coffee can also be manually controlled on the front panel LCD screen with bean hopper on top and settings for pre-ground coffee as well the second generation smart coffee is ready to go at a moment's notice.If you are searching for a coffee maker who sinks your smart home or office then the smarter coffee maker will be a perfect choice for you with good reviews and ratings online this coffee maker is available at Amazon.com.

Design7Price8Usability8PROS

Easy to use

Smart Technology

Can you grind beans from the app

CONS

Flavor

Easy to clean

Best drip coffee makers

Check Price At Amazon

Best single cup coffee machine : If you are here because you are in search of a drip coffeemaker that can work like a pro and give you the ideal cup of coffee then you need to get your hands on the b more connected customize temperature control coffee maker the Beamer is a powerful machine that offers you full command over the coffee brewing controls you can brew your coffee beans according to your unique coffee preferences the way you want it’s a customize temperature control coffee maker with phone app and remote.

An operation that allows you to control breathing temperature pre-soak time and altitude for precision brewing the Beamer coffee maker allows you to set the temperature from 190 to 210 degree Fahrenheit according to the Specialty Coffee Association of America the recommended temperature for brewing coffee is between 195 to 205 degree Fahrenheit double walled stainless carafe maintains optimal coffee temperature and keeps coffee hot for hours.

the Boomer coffee maker saves all your directed settings in its permanent memory these calibrations remain saved until you decide to change a parameter the BMR connected temperature control

9.8EXPERT SCOREBehmor coffee maker

Behmor coffee maker is the first coffee machine certified by the Specialty Coffee Association of America if you are seriously interested into coffee roasting and brewing the app supported by more coffee maker may be the perfect choice for you with great reviews and ratings this coffee maker is available on Amazon.

Design9Price8.5Usability9PROS

Brews 8 Cups of Coffee

1° Temperature Control Accuracy

Good Price

Best For Home

CONS

Programmable Pre-Soak

Pulse Water Delivery

Not User Friendly

Best single cup coffee machine for personal use

Check Price At Amazon

Ninja best known for its Best blenders entered the coffee market with a homebrewer that promised to deliver a variety of coffee shop drinks in one package the ninja hot and cold brewing system might leave you wondering what else you could throw into a single brewer it provides multiple brewing styles from regular drip to cold-brew The Ninja Coffee Maker is best single cup coffee machine in 2020 .

it can also complete those different methods in a variety of sizes from a single-serve to full Karratha the ninja hot and cold-brewed can do all that with both coffee and tea from black to green and harbor too along with Auto IQ OneTouch intelligence technology.

8.5EXPERT SCORENinja hot and cold brew system

Ninja hot and cold brew system very easy to use so if you like different brew drinks from day to day or even at different times throughout the day this ninja model is a great option for you it also works well for families or households that have multiple coffee drinkers who have different preferences you can get this hot and cold brewed system at around 180 dollars online.

Versatility4.5Flavor4.74.7Easy to use4.74.7Durability4.74.7Blending power4.6Easy to clean4.6PROS

Good Flavor

Easy to use

Good Blending power

CONS

Difficult to clean

Versatility

Single cup coffee maker keurig

Check Price At Amazon

Kyrie’s line of coffee makers is likely the right choice for your kitchen for years.The company has been delivering easy to use machines that require as little work as possible to make a cup of coffee the Curie k elite single serve is a pod coffee maker.

Pod based Keurig coffee machine  making cup pod coffee with a strong brew button that does of the strength and taste of your coffees flavor, it also features a massive 75 ounce water reserver so you don’t need to refill the tank often and a strong brew feature for buyers who like your coffee bold.Removable drip tray: Accommodates Cup Sizes upto 7.2 inches tall and holds a full accidental brew for easy cleanup.

5EXPERT SCOREKeurig Coffee Maker

tray which can be easily extracted for a quick rub down to further improve your ability to maintain this Keurig it also notifies you when calcium has built up to the point that it's affecting the performance of the machine through regular maintenance you will be able to extend the catalyst life expectancy considerably finally the KO it also has a noise-canceling feature for a nice quiet proof if you are looking for a feature-packed coffeemaker that can provide premium quality coffee within seconds then the Keurig ka lead single serve coffee makers is the right choice for you with good reviews and ratings online this coffee maker is available at around 130 dollars on Amazon.

Easy to use4.74.7Flavor4.74.7Versatility4.74.7Easy to clean4.64.6Giftable4.64.6Durability4.54.5PROS

Works great

The design is more streamlined

CONS

The Elite is smaller

Overall decent machine

Best single cup coffee machine

Check Price At Amazon

Enjoy coffee shop like coffee at home with Breville barista Pro a professional grade coffee maker that is built to provide premium quality coffee in an instance it comes it an innovative thermal jet heating system that can achieve the optimum extraction temperature in three seconds with the instant transition from espresso to steam ready to make your best coffee without the waiting.

the barista Pro comes with a razor precision no screaming tool that lets you precisely level and measures coffee grounds for brewing it features a 2 liter water tank with 1/2 pound bean hopper that lets you enjoy coffee for the whole day.

8 Strength Settings in Breville barista Pro  Choose from 8 strength settings or choose Pre Ground coffee option to brew coffee just the way you like it and bean hopper capacity is 1/2 pound of Coffee bean capacity with locking system for easy removal, storage and transfer

brew strength in this Coffee Machine: Single cup with variable size options or upto a 12 cup carafe; Dimensions:9 inch (W) X 14 inch (D) X 16 & ¼ inch (H); 1/2 pounds of Coffee bean capacity with locking system for easy removal, storage and transfer.

4.9EXPERT SCOREbreville barista pro coffee maker

The barista Pro has an LCD display that shows grinding and extracting progress animation the screen provides you all the precise information you need to make coffee exactly the way you like it over time if you are looking for a professional coffee maker that can provide your premium quality whenever you want then the Breville barista Pro is the right choice for you with amazing reviews and ratings from the customers you can get the Breville barista Pro Available on Amazon.

Flavor4.24.2Blending power4.14.1Material quality4.04.0Versatility3.73.7Easy to clean3.43.4Durability3.43.4PROS

Brews hot coffee at 200 degrees as required by specialty coffee associations (I measured it to be at 183 degrees after brewing in the carafe which I DID NOT preheat which is well within the ideal serving temperature of 175-190 degrees.

-Thermal carafe keeps coffee hot for about 3 hours and quite warm for about 6 - no scorching from a heating element.

-Can brew a single cup or up to 12 cups in the carafe.

-Adjustable grind size for optimal flavour.

-Adjustable strength settings if you like it weak or wildly strong.

-Large capacity, 1/2 pound bean hopper.

-Grinder is at least 50% more quiet than the previous YouBrew model.

-Easy to use USEFUL LCD panel.

-Nice, sleek, modern appearance.

-Simple to clean, remove and wash the brew basket (and included gold tone filter if used). Also, wipe down the bean chute/stopper disc every week or so.

-Beans are ground immediately prior to brewing resulting in the best possible flavour and aroma.

CONS

-A bit slow to steep on the single cup mode as opposed to carafe (about 6 minutes for all the sizes) but well worth it. It's no slower than a regular drip machine would be to brew the same amount of coffee. I'm not even sure I'd call this a con.

I highly recommend this machine to anyone who enjoys a great, full-bodied hot cup of coffee with minimal work required to get there.

Best espresso coffee maker

Check Price At Amazom

Gourmia is one of the industry leaders in home appliances more specifically in the kitchen the Gourmia GCM 5100 is a stylish and fully versatile single serve brewing system manufactured by Gourmia while any single serve brewing systems specialize in espresso or coffee, the Gourmia GCM 5100 is designed to prove both coffee and espresso this machine is also capable of brewing any form of single serve coffee choose between k-cups espresso pods or any other variety of single serve coffee capsules Gourmia GCM 5100 best for coffee drinkers .

4.4EXPERT SCOREGourmia Espresso Machine

the Gourmia GCM 5100 comes with an automatic milk frother this enables you to enjoy your favorite latte or cappuccino in the comfort of your own home it comes it an LCD display that helps you to make programming quick and easy simply choose the size and temperature of your beverage insert the capsule of your choice and you are ready to go if you are looking for a reliable elegant easy to use brewing system then the Gourmia GCM 5100 is a model you will want to consider with good reviews and ratings online this coffee maker is available at Amazon

Easy to clean4.44.4Easy to use4.04.0Versatility3.83.8Flavor3.73.7Blending power3.73.7Value for money3.53.5PROS

Easy to clean

Easy to use

Versatility

CONS

Flavor

Blending power

Value for money

an automated coffee maker is the most important addition to any kitchen for coffee lovers that’s why you should have Hamilton Beach Scoop at home and enjoy premium quality coffee at home with Hamilton Beach Scoop you can Check other Coffee Maker machine like Sboly Single Serve Coffee Maker and Chefman InstaCoffee Single Serve Coffee Maker different types of beverages which includes espresso cappuccino coffee latte Machado and america.

you can also get only hot water from it if needed it can provide your silky smooth milk fraud thanks to high-speed logical system the logical makes its milk and air at high speed in the round floating chamber then adds a splash free creamy layer of milk froth to your cup at just the right temperature

its durable ceramic grinders can be adjusted in 12 steps so that you can turn your beans into anything from ultrafine powder to coarse grindings within seconds the latigo can provide perfect aroma and crema Cup after cup regularly.

[royal-writer]

I’m terrified of you

The way you make me feel isn’t something I’m used to. Tell me... do you feel this happy too?

-

There was no room. Despite the empty cavity in her heart, she had no place for individuals. The solitude was an enemy more than a friend, but it was a security blanket she could wrap herself into every night. It did not support her, but nor did it disappoint. It was always there, beneath the insecurity. Buried beneath a smile. Hidden past crumbled walls overgrown with poisonous plants and needled thorns.

She did not understand then, when or how the accommodations were made for him. There had not been a spot reserved for anyone else in such a very, very long time that she’d forgotten the feeling. All she knew was that when he’d called her home, she’d never thought home could be a person. Miamoorgyte had not been home, but birthplace. No where was home.

But what if home could be a feeling, and not a place? What was home, as a feeling? The place you felt you could rest your head. The place where you could be yourself behind the closed doors. The place where you danced stupidly, and sang badly, and sat in the quiet just to sip your drink and reflect on your views calmly. You were sheltered from the elements and free to exist.

She stared at him, casually leaning into the balcony railing, and the whirlwind of her thoughts were so rapid she felt dizzy. Was caring about someone supposed to feel like this? Wildly frightening as it was delightfully thrilling?

Her barren heart should not be a room for him, let alone be one he should investigate. She’d all but forgotten the cellar of memories dotted with fondness. They were packed away and others, buried six feet under.

I should not want him closer, she thought. I should not want him to dig a little deeper, search a little harder.

But was he truly digging? It seemed at every turn she was unraveling her own threads for him. The tapestry was tattered and soiled but he still smiled fondly and held the broken pieces fondly as he looked at her. She felt seen; shed skins of misdeeds and all her unsavory pieces, and yet he still performed a smile for her each time.

He was so beautiful and so achingly dear, and she wanted to despise him for it. She wanted to loathe him simply because it was easier. Even the idea of disliking him though made her insides feel dirty and wrong. How could she find him unfavorable? He was touching, and gentle, and just glancing at him made the sandpaper edges of the world suddenly seem so soft. The moment when he’d turn to stare at her, her very soul felt the comfort of a thick blanket wrap around her and her entire chest felt lifted and at ease…

Gods, she wanted to touch him. It was such an instinctual feeling she had to snatch her hand back as it twitched with longing. She was petrified of the want but completely sure of its existence. Her unburdened lungs felt light and airy. All she wanted was to itch the craving. Run her fingers through his hair, or grasp hold of his hand and feel the delicate was he responded to her touch; so careful, so reassuring…

He must have sensed her open ogling, for his gaze turned towards her in the most quizzical fashion. He held a passive, hard-to-define expression; but there was warmth in the way he regarded her, and openness in his posture. She tried not to stare too deeply, or too long, or with too much enthusiasm as she smiled radiantly back up at him before turning away.

It took the nobleman twice as long to lean his side back into the frame with a softly cleared throat. Even without turning back to him she could picture behind her eyelids the faraway look as he grew deep in thought; the way his shoulders loosened as he grew relaxed, the way the heaviness of the cloak seemed to give his stature a frequent look of imposing size and stature but she was learning to study him, too. How when he was comfortable, his arms were not so tucked against himself, and how the level in his voice grew lighter, or how he would expose his chest by turning to you straight on with his head tilted.

This definitely didn’t feel like safety-territory thoughts, she realized. She dared to glimpse out of the corner of her eye towards him. His eyes trailed calmly out to the skyline, a smile ghosting his features as the breeze cruelly blew over them, ruffling his hair and sending the spiraling scent of his fragrance her way. It took only seconds but all of her heart; from the cracks to the crevices, from the voids to the sealed labyrinths and empty hallways, fell away and she was full of an overwhelming and horrifying devotion and regard for him the likes of which she could only ghostly recall feeling.

It was like memories of her mother, rocking her to sleep. It was like memories of Kraw, telling her she was stronger than she thought. It was like memories of Solace, laughing with her in the dead of night. It was like Tibiius, sharing a mug of hot brewed tea and wishing her a good day. Only this was not yet a memory; this was an unfolding present, and she was consumed by him to the very tip of her heartstrings that she could choke on it.

It felt… different. She still wanted to share experiences; still wanted to talk, still wanted to see the world change but it… it felt easier, when his hand was in hers. And sometimes, when she got tired of staring at the world, she could stare into his iris and see the reflections of it all around them and it looked… it looked…

There was a jolt; a seize in her chest as everything seemed to jump and spiral and cling to something and hold her breath all at once. It was so close. She was so close. There were words and expressions and colors she’d never seen before burning through her. It was indescribable, yet if she tried, she knew she could explain it all in a few words.

Tongue-tied, she darted her eyes over towards him and licked her lips nervously. He was still far away; spaced out, a slouched posture.

I want to go home.

She breathed, deeply, in and out. Her insides quivered. They shook with a force.

I want to go home.

The shape of his arms around her sure felt like her safe-haven, her shelter, her refuge. He could hold her all night, and his strength never grew lax. She never doubted his authenticity, his commitment, his ability.

I want to go home.

His eyes were by far the most magnetic shade of ocean-blue she’d ever drowned in. The sea-life did not frighten her. They watched over her. The storms could froth and lightning could blast far above, but she was safe in her seaweed bed and the undisturbed sandy bottom.

I want to go home.

His voice drew her to harbor. Out of the fog, out of the darkness. It called to her. It rang; it swelled; it could be deep and thick where she felt it in her bones and then a whisper, husky, gentle.

I want to go home.

Her face flushed, and she nibbled upon her lip self-consciously.

Home is where the heart is, they said. And if that were true, then…

She swallowed, nervously fidgeting and wringing her hands together. She dared herself to peek at him.

Oh dear.

The horizon of the setting sun basking its light, only to be absorbed into his eyes, was the most perfect scene she’d ever studied. It was as if the universe was made to be seen from his eyes. She witnessed it in perfect reflection; a place only escaping from him. It was difficult to tell who was the painting; him, aglow, a perfect structure of himself as only he could be, or the sky. Certainly he would be the better of the two portraits, with chiseled jawline and flawless complexion.

He is dazzling, she thinks with an internal tremble.. He is patient, and cautiously observant. Protective without suffocating. Lined with excellent molding and shape. He is dripping with compassion but he denies it. The sun is collectively stealing from him; it has to be, for there was no brighter light than that of who he was.

She could exist like this. She could live only to be showered and forever-immersed in his presence. Let the night never touch her again with its wicked barbaric hands; she would slumber in his arms and feel the day still upon her. His light would be awash over her, keeping the nightmares far away. He would be immortal; always and forever in her conscious and in her heart. The world could crumble and be turned to smoldering ash and ruin all around them, and she would keep her eyes only upon him, and never blink.

If she felt like home, and if he felt like home, then she always had a secure place to settle. They could pitch a tent, and fall into each other, and home could be anywhere. Home was anywhere they were, together.

It was clawing at her. Gnawing at her mind; strangling her throat, drinking from her air. She could deny it, and she could fight it, but it was not going to remain unacknowledged forever. It was on the tip of her tongue. It desired his company like an addict to a drug. It wished for far more, in the whispering��s of her thoughts.

Unexpectedly, she jumped as a familiar touch grazed the back of her hand. It was heart-racing. Goosebump inducing.

Without looking to him; too fair and virtuous for her eyes, she curled a pink against his. It was not a flirty, fleeing touch. He sought her hand greedily after she reciprocated, and he sought the empty places between her fingers to link his home and bring her home.

Her breath hitched lightly. She stepped closer, but kept her gaze fixed on the view far less intriguing than he.

This was the only home she ever felt willing and longing to return to, day after day; second after second. And she would fight to keep it, as long as he’d have her. As long as he would, too.

At this moment, that; and this, her hand blanketed snuggly in his, was all she required.

[beerselfie]

#Repost @inkedbeerlover ・・・ Ok ok ONE more BREWERY before the party hehe... Of course we had to stop at @six_harbors_brewing_company @sixharborsbrewing and have a flight! Makeup by @ashlipsmua 🍻 #beer #beers #craftbeer #craftbeers #beercommunity #beertography #beertasting #beerpics #beerphoto #beerenthusiast #beertenders #beerblogger #blogger #ny #beerphotos #cheers #saturdayvibes #saturdaynight #beertasting #beerflight #beerflights #cheers #ipa #beerbabe #beerbabes #beerselfie (at Six Harbors Brewing Company)

[kclenhartnovels]

To the End of All Days

[Because Raen’s origins and younger days are never covered in Theory of Souls, I’m having fun exploring them in flash fiction instead. Here is where he and Narissara first have their..arrangement. Prior to this, is The Book and Unexpected Harbor.]

Eve had said the book would be helpful.

After spending hours talking with him that first night, Eve had come back to the gravedigger’s house at least four times. Each visit came with an armful of reading material, but this last time had only been a bag of green tea leaves, a loaf of warm bread, and a book that looked and smelled as if it had been dredged from a castle cellar that had flooded once a season for the past few hundred years.

“This is in Latin, too?” He asked.

She put her hands over his and smiled. “Old French. You said you knew some French, right, Mr. Toussaint?”

Raen grimaced. “Six words or so. My mother was apparently Creole, but I hardly remember her. And archaic French is hardly the same.”

“Well, the translating will keep you busy, then. But I do think the book will help you control your magic.”

“Why? What is it about?”

“My French isn't as old as that book's.” It wasn't really an answer, but she squeezed his fingers and saw herself out.

Raen spent eight months reading the book. He carried it with him when he was on duty at the church, reading over the lines in between lighting tapers and sweeping the floors. He fell asleep every night with the book in his lap, his head nodding forward with each exhausted breath. Every morning he brewed his tea and breathed in the scent of time that had seeped into each browned page, the book somehow brittle and sturdy all at once. The ink never smeared. Once chilly winter morning he spilled a full mug over the open pages, but by the time he came running back with a towel to frantically blot it up, the pages were dry.

He began to dream in French. He still didn't understand the words.

After eight months of living with the book, he opened the pages once again, and read it from front to back with clarity. His hands trembled when he closed the back cover. The bells of Saint Augustine chimed midnight. It was his birthday.

The other priests took him out to dinner, and though he spent all night in good company, his mind was on the book. He looked across the table at the warm glows emanating from every chest in different hues, all of the new faces that had arrived since the massacre, and all he could think of were lines in Latin hidden under floorboards, of ink that could not be smeared, of magic so deep he could breathe it in and still hear it whisper like the graveyard ghosts. It will find you. And once it has found you, it will not let go. It will shape your life, and if you do not find a way to control it, you may not like the shape. His heartbeat raced between his ears.

He blew out eighteen candles on a small cake as the setting sun poured through the stained glass windows. When he finally returned to his little home, he opened the book again. The smell of magic and captivity seeped from the pages.

Strong magic does not like to be contained. It will fight to be found, to be seen, to be acknowledged. Many mages grow to be consumed by this power and lust for more. Others simply become intolerable in their god complexes. Raen could not help but think of the stories Eve told him of Aldoron. Intolerable god complex.

He stayed up all night, brewed the tea Eve had brought him, and read the book. It didn't feel like reaching archaic French any longer. It felt in his head, in his heartbeat, in the flicker of the fireplace like the candles on top of his cake. Some, those with the magic most ingrained, may need an outside source in order to control and direct their power. Many mages take familiars as channels and dampeners, but those with more volatile magic may need something sentient to help them.

Raen lay on his back, the book from Eve under one elbow, the book that had helped him raise the dead tucked against his opposite side. He didn't mean to sleep, but when he dreamt he saw golden eyes and the smile of fangs like dragon's teeth, dry as bone, dry as the pages beneath his arm.

He read both books cover to cover that morning, lit the tapers for Saint Augustine's morning services, and then went back to the small house surrounded by headstones. If he looked across the lancing sunlight, he could see echoes of memories like dust clouds, swirling over wilted flowers etched names. But his eyes were on the books.

For the next six months, he didn't notice the whispers of ghosts, the humming of souls, the sunsets, the sunrises, the velvet tolls of Saint Augustine's bells. He did his duties at the church. The priests offered him dinner. He hardly ate. Easter services lasted all day long. In between each service he swept the floor and heard the rustling in his head. Each night he sat in front of the fireplace in the small house, and tapped ink into the outside of his thigh, and read the same lines from the book over and over and over until all he dreamt were the words, golden eyes, dry paper, the creak of bones, and a promise.

After six months of carving, inking, and magic with every fiber of his being, after six months of sleeplessness and lighting tapers and reading pages until his eyes teared, he first heard her voice in his head.

“I have come to you for months now,” she said. His thigh burned. “I warned you of the dangers of making a contract.”

“I read the dangers.” His fingers traced over the lines of ink, the bone dragon that wound its way from knee to hip along the outside of his right thigh. The ink squirmed and twisted. “I accept them. I need your help. I don't want to lose control again. Too many people got hurt.”

He could not see her, but he felt her smile like the warmth of a crackling fire on a bitter winter night. It spread from the ink like fingers, until it enveloped his chest. He could breathe. Exhaustion hit him.

“My name is Narissara.” The name came with a sigh, and whether it was his or hers, he couldn't tell. His eyes were closed. Six months of sleeplessness fell on him. “I am a demon as old as the earth. I feed on souls. I live by them. And if you are willing to keep me alive on yours, then I shall protect you until the end of days.”

“The end of whose days?” he asked, not sure if his mouth was moving, or if it was all in his thoughts. He was asleep, and the weariness and the headache that had lasted for so long now floated along a golden dust. If he strained, he could see her in the shape of a dragon's skull, or the glint of a glittering eye, but he no longer needed to strain. “Yours, or mine?”

“No, little necromancer. Soul magician. Ghost whisperer. Giver of hope. Taker of life.” The monikers came like pet names given to a child. “The end of all days.”

[For more about the universe, check out the masterpost here]

[dinoo620964597-blog]

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[brewyork]

Thoughts on a thousand breweries

You never forget your first brewery. I was 21 and working in radio sales at the time, and my boss at the time took me out for a liquid lunch at Empire Brewing Company’s brewpub in downtown Syracuse, New York to celebrate a sale I had just closed. I took interest in his suggestion, since I had recently discovered craft beer from Saranac and Ithaca that was enjoyable and flavorful — I had graduated from the Labatt Blue and Natty Light I usually had at college parties. It was my first time drinking fresh beer at the source, and it set me on the adventure I’m on to this day.

According to the Brewers Association, over 4,500 breweries have opened since I visited my first, so the options grow larger and larger. Many cities that had a lone brewpub in 2003 now boast of dozens of breweries, each offering a unique beer lineup and taproom experience. There are plenty that mimic the most successful breweries, but no two experiences are the same.

There’s Brooklyn Brewery (#3), where I recall having my first barleywine, Monster Ale, in 2003. Since then, they’ve grown from a local brand to a global name in beer, drawing in visitors from all over the world (particularly Scandinavia, where they’re practically ubiquitous with craft beer). But their taproom experience is largely the same as it was then, because it works.

Many of the old breed of breweries who opened in the 1990s craft beer wave and chose to stay small stick with the same taproom formula today. Lucky Labrador’s Hawthorne brewpub in Portland, Oregon (#37) is much the same today as when I first visited nearly a decade ago. While brewers and approaches have changed at San Francisco’s Thirsty Bear (#9), the ambiance is largely the same as during my first visit in 2005. Colorado brewpubs like CooperSmiths’ Pub & Brewing (#23), Wynkoop (#25), and Bull & Bush (#26) were still familiar on recent visits, still sticking to some of the same beer formulas as they did when I first visited ten years ago.

But more common these days as the massive expansions of once-small breweries that mirrored the rapid growth in craft beer in the past few years. There’s Surly (#314), where even in three short years they’ve grown into the massive facility they moved into in Minneapolis, Minnesota, adding a dozen fermentation tanks and a world-class restaurant. There’s 21st Amendment (#8), whose small San Francisco brewpub is now accompanied by a cavernous production brewery (#579) across the bay in San Leandro. Breweries like Greenport Harbor Brewing Company (#73), Revolution Brewing (#100) and Nebraska Brewing Company (#112) are just a few I’ve visited that have added large production facilities, often increasing the amount of beer they make by factors of ten. The growth feels unstoppable.

But for every brewery that’s expanded, there’s many more that want to stay small and true to their roots. Oxbow Brewing Company (#393) added a blendery in Portland, Maine, but still brews their beer in the woods of Newcastle, Maine. Many breweries have chosen the route of staying small and local, even in the face of popularity. That’s likely the only way the industry’s recent rapid growth will be sustainable.

A more recent trend in my travels is the birth of the cult brewery. An early example, Hill Farmstead (#96), sent beer geeks into a tizzy as Shaun Hill started making beautiful esoteric beers in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, drawing crowds to a barn miles away from cell phone reception. Not far away, The Alchemist (#13) has grown out of its brewpub after wild reception for its Heady Topper Double IPA set the bar for Hazy IPAs, a style that drove most of this trend. Now, Trillium Brewing in Boston (#289), Tilted Barn in Exeter, Rhode Island (#375), Bissell Brothers in Portland, Maine (#388), and Tree House in Charlton, Massachusetts (#958) draw hours-long lines for beer releases, to the point that I often find myself avoiding them (unsurprisingly, that’s the reason Tree House is so late on the list). Personally, I prefer the more civilized environment of sitting down to drink a beer, striking up conversation with the bartender or the drinkers around me.

Heck, I could even do that at Cantillon (#646) in Brussels, Belgium, a brewery that has a similar cult-like following among Americans for its amazing Lambics. Naturally, nearly everyone I drank with in their small tasting room had ties to the US — an indication of how craft beer culture has enlightened Americans to great beer. We’re not just exporting our beer geeks, though. American beer culture has infiltrated Europe’s cities in both the styles of beer produced and the taproom culture. Brussels Beer Project (#647) stands in stark contrast to Belgium’s long-standing beer culture, pouring hoppy IPAs in a polished taproom. Nya Carnegiebryggeriet (#263) in Stockholm was Brooklyn’s first foray into Europe, brewing with the same house yeast used stateside. Fourpure (#401) in London and Magic Rock (#833) in Huddersfield are breaking with English beer tradition and pouring hop-forward, higher alcohol brews in taprooms that wouldn’t feel out of place in a suburban Seattle industrial park. Geisinger Brau (#667) in Munich may stick to German brewing traditions, but its branding and taproom would seem familiar to American beer drinkers.

Speaking of traditions, some European beer drinkers would probably argue American beer traditions are rooted in cheap, light beers. I am not above visiting the large, corporate American breweries, and I find their long histories and growth patterns fascinating. It’s helpful, in that respect, that Coors (#10) and Miller (#85) are as much museums as breweries for visitors. I’ve never visited an Anheuser-Busch facility where Budweiser is made, but the company’s buying spree resulted in visits to several breweries acquired by the company before their sale, including Blue Point (#68), Devil’s Backbone (#60), Golden Road (#172), Camden Town (#406), Elysian (#42), Wicked Weed (#207), and Four Peaks (#20). I visited both breweries in the US purchased by Constellation Brands prior to their sale: Ballast Point (#276) and Funky Buddha (#500). Two breweries I visited later took up Heineken on offers of investment, Lagunitas (#221) and Brixton (#939), the latter occurring just this week. Even with signs that some of these buying sprees are dying down, there’s likely more on my list that will see outside investment.

There’s also the possibility some will close. That’s already been the fate of 20 breweries on my list, there would probably be many more if I had been of drinking age in the 1990s. 2% is a pretty record, but over three-quarters of New York City’s 1990s-era brewpubs closed by 2002, leaving the city with hardly enough breweries to count on one hand until 2011. Now, the city boasts 35 breweries, with more to come. It’s hard to tell what the future holds.

In the meantime, I’ll visit brewery #1,000 on Saturday: Jester King in Austin, Texas, and will still only be able to claim I’ve visited one of every six breweries in the US. I’ve got a lot of hard work to do.

[workmoneyfun]

Mandatory Good News: Two Very Good Dogs Deliver Beer Curbside to Save Their Mom’s Company | This is a story of two slobbering, sweet pooches who are on a mission to get beer to you in the age of coronavirus. Well, that is if you live near the Six Harbors Brewing Company in Huntington, New York.... https://www.mandatory.com/living/1547226-mandatory-good-news-two-very-good-dogs-deliver-beer-curbside?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=mandatory-good-news-two-very-good-dogs-deliver-beer-curbside

[thingstodoinsandiego-blog]

America's Cup 2019 Top Sailing Charters In San Diego

2019 Top Sailing Charters In San Diego 

  Aolani Catamaran Sailing Winner of the San Diego A List’s Best City Tour in 2014 and 2016 and winner of the number one Activity in San Diego by Lifestyle Magazine, Aolani Catamaran Sailing is the first private yacht charter company business in San Diego, California. Their comfortable, well-appointed catamaran vessel is certified by the Coast Guard to sail with up to 48 passengers, including in the open ocean.    Boat Bed & Breakfast With an impressive fleet of the Agavero, Mea Culpa, Elegante, Czech Mate, Ode to Our Joy, Seas the Day, and Slipaway, Boat Bed & Breakfast has outstanding ratings and reviews on Yelp and VRBO. Boat Bed & Breakfast is a bed and breakfast yacht hotel offers charter and dockside accommodations. This establishment owns seven beautiful boats that have been converted into an extraordinary bed and breakfast experience.    California Cruisin' Yacht Charters California Cruisin' Yacht Charters is a boat rental service located in San Diego, California. Their yacht charters include sailboats, powerboats, weddings, dinner cruises, and overnight stays. California Cruisin’s San Diego yacht charters and bay cruises are an exciting way to see the city’s spectacular skyline and world-famous harbor, or to just soak up the sunshine while cruising the San Diego Bay.   Cast Off Sailing With prices starting from $85 per person for three hours, a whale watching adventure for $85 per person for three and a half hours, and a private sailing adventure for $499 for three hours and up to six guests, Cast Off Sailing is a great option. This boat rental business is located in the heart of the San Diego Bay, California which means you can take full advantage of the climate and steady winds.    Chere Amie Yacht Charters Chere Amie Yacht Charters is a cruise agency and boat charter business founded in 2008. They host birthdays and private parties, weddings and formal events, and business meetings. Their crew has already served 217,000 passengers on 2,100 cruises for more than 8,700 hours and counting. Chere Amie Yacht Charters is where luxury meets affordability.   Coletta Sportfishing Coletta Sportfishing is a fishing charter service. Their Captain, Christopher “Chris” Coletta, has more than 35 years of fishing experience.Their charter boat, Wanu, is a custom 32′ Marshall flybridge sport fisher powered by a 250 HP Cummins Turbo Diesel with the latest in digital controls. Wanu was specifically designed and built to fish the coastal waters of Southern California. Coletta Sportfishing was voted as the Top Charter Boat in San Diego for 2015 by ReelReports.com.   Harbor Yacht Clubs Harbor Yacht Clubs is a boat charter company with locations in San Diego and Long Beach, California that has been in business for over 20 years. They offer a sailing club, sailboat rentals, and sailing lessons. Their sailboat fleet is composed of 11 boats, and their sailing school is award-winning.   Mai Tai Yacht Charters Mai Tai Yacht Charters is a yacht charter business with a 41’ sporting yacht harbored in Harbor Island. Clients can experience the beauty of San Diego Bay from the deck of their yacht charter. Customers are free to bring their cameras, as the photo opportunities are plentiful. This yacht charter offers beautiful sunset cruises, corporate outings, special events, private celebrations, and snorkeling tours. Luxury is the name of the game here.    Next Level Sailing Next Level Sailing is a boat tour agency founded in 2003 that specializes in corporate and private charters. Their charter services include corporate entertainment, groups of up to 76 can enjoy, corporate whale watching, catering/dining, and weddings. Next Level Sailing is the official partner of the San Diego Maritime Museum and special discounted offers are available on numerous sites for those who are searching for a bargain.    Sail JADA Charters, LLC Sail JADA Charters, LLC is a boat tour agency established in 1938, making it one of San Diego’s oldest chartering services. Their sail charters include corporate charters, private charters, memorials at sea, sunset cruises, whale watching, weddings at sea, and public charters. Sail JADA Charters, LLC has a public charter as well and is the only authentic classic wooden sailing yacht available for charter in San Diego.   Sail San Diego Sail San Diego is a charter boat company that provides 12 different sailing and fishing options for 2 people to up to 50. Services include yacht brokerage, private fishing trips, and sailing lessons. Their crew has over 80 years of experience in the chartering business. Winner of Trip Advisor's Certificate of Excellence six years in a row and Hall of Fame Award, number one Charter company by Fishing Booker in 2016, and 4th place winner and 1st place captain in the Make-a-Wish Tuna Challenge 2016, Sail San Diego is used by concierges of top hotels throughout the San Diego metro area.    San Diego Bay Cruises San Diego Bay Cruises is a private yacht charter that provides sailing yachts, sport fishing boats, motor yachts, mega yachts, small boats and sport crafts, and boatels, (boat hotels). Their featured yacht is the Antonina. San Diego Bay Cruises is a proud sponsor of the San Diego Brews Cruise.   San Diego Luxury Sailing San Diego Luxury Sailing’s charter options include sunset sail, day sail, whale watching, romantic sunset sail for two, overnight at anchor, engagement proposal, and more. They also offer fun yachting activities such as stand-up paddleboarding and kayaking, a dock and dine at one of San Diego's finest restaurants, the Humphreys and Summer Pops concert series, and swimming and snorkeling. In 2015, San Diego Luxury Sailing received the Trip Advisor Certificate of Excellence.    Stars & Stripes Sailing Tours Whether you’re a sailing fanatic or just enjoy the view of floating sails on the water, I think we can all agree that sailing on an International America’s Cup Class yacht would be an amazing, unforgettable experience. Luckily, you can! Docked up at the Kona Kai Resort and Marina in San Diego California, the Stars & Stripes USA-11 is one of the fastest racing sailboats in the world, and you can charter it for a day on San Diego Bay! Great fun for all ages, a three hour harbor cruise in the San DiegoBay on the Stars & Stripes is sure to make the top of your list of fun group activities.   SV Sweet Angel SV Sweet Angel, a sailboat charter business, boasts over 42 years of sailing experience. This establishment has one of the newest and best-looking 42-foot charter sailboats available in the Bay at the moment. With highly competitive pricing, and an extremely experienced captain, the SV Sweet Angel should be the first choice for those wanting to sail in style.   Waterhorse Charters Waterhorse Charters is a SCUBA tour agency that provides trips to Wreck Alley, Coronado Islands, Kelp Beds, and various points in between. Their custom vessel, the Humboldt, was designed especially for scuba diving with an overall length of 45' and a 16' beam. They can carry 22 passengers on board at a top speed of 30 mph and a cruising speed of 26 mph. Waterhorse Charters offers SCUBA diving with ample space, a friendly crew, good food, and all the details that make for an unforgettable dive.   Click to View The 10 Best San Diego Boat Tours

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