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exhausted-archivist · 1 year ago

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Cookbook Sample Preview...

I'm perfectly normal about this, totally calm. But I noticed on Sunday that the Dragon Age official cookbook had a preview/sample that it didn't have last time I checked. To summarize, it shows the Table of Contents and 7 new preview recipes along with 2 from an earlier sample release. It's basically previews the whole first section "Starters and Refreshments".

I will be putting things under cuts in case people don't wanna see things. From now on and after its release, the tag I will be using for the cookbook if you want to block is #tastes of thedas or #da: tot

I will also be silently combusting inside as I try not to let the excitement amp me up too much. I expect to fail this mission lol. (Spoiler I did fail and have been making my excitement everyone's problem.)

So, the cookbook sample. Amazon had a scrolling preview that wasn't as nice as the spreads so I made them into spreads like we got with the previous six recipes. You can see them here in this post.

But the following is the full spread of the sample from the cookbook. It gives us the cover, the two title pages, the table of contents, an introduction of a new character/narrator, the table of contents for the Starters and Refreshers section, and the 9 recipes within that section.

Beneath the images, I have transcribed the lore blurbs of the recipe as well as give an image description, but I didn't type out the recipes. That's for a later post (Also because it doesn't fit on this post. I hit the limit, sorry.) For a similar reason, I'm not adding my commentary to any of the recipes.

Contents

Introduction - 7

Starters & Refreshments

Eggs à la Val Foret - 11 Nevarran Blood Orange Salad - 13 Fried Young Giant Spider - 15 Stuffed Deep Mushrooms - 17 Rivaini Couscous Salad - 19 Crab Cakes from Kirkwall - 21 Fluffy Mackerel Pudding - 23 Snail & Watercress Salad - 25 Cave Beetles - 27

For the Road

Spiced Jerky - 31 Grey Warden Pastry Pockets - 33 Pickled Eggs - 35 Unidentified Meat - 37 Seheron Fish Pockets - 39 Crow Feed - 43 Black Lichen Bread - 45 Hearth Cakes - 47 Peasant Bread - 49

Soups & Stews

Merril's Blood Soup - 53 Fereldan Potato and Leek Soup - 55 The Hanged Man's Mystery Meat Stew - 57 Fish Chowder - 59 Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup - 61 Lentil Soup - 63 Nettle Soup - 65 King Alistair's Lamb and Pea Soup - 67

Main Courses

Stuffed Cabbage - 71 Antivan Gnochi - 73 Antivan Paella - 75 Grilled Poussin - 77 Gurgut Roast with Lowlander Spices and Mushroom Sauce - 79 Nug Pancakes - 81 Fish in Salt Crust - 83 Roasted Wyvern - 85 Nug Bacon and Egg Pie - 87 Starkhaven Fish and Egg Pie - 89 Cacio e Pepe - 91 Turnip and Mutton Pie - 93 Smoked Ham from the Anderfels - 95 Roasted Turkey with Sides - 97

Sides

Sera's Yummy Corn - 103 Stuffed Vine Leaves - 105 Honey Carrots - 107 Nevarran Flat Bread and Yogurt Dip - 109

Sweet Delights

Blancmange - 113 Poison Stings - 115 Dalish Forest Fruit Cobbler - 117 Dwarven Plum Jam - 119 Sour Cherries in Cream - 121 Treviso Energy Balls - 123 Rice Pudding - 125 Goat Custard - 127

Baked Goods

Antivan Apple Grenade - 131 Found Cake - 133 Varric's Favorite Cinnamon Rolls - 135 Croissants - 137 Cherry Cupcakes - 139 Chocolate Cake - 141 Varric's Favorite Pastries - 143 Sugar Cake - 145 Lamprey Cake - 147 Tevinter Pumpkin Bread - 151

Drinks & Potions

Lichen Ale - 155 The Hissing Drake - 157 Hot Chocolate - 159 Antivan Sip-Sip - 161 Dragon Piss - 163 Rivaini Tea Blend - 165 The Golden Nug - 167 The Emerald Valley - 169 Chasind Sack Mead - 171

Conversion Charts - 173 About the Authors and Photographers - 174

Introduction

Dear Mum,

It's me, Devon! I'm all grown up now-- or, well, more grown up than before. You always said I was too much like a child for my own good, and given the number of times you caught me daydreaming about going off on some grand adventure instead of sweeping the floors, I will grudgingly admit that you probably - probably - had a point. But guess what? I finally went on an adventure! A big one! Just like the Hero of Ferelden!

Okay, well, maybe not exactly like the Hero of Ferelden. But I did travel across Thedas! From Ferelden to Orlais, to Rivain, and even Tevinter. Plus, everything in between. It was a long journey, Mum. Weeks and weeks on the road, with the occasional bandit or beast. You'd probably have hated it, but, by Andraste, I loved every second of it! The sights! The sounds! The food.

Oh yes, the food. The reason why I set out on this journey to begin with. I know that I wasn't particularly adept in the kitchen the last time we saw each other. And, yes, I do remember that I nearly set Castle Cousland aflame with my first attempt at a stew. But I am pleased to inform you that I have been practicing extensively, and I think that, if the position still existed, I could take up your mantle as the Cousland family's cook. Granted, I doubt I would be able to fill your shoes completely; no one could manage such an impossible task. But I like to tell myself that I still would be able to make you proud.

And that takes me back to this journey and the all-important question of why. Why did I spend the last year traveling from one end of Thedas to the other, sampling whatever local cuisine I could get my hands on, even dishes that were downright strange? You're probably thinking that it's because the Hero of Ferelden ate it at some point - yes, that's certainly part of it, though I'll have you know that I tracked down foods enjoyed by the Champion of Kirkwall and the Inquisitor as well! Not to mention all their companions. But the truth is, Mum, throughout all of this, you were right there with them at the forefront of my mind. Because when I thought of ways to honor you, I kept coming back to the most important lesson you taught me: Love through food.

Every time I left your kitchen with a warm, full belly, I felt your love for me. And though I can't do the same for you anymore, I can fill this book. I can stuff it full of different recipes, dishes you've probably never even heard of, and think of you with each new entry. Because, you see, Mum, underneath all that childlike excitement, the dreams of adventure and heroism, I'm still very much your child. And I always will be.

Thank you for everything, Mum. I can't wait to share this book and the lessons that inspired it with the rest of the world.

Love, Devon

Starters & Refreshments

Eggs à la Val Foret

Image Description: A pancake with ham and a sliced poached egg with paprika and herbs on top sit on a silver platter.

Recipe Blurb: Ah, yes. Tons of cream! Exactly what I've come to expect from Orlesian cuisine. Do I have any tips for creating the perfect poached egg? Well, ever since I heard that Solas's bald head was once likened to an egg, I simply try to make my eggs just as round and shiny! So far, it's worked wonderfully and never ceases to put a smile on my face.

Nevarran Blood Orange Salad

Image Description: A wooden bowl rests on a rock, it holds a colourful salad with blood orange slices resting on top.

Recipe Blurb: Although I knew that Divine Victoria left behind a life of wealth and privilege to join the Seekers of Truth, it wasn't until I was in Nevarra, seeing exactly what she'd given up, that I truly gained an appreciation for the path she'd chosen. The best way to describe my first glimpse of the gardens of Nevarra is that it was like seeing a painting come to life. For a long moment, I could only stand there, so dazzled by the richness and vibrancy of it all that I was half-convinced I was actually still napping in the carriage. Surely, there was no way such beauty could be found outside of a dream. And yet the beauty before me was very much real.

So, too, was the picturesque tableau that arrived later that day on a plate: perfectly cut slices of blood orange artfully arranged on a lush pillow of bitter greens. Was this a meal or a still life, I wondered. In truth, the answer was both. For Nevarrans, food is as much a feast for the eyes as for the mouth. But even if your arrangement isn't quite worthy of being displayed in a museum, this salad will sing a symphony on your tastebuds.

Fried Young Giant Spiders

Image Description: A metal bowl filled with salad greens and fried crab legs arranged on top. Plate sits on a wooden table with a metal item and a smoking pot in the background.

Recipe Blurb: Just as people on the surface raise cows and goats, the dwarves underground raise spiders. Yes, to eat. The legs are fried and served with a sauce, which, true to dwarven fashion, is made with some type of alcohol. The precise kind depends on the establishment where you're eating your spider legs. Unfortunately, I couldn't get an exact recipe from any of the chefs I spoke to. These sauces are apparently closely guarded secrets and have spurred many a nefarious plot to acquire them-the competiontion to be crowned Orzammar's Best Sauce is fierce. But I've been assured that lichen ale is generally not used.

I've therefore come up with my own recipe, based on the many varieties I sampled while in Orzammar. Given that sourcing the requisite spider legs above ground is not nearly so easy, and the demand for such exports is minimal, I've subsituted them with crab legs. It's not a perfect match, but it's close enough to satisfy me.

Stuffed Deep Mushrooms

Image Description: Three mushroom caps fulled with a green, cheesy blend topped with chives. Placed on a platter that looks like a cut of wood, red capped mushrooms with white spots in the right hand corner in the foreground.

Recipe Blurb: Though the mushrooms growing underground in caves and in many parts of the Deep Roads are all called "deep mushrooms," there is no singular variety. In fact, there are several! Some mushrooms are squat, with broad, flat caps, while others are long and spindly, reaching toward the sky like an old man's gnarled fingers. They also have a multitude of applications, used in the creation of everything from restorative potions to deadly poisons. But in Orzammar, mushrooms are farmed for eating!

I was able to sample some of these dwarven delicacies, prized for their unique flavor and intoxicating scent. After only a few bites, I was struck with inspiration. How delicious would one of these mushrooms be when stuffed with cheese and spinach? The answer is: very. Rest assured that I selected this particular variety of deep mushroom not only for its shape, which is ideal for holding the maximum amount of cheese (and spinach), but also for the fact that it does not carry the darkspawn taint. While certain dwarves will insist that a deep mushroom's proximity to lyrium and darkspawn can only improve its flavor, I am quite content to leave that particular question a mystery, especially where lyrium is concerned. Although I'm hardly and expert on the stuff, I can't help but think about Fenris and how much suffering he endured as a result of his lyrium-infused markings. It seems to me that, barring any natural resistance, lyrium and the body are two things that probably shouldn't mix.

Rivaini Couscous Salad

Image Description: A copper bowl filled with couscous, mixed with various veggies and a mint leaf on top. A letter with an amulet from Alistair in the bottom left corner - merch from the BioWare store.

Recipe Blurb: When I first encountered couscous, I mistakenly believed it to be a grain, like rice or the more familiar Fereldan barley. I was swiftly corrected. In fact, couscous is a sort of pasta, made with semolina flour and water, although it's far smaller than your typical Antivan pasta. Couscous has a very mild flavor on its own--maybe slightly nutty. But where it excels is in its ability to soak up surrounding flavors, making it a perfect base for any salad. I'd love to experiment further, but so far, this particular combination of red bell pepper and mint has proven to be incredibly pleasing.

Crab Cakes from Kirkwall

Image Description: A caste iron pan over a bed of coals and flames, filled with battered soft shelled crabs, red peppers, and lemon slices.

Recipe Blurb: I love it when recipes add a dash of whimsy into the mix. Food shoulf be fun. I, therefore, took it upon myself to put this into practice with a classic Kirkwall dish. After all, who hasn't looked at their crab cakes and wished they looked a little more like crabs? Okay, maybe I'm the only one who's thought this. But now that I've brought this possibility to your attention, I'm certain you're interested as well! Best of all, these extra-crabby crab cakes stay true to the original recipe's flavors, so nothig is lost--only gained!

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding

Image Description: Two red small bowls with baked masked potatoes and a slice of hard boiled egg on top sit on a net with a starfish in the background.

Recipe Blurb: Can it really be Feast Day without fluffy mackerel pudding? No! In fact, there's no dish I associate more strongly with the holiday than this unique combination of mackerel, onion, celery, and eggs. Granted, I've heard stories that, several decades ago, someone once attempted a diet consisting entirely of fluffy mackerel pudding. Now, that I certainly wouldn't recommend. It stops being Feast Day Fish if you eat it every day, no?

Snail & Watercress Salad

Image Description: A wooden bowl resting on a river rock, filled with a salad comprised of mixed greens, radishes, and cooked snails.

Recipe Blurb: When the Avvar can't get their hands on a gurgut or a wyvern, they turn their attention to smaller prey. Much smaller prey. Snails are found on many a hillside boulder, making them an abundant source of food for the Avvar. Now, while some would wrinkle their noses or cry out in disgust at the prospect of eating a snail, I am pleased to report that, when prepared correctly, the texture. and flavor are actually good! I could happily eat a plate full of snails dressed in butter and oil, but those still on the fence about a snail's place

Cave Beetles

Image Description: A carved bowl holding cooked whole prawns, lemon slices and herbs sit on a rock with fake beetles and a black rock with blue glowing lines in the background.

Recipe Blurb: You think that, after snails, I'd balk at beetles? Never! In fact, I greatly enjoyed this dwarven dish, which involves roasting cave beetles in their shells. However, I recognize that many may not have a palate that's nearly so adventurous. If that's the case, the cave beetles can be replaced with whole prawns while keeping the rest of the recipe the same. That being said, if you do enjoy the variation with prawns, I really recommend giving the cave beetles a try. They're quite similar in both texture and flavor. If you were to blindfold yourself, I doubt you could tell the difference!

#dragon age #dragon age cookbook #da: tot #da: tastes of thedas #tastes of thedas #long post #I am so excited this is just so good so far #I almost have bingo #archi is yelling into the void #I see that it mentioned it taking a year to traverse Thedas and we will all ignore that. Thank you.#I have feelings and observations which is for another post lol

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themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

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When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor.

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

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#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #roommate au #felix's pov is in 2nd person

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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years ago

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Okay, so I wanted to get this out, like twelve hours ago, buttttt Tumblr is having issues with me today and it wouldn’t let me. So anyways, better late than never!

This is a Christmas-y oneshot, set years Post-Mockingjay, with their first toastbaby. It’s completely canon-complacent and focuses on their lives and family after the war. It got way longer than I intended. Actually, originally, it was meant to be a Thanksgiving oneshot but uh... I took too long so it’s not Christmas. Only they call it Yuleday here, because I can’t imagine Panem calling it Christmas, idk why. Anyways, please read and enjoy!

Oh yeah, and thank you @rosegardeninwinter for writing the song Katniss sings to her daughter in here!

Summary : Everlark spend Yuleday with their daughter and the rest of their blended family.

The sticky vanilla liquid drying against the counter clings to my forearm. I wrinkle my nose slightly, the smell of vanilla too strong for my liking.

No, I prefer the smells of cinnamon and pine and fresh baked bread, I think to myself, as I watch my husband slip on a oven mitt and pull out a new loaf.

The kitchen is much messier than Peeta typically allows it to get, but he didn't have the time this week he anticipated he would to bake for our family's impending visit.

I lean unconsciously closer to the baked good, my mouth already watering at the sight. "Katniss," Peeta warns while he places a cake pan inside the oven, his voice growing stressed. "Be careful of the door." He gestures with his chin to the white-hot contraption just inches from my legs.

I roll my eyes at his fretting and pick up a piece of bread from a loaf we never finished last week. "Don't worry, I've been married to a baker for a while," I reply coyly as he begins to stir white, creamy homemade frosting around in a bowl. "I'm used to getting burned every so often."

It's his turn to send me a look now. "Yeah, because you forget to put a mitt on when touching the rack."

"Hmm, funny, my husband said at the time it was his fault for not warning me how hot it was," I shoot back as I dig my finger into the frosting bowl and pop the sugary substance into my mouth.

"That's sanitary," he deadpans and pushes me away from his workspace playfully.

"Oh, come on," I implore, pressing my hands against his chest as he tries to move me out of the kitchen and towards the living room. "Don't you ever sample your treats while making them?"

"No, Katniss," he replies, trying to remain serious but I see a smile peaking through. "Because I'm a professional."

I go to make a comment, pointing out every time before he's been less than professional in his workplace—with me, in particular. In the back room, with the most counterspace—when he leans down and plants a kiss on my lips. More than likely to shut me up.

"Yeah, this is sanitary," I tease against his mouth when we break apart ever so slightly.

Peeta leans back a little, keeping his chin still pressed against mine. "When have we ever cared about sanitary?"

I smirk up at him as his hands find my hips tenderly, his fingertips gliding underneath my shirt, touching the edge of my stomach. His lips find mine again or mine find his, but either way, in a matter of seconds I'm opening my mouth to let his tongue enter, eliciting a loud moan from him when my teeth graze his bottom lip.

"Mmm," he whispers when he pulls back again.

"Mmm?" I repeat, chuckling. "That's the best you can do?"

He tightens his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "I was about to say, I do enjoy taste testing my own frosting that way."

"Well, as long as you had a reason for invading my mouth."

"Like I said, I'm a strict professional."

Before I can reply back, there's a loud knock at our front door. Followed by another and then another, growing more noisy and cacophonous with the passing seconds.

Neither of us make a move to get the door. "Are you sure we have to invite Haymitch?" I inquire, my voice very serious.

"I believe I left that decision up to you, my love," Peeta replies cheekily, planting a small kiss on my nose.

"I can hear you two," Haymitch barks from the other side of the door before he knocks again, just as loud, and then rattles the doorknob. "Let me in, I'm freezing," he demands gruffly.

Peeta opens the door with a sardonic look, revealing our grouchy mentor and, at his feet, our tiny daughter, bundled up to keep from the cold. "Put a coat on, Haymitch."

"Why would I do that? I was coming here to sit by your fireplace all day anyway."

"Mommy!" Indigo shouts and races her chubby little legs in a beeline to me.

I scoop her up easily, having missed her for the entire forty-five minutes she was away from me. "Did you have a good time helping feed the geese?" I ask, in a tone I would have found absolutely embarrassing three years ago. I never even spoke to Prim in that tone.

"No, I hate them," she proclaims, very seriously, before laying her head against my shoulder exhaustedly. "They're very demanding cree-ters," she explains.

I nod, petting down her long, dark hair, moving it out of her little face, giving me access to the stunning blue eyes Peeta gave her. "They are very demanding creatures, aren't they?"

"But someone has to help Granpuh," she adds on the end, very matter-of-fact.

I shake my head at that, hoisting her higher on my hip. "I think Haymitch takes care of himself just fine, Indigo," I murmur sternly, as my old mentor passes by me, his eyes falling on the frosting bowl still sitting on the counter where we left it.

"Excuse me, Sweetheart. It's Grandpa to her," Haymitch corrects gruffly, pointing to my child.

Peeta hums as he leans against the doorframe, his shirt tightening up around his shoulders as he stretches his neck. "Katniss, remember when you were pregnant and Haymitch swore our kid wouldn't call him Grandpa?"

"I seem to remember that well."

"Yeah, well I seem to remember you saying no one is ever calling your daughter Indy and yet, here we are," the older man reminds me and all levity is gone from my face instantly, only to be replaced with irritation.

Three years ago when I gave birth, me and Peeta both agreed on the name Indigofera. Or, more like, he agreed because I liked the name.

I never expected to have a child. I spent majority of my life swearing I'd never procreate. The world I grew up in, the only world I knew, was nowhere I'd allow a child to grow up in. Not if I had any control of over.

Not when every year from the age of twelve to eighteen, my child could be stolen from me, could be taken away and tossed into a dressed up cage, forced to fight to the death, likely die on national television.

I'd never allow my child to live in that world.

That sentiment only grew stronger once a child of my own was no longer just a vague image, but a living, breathing, loud little being.

The idea of my Indigofera being subjected to the world I knew, the world that fell apart almost twenty years ago now, is beyond devastating to me.

I still wonder sometimes how Peeta ever was able to convince me to have a child.

As I think of him, he's right beside me, saying something quippy to Haymitch, before pulling Indigo out of my arms and unzipping her coat. I watch on at their exchange as she puts her tiny little hands on his cheeks, telling him happily about her time with Granpuh and the geese. I watch as Peeta's eyes brighten when he looks at her, I watch as she smiles more and more with his encouraging nods, prodding her to keep talking. I watch as she squeals out and laughs when he tickles her and kisses the side of her face.

And I still wonder, how on earth he convinced me to have a child.

But I'm thankful every day he did, from the bottom of my heart. That little girl is the most important being in both our lives and, though I had no idea at the time, we were not complete without her.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Indigo complains as he starts to pull away, very obviously intending to head back to the kitchen and finish up baking and frosting.

"We're going to eat once Grandma and the others gets here, Bean," I promise, stepping in to scoop her back up.

"They're so slow," Indigo says, with no shame or remorse in her voice for the blunt statement.

"Indigo," Peeta chides gently. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It's kind of true," I add sheepishly after a moment, agreeing with our daughter.

My husband just rolls his eyes at me now. "You're a bad influence on her."

"Oh, give me a break, Peeta!" I exclaim defensively. "You gave her chocolate pancakes for breakfast today. I think you're the bad influence."

"I made them for you too, Katniss," he reminds me wryly.

"That's a little different-"

"Hello," Haymitch interrupts as he plops down on the sofa, his usual spot in our house. "Some of us would like to eat Yuleday Dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And that's not going to happen if we don't let the boy work, Sweetheart."

The boy. Haymitch never did get new nicknames for us, despite Peeta being a man, a husband and a father for quite some time now.

Peeta hauls Haymitch up by the arm from his seat. "If you're going to be in my house, you're going to help me with dinner," he says firmly and Indigo giggles against my neck, watching her daddy drag her grandpa into the kitchen.

Haymitch being grandpa was only ever meant to be a joke. Neither me nor Peeta ever intended for Indigo to actually view Haymitch Abernathy as her grandfather.

Though it makes sense. He's been a constant in our lives since we were sixteen. And even when me and Haymitch are at each other's throats, he still shows up here, sitting on the couch, expecting dinner, at least once a week. He regularly shows up at the bakery Peeta runs now almost entirely on his own, asking for free samples. And he still loves our daughter like his own flesh and blood.

The only true gripe I have about Haymitch and Indigo's relationship is the nickname Indy. I knew when we named her Indigofera, after the mysterious plant that my father used to jokingly say was about as real to us as unicorns—the color plant was all but extinct long before I was even born—that her natural nickname would be Indigo. Peeta himself says we gave her a mouthful of a name, choosing to go as far as adding in a middle name that we both lacked ourselves. But something about the nickname Indy is extremely unappealing to me.

And as her mother, as the person who grew her and carried her inside me, and loves her more than all the things in the world combined, I think I should have final say on what she's called.

I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, little hand pulling my tangled hair. "Mommy, what time does Finn get here?"

Of course, that's who Indigo is focused on. It's not just my mother arriving today to join us for our Yuleday Dinner. It's everyone that me and Peeta consider family.

Including Annie and Finn, her child with the sensual, alluring, kind-hearted Finnick Odair. The child who has taken after his father in ways that seemed unimaginable.

Indigo knows, even at three-years-old, that we always treat Finnick's memory with respect. We never forget him or anyone else that ever helped us make the country a safe place.

Of course, she's too young to fully understand. What she understands is Finn, who at eighteen, has all his father's looks and charm, is her suto-cousin, is her playmate and brings her presents. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all she needs to understand.

"In an hour," I reply gently, bringing myself back to reality. Pushing her dirty hair back, I lean my nose against her's, letting my eyes grow bigger. "You know what that means?"

She lets out a loud shriek of excitement and all but kicks her way out of my arms. "Bath time!" She yells as she propels herself excitedly towards the stairs, going on all fours to struggle her way up independently.

I stay inches behind her, making sure I'm able to catch her if she should tumble, but the precaution isn't necessary. Indigo gets to the top stair and takes off running towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Lots of bubbles," Indigo commands in a very serious tone as she watches me pour a cap full into her bath water.

I remind myself for the thousandth time to send Effie a thank you note for bath bubbles she sent weeks ago. My old escort is one of the few people I haven't kept in close contact with over the years and it's no surprise really. Me and Peeta never stopped looking at the Capitol with disdain, perhaps even more so after the war, and Effie, even with a good heart deep inside, is Capitol, through and through.

But she's still sent sporadic gifts here and there over the years. She's still called Haymitch dozens of times since the end of the war. She's still kept her mouth shut about Indigo's existence for the last three years and for that, I am indebted to my old escort for life.

Peeta and I agreed early on in my pregnancy that Indigo would never be property of the Capitol. It didn't matter how much safer the world was now, or how many new faces have come along for people to fawn over in the last eighteen years, or how adorable Indigo is, we both vowed with everything we had that no one outside our family and friends and community would know of her birth. If I did anything in my life, it would be protect my child.

The way I failed to protect my sister.

Even almost twenty years later, the memory still stung. The image of my sister being blown apart, right before my eyes, is permanently ingrained in my mind. I still wake up from nightmares, reliving Prim's last moments alive before the bombs took her away forever.

But the once searing pain had faded into a dull ache, a deep imbedded hurt that never went away entirely but instead became a part of who I was.

I help Indigo into the tub and instantly get to work, washing her up as she splashes around and plays with her bubbles. Technically Effie sent them to me, along with a lot of other useless items that I all but threw out immediately, but they were better used for Indigo. Whereas I saw the impracticality in many of Effie's gifts, Indigo saw a new luxury, a new toy, a new activity or adventure she could have.

It's the Peeta in her. It's his appreciation for beauty that he passed down to our daughter.

I've told him countless times in the last few years that if she turns out to have a massive spending addiction or have desires to live a luxurious life, it's all on him.

"Alright, eyes shut," I warn dramatically, waiting for her to cover her big blue eyes with her tiny palms before dousing her head with water.

After she's dried and dressed she runs into the kitchen barefoot and immediately flings herself onto Peeta, gripping his prosthetic leg. "Daddy, look how clean I am!"

He chuckles as he finishes wiping the counter off before scooping her up. "Imagine how clean you could be every day if Mommy didn't take you to the woods to play in the dirt?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but I still shoot him a dirty look. "She gets dirtier in Daddy's kitchen than the woods."

"Dirty? From baking?" He directs the questions towards the three-year-old in his arms. "No!"

Indigo gives him a shy smile before a loud giggle escapes and nodding her head, affirming his point. "See," he points out, gesturing to her grinning face.

"Daddy is the bad influence around here," I say as I pull her from his arms.

"Only because Mommy corrupted me," he says back as he moves to grab the broom, the last step in his clean up routine before the rest of our guests arrive.

He leans around me and Indigo to grab the cleaning device, before not so subtly sneaking a kiss on his way back. I just look to our daughter and, indicating to her father with my chin, wrinkle my nose dramatically, causing her to laugh more.

"Mommy's mad at you," she informs him, finding this very humorous.

"Hmm, is she?" Peeta asks, as if he's shocked by the news.

"Yes," I affirm. "For implying I dirty my child, when it's you who covers her in flour and cake batter every other day."

"Oh, well, Indy, whatever will we do to gain Mommy's forgiveness?" He isn't gaining any sort of forgiveness from me by using her annoying nickname. Still he pretends not to notice my narrowing eyes, as if after eighteen years he doesn't know me like the back of his hand.

"Bake her somting!" She exclaims, clapping and excited again. She's always excited. I'm not even sure if she's mine some days with how enthusiastic this little human can be.

"Hmm, I could," he agrees, but then dramatically he gazes around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know what though? I just cleaned it all up in here. So I guess I can't bake Mommy something. I guess I'll have to try other methods."

As if he planned it the entire time—which, without a doubt, he did—Peeta leans in gently and starts pressing kisses to my skin, right where my jaw meets my neck. I resist at first and so his lips move upwards, towards my forehead, towards my nose and then my chin.

"Okay," I relent, laughing in spite of myself, batting him away. "Okay, you're forgiven." I reward him with a smile as he moves his lips from peppering my face to my mouth itself. He only gives me a chaste kiss, since I'm holding his daughter, but it's enough to make my stomach flip like it did on the beach, when we were seventeen.

We were also in a death match, neither of us intending to live through the following day, but that fact somehow has separated itself in the almost twenty years since the war from the moment between me and Peeta, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my mind compartmentalizing itself, for the horrors witnessed and forever printed inside my head somehow shifting away from specific moments in the games, moments I can now look back on more fondly than when I was seventeen.

I look at Peeta again then, as he gives me a sweet smile and turns away to start sweeping the floor, to rid it of the thick layer of flour split while baking, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the last eighteen years. I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the almost two decades he's given me, that had been the best years of my life.

Of course, the little squirming creature in my arms have only made the years better, and I kiss her face gently, murmuring softly, "Let me braid your hair," against her little pink cheek.

She obediently sits in front of me and starts humming as I comb the knots from the long dark locks she inherited from me. "What're you singing?" I ask, smiling, already knowing what song she's trying to hum.

"Bloo sky," she replies simply, before going back to humming again to herself. I smirk softly, waiting for her to ask me to take over.

And, of course, with the predictability of a three-year-old, Indigo turns around abruptly after a long moment of silence with a frazzled look overtaking her big blue eyes. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing bloo sky? I can't 'member all the words."

My smirk turns to a full on smile now, as I begin to twist her now soft and silky hair into a braid. "Don't let your mind be troubled, dear. Don't you get lost in fear. For through all the storm clouds and darkest days, I promise I will be here."

Indigo beams at me, tipping her head back to watch me sing before her own little voice, lisp and wrong words and all—though, I have inexpressible pride that her melody is perfectly on pitch—joins in with me.

"And a blue sky will come shining through. And a blue sky just for me and you," I sing as she accidentally says too instead of through. "Through all the storm clouds and darkest days, there's a blue sky for just me and for you," we finish.

"And for Daddy," Indigo suddenly asserts, like she forgot him until now.

I laugh gently. "Yes, but that won't fit the rhyme."

"What's a rhyme?"

"Nevermind, Indigo." I can barely hold back a chuckle as I finish her braid, tying it with the band around my wrist. Since she grew hair long enough to get caught on things, I've always made a special point in carrying extra hair ties for her, everywhere we go.

"Sweetheart, am I expected to go grab our guests in my car? Because I don't have enough room so someone's going to have to hang onto the bumper-"

"Don't worry, Haymitch," I cut off, laughing again, at the image of him attempting to gather up our blended family and friends in what he refers to as a car. "And I didn't miss you saying our guests," I add, turning away from my child to give him a look.

"I helped the boy clean the kitchen, I get to take ownership over the guests as well."

"Grandpuh?" Indigo's little voice peeps. "I wanna go for a ride before Finn gets here."

"Finn?" Haymitch picks. "Every person you've ever met is coming over today and it's Finn Odair you're excited to see?"

But Indigo adores—and I mean, adores—Finn and he's always been so good with her, more patient than any typical teenager is expected to be, and his arrival is all she's really thinking about.

"Haymitch, stop giving my daughter crap and take her for a ride in town," Peeta calls from the kitchen, evidently by the clanging noise, putting away the last of the dishes. "Hurry up too, I don't want her out there when the crowd comes in."

We never allow Indigo out into town during the busy times a day. During the times when the crowds, even here in the once decimated Twelve, grow too large for either Peeta or my liking. Too many opportunities for a stranger to grab her, too many chances for her to get lost, too many things could go wrong. Too many dangers exist for a three-year-old, even in this world that is miles better than the one we used to know.

Peeta and I do our best to put the past behind us, but we both still have times when the memories of war and bloodshed and cruelty creep in, and it's on those days all I can imagine is the world shifting again, some sort of disorder or disarray ruining the peace that will always feel foreign to me. It's on those days all I can see is the games coming back, is someone taking Indigo from me, putting her through what no child should have to endure, her sweet, little innocence being ripped away violently. Someone taking me or Peeta from her, her pure heart being hardened, the blue eyes that sometimes I swear I could see my sister in turning ice cold.

It's on those days I shut and lock the doors, I refuse to open the blinds, I refuse to let my daughter out of my sight. It's those days I beg Peeta not to run to the bakery, to just stay with us, to just not go where I can't see either of them.

It's on those days I plan what I will do if the world does fall to its knees again, if my worst fears when even thinking of the abstract idea of having a child come to life. I never tell anyone of these thoughts, but on the days Peeta has a flashback or can't sleep, on the days when he feels like he’s still seventeen, locked inside Snow's mansion, a tortured shadow of the wonderful boy with the golden heart, on the days he paints horrific images he'll never let our daughter see, I know he makes his own plan too.

As always, Indigo breaks me out of my thoughts as they run dark, jumping up excitedly, ready to go for a ride in Haymitch's car. It's actually more resemblant of a cart, with just room for three people if you squeeze, and no doors in sight. But she loves it and it makes her happy and after everything else, I know I can trust Haymitch with my child.

I fix her little green overall dress, straightening her dandelion patterned shirt underneath. "Don't let Haymitch get your dirty," I instruct very clearly.

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't mess up your hair."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't be too long."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't talk to strangers."

"Okay, can I go already?"

Both Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me and it takes all my restraint not to say something profane in front of Indigo.

As soon as they leave, I get to work, helping Peeta straighten up the house before our guests arrive.

As I'm finishing fluffing and re-arranging the pillows, two warm hands come into contact with my waist. "Excuse me, sir, I'm working right now."

Peeta's arms wrap entirely around me now, his lips on my neck. "Don't worry, I know the boss. She'll... understand."

"Will she?" I cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He nods confidently. "She rather enjoys activities such as these."

I'm about to coyly ask what activities he's implying when his lips trail up further, finding residence closer and closer to my mouth.

His lips have just contacted mine when I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself, "the second our daughter leaves, you just can't help yourself."

His kiss turns to a laugh. "She does tend to take up a lot of the bed space. We have to catch these opportunities for us when we can."

I chuckle in response, because it's true. As much as we both love our child—more than words could ever say—lately, her fear of sleeping in her room down the hall has meant we've gained a new, invasive bedmate.

"That we do," I agree, smirking now as I fiddle with his sky blue collar that matched his eyes. "I see had a wardrobe change."

"Mhmm. Thought I would look nice for Yuleday."

"Is there someone special you're expecting to see? Someone you want to dress up for?" I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to the center of his chest, right at my eye level.

"There is, actually," he affirms slyly. "Two people, in fact. Both women. One a little smaller than the other. Both have dark hair and loud voices—"

"Excuse you?"

"Both have me wrapped entirely around their fingers," he adds, full on smiling now.

"Good save," I retort, about to turn away when I feel his hands grip the underside of my thighs and hoist me up against him.

I pretzel myself around his body, unable to help the girlish noise of surprise that slips out as he holds me in his arms. "We only have maybe ten minutes until Indigo and Granpuh," he imitates his three-year-old, but his nose teasingly presses against mine and his voice is very suggestive, "come back. We should... make the most of it... before we have to entertain guests all day."

I return the glint his eyes, my desires in line with his. Our lips meet halfway in the minimal space still remaining between us, and we waste no time before our tongues begin to intertwine, twirl and gently twist.

I feel his hand sliding up my ratty, torn shirt, just barely crossing over my stomach to my ribs when a knock at the door suddenly catches us off-guard.

"Haymitch isn't usually back this fast," I say as Peeta—very reluctantly—sets me down.

But as soon as the words slip from my lips, a thousand thoughts race through my mind.

What if Haymitch had lost Indigo somehow, in the crowd that always grows large on Yuleday? What if someone took my baby? What if she's scared and can't find me and I don't even know it yet because I let an old drunk man take her out of my sight? What if she fell out of Haymitch's cart and smacked her head on the town's icy cobblestones? What if the car spun out and hit a tree and now one of our neighbors is coming to tell us the grave news?

I'm holding my breath, my heart suddenly beating a million miles a second, as my husband pulls open the door.

Behind the door is not Haymitch nor a random member of our community. It's Delly. Delly Cartwright-Bagley and her husband and three children in tow.

A half hour early.

I can't help the reaction that slips from my lips, the stress of my fears overpowering my filter. "Would it have killed you to show up on time?"

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore him. Delly however is unfazed by my irritation. As is her husband, Kanon.

"Happy Yuleday, Katniss!" Delly beams and pushes her plate of frosted cookies into Peeta's hands to hug me tightly. "And we only showed up early because your husband invited us to," she adds, talking too loudly into my ear.

My eyes narrow at Peeta but he's clearly just as unhappy with himself, since now our plans have been interrupted.

"I said they could come early and help," Peeta defends slightly, just as Delly's husband notices the button I must have unknowingly undid.

"Mmm, well you two could go upstairs while we finish getting everything ready for the rest of the guests," Kanon teases, ruffling Peeta's conspicuously tousled hair as he leads the three young ones inside from the cold.

Delly pulls back from me then and leads her eldest, Evelyn Malia Bagley—but, much like with Indigofera, is known solely by Evie—to the kitchen, with a high level of familiarity.

The confidence inside my house is only natural at this point, considering the relationship with our family and Delly's has grown much closer than I ever could have anticipated.

Delly is Peeta's childhood best friend, and therefore after the war she was one of the biggest supporters and greatest confidants to him in his darkest hours. The times I couldn't do anything, because I was the source of his fear, of his anger or his pain.

Or rather, Snow made him believe I was.

Delly's presence in Peeta's life was far more helpful than any over the phone therapist could have ever been, and for that I am eternally grateful. However, I never expected her to be a close friend to me as well.

Begrudgingly on my part some days, but it was fact. If I ever needed anything, if I was having a hard time, if I ever wanted to talk with someone besides Peeta—which is rare but happens every so often—I'm still shocked to realize Delly Cartwright-Bagley is one of the first people I'll turn to. I’m still shocked to realize the girl who once had baby fat and yellow hair, who sat two rows ahead of me in school and chewed her bubblegum obnoxiously loud, is one of my closest companions.

She's surprisingly more understanding and wise underneath her overly perky personality and boisterously loud voice.

And, of course, the man she married also helps the equation. Kanon is a kind, tall man, a few years older than the rest of us. He's rather quiet but will poke a joke at someone he knows well enough. He's hardworking and loyal and intuitive.

He's the exact opposite of Delly, which sounds like it should be a recipe for disaster but in reality has proven to be a wonderful occurrence in everyone's life.

After all, we all let out a sigh of relief when she could quit working at the medicine factory.

For all of Delly's good qualities—and there are a great many—she's not exactly an ideal factory worker. Or manual laborer. Or cleaning personnel.

When Delly took over operating the counter at Kanon's Candy Store, which unlike the bakery, is more of a novelty than an essential, everything sort of fell into place.

"Aunt Katty!" I hear a small voice shriek, pushing her older brother out of the way to sprint into my arms.

I barely have time to catch little Kendall, Delly's youngest child before she’s flung herself onto me with a force only her mother could have matched.

"Hi, Sweetie," I all but coo, disgusting even myself a bit.

I hug her almost as tightly as she hugs me, and I intentionally ignore Peeta's smirk in my direction.

Okay, so I'm not the most subtle about having a favorite out of Delly's litter. But Kendall is only three months different in age than my Indigo, so I have the excuse of spending the most time with the little wild, rambuctious thing.

Although my child is by far the ringleader in their friendship. A fact I try not to think of too often, as I could easily imagine a multitude of things Indigofera could get into if I don't keep a close eye on her.

"Where's Indy?" Kendall asks as I cart her to the kitchen. She's the only one I let that nickname slide with.

"She went for a ride with Haymitch."

Speaking of my child only increases my anxiety for her whereabouts. I suddenly regret letting my old mentor take her at all, as my gut continues to constrict painfully, thinking of every scenario in which she could be taken away from me. Forever.

My only job, the only one I truly cannot live with the idea of failing, is keeping my daughter safe.

I failed once before to protect someone I loved more than my own life. Twice, I correct myself, looking at Peeta, who's now guiding five year old Rhys by hand to the kitchen.

I cannot fail Indigofera, like I failed both Prim and Peeta.

Delly senses the tension building inside of me as I come to stand beside her, Kendall still on my hip. "Haymitch would never let Indigo get hurt," she says without preamble. To her credit though, she says it quieter than her typical range of volume. "C'mon. It's his granddaughter."

The four of us laugh, the fact that a little person with giant blue eyes and a constant pair of messy braids is what entirely melted Haymitch Albernathy's heart still laughable three years later.

I let Kendall down and watch as she and her siblings begin to set the table dutifully, with more order and structure than I had at their age.

I feel the everlasting anxiety that's making a permanent home inside my gut suddenly release, like a knife being pulled out of a stab wound, as Indigo's voice fills the room.

"Mommy!" She yells, racing into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Look at what Gamma Sae gave me," she exclaims, holding up a stuffed bear for me to see.

I don't acknowledge the toy or her hair that's coming out of the braid I only just did, or even the grass stain on her dandelion patterned shirt. I just yank her up into my arms and squeeze her tight.

I should be ashamed of myself, that my three-year-old knows when I've worried or been in distress over her, but all I am is awed when she lays her little head on my shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm okay, Mommy. Granpuh wouldn't let anything hurt me."

There is an awkward pause in the room for a moment, only noticeable to the adults. I don't know if it's because they understand my anxiety—Peeta, at least, typically does—or if it's because they think I'm insane, but no one speaks until Indigo shuffles herself downwards and immediately tackles Kendall, excitedly showing her the stuffed animal Greasy Sae gave her.

Delly, as per usual, breaks the silence. "You know, if you two ever want to finish the... activity you were engaged in when we showed up, I will gladly take care of Indigo for an afternoon."

I roll my eyes, long past the point where Delly could make me blush with her innuendos. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peeta is chuckling as he finishes drying off a now clean cooking bowl. "You're a more appealing babysitter than Haymitch," he says, his eyes falling on the older man, who's standing with the kids now, not-so-subtly keeping closer to Indigo, as he isn't too fond of most children in general.

"You sure we wouldn't be ruining your fun?" I tease now, looking at Kanon, who's arranging the cookies they brought onto a different plate.

"Katniss, we have three kids," Delly all but deadpans. A rarity for her. "All under eight years old. One more won't make a difference."

Kanon speaks up then as me and Peeta snicker. "We also learned to be faster," he adds slyly, looking directly at me. "The joy of having a few kids. Makes you a better multi-tasker."

"I so miss when you used to be quiet," I say in a monotone as the doorbell, that no one uses, unexpectedly rings.

"Peeta, how many people did you invite early?" I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively. "No one else, I swear."

"Sure."

But when I open the door, revealing my mother, Annie and Finn, I know he's got to be telling the truth. He wouldn't have invited my mother early for anything. The tension that existed years ago is all but gone—especially since Indigo's birth, the event that drew us closer than we had been since I was a child—but still, Peeta remains cautious. When it comes to my mother, he leaves her visitation completely up to me.

Her husband, Rod Marin, doesn't attend our celebration however. I don't know if it's the chilly reception he may or may not receive from me, or if it's the fact that my mom doesn't want to bring Rod's daughters with them, but either way, she has attended our home alone for the last five years and, as selfish as that may be, I prefer it this way.

Still, I greet her warmly. "Hi, Mom," I say as she hugs me tightly.

"Sorry we're a little early, honey," she professes as she steps into the house that was once her home too.

"That's fine," I assure, even though I'm not dressed or ready yet.

Annie is next and she instantly throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she murmurs in the sweet, gentle way she's always had since I met her in District Thirteen.

"We missed you too," Peeta calls from around the corner as he comes into our eyesight, holding a very excited Indigo in his arms.

"Finn!" She screams as she all but launches herself away from Peeta and into the eighteen year old's arms.

"Hi!" He exclaims as he catches her and swings her upwards, returning the overzealous squeeze she's giving his neck. "How's my best girl?"

"She's gweat!" Indigo beams and my heart melts a little, watching her with the boy who looks so much like his father. The boy who's always been such a joy in life. The boy who saved his mother eighteen years ago, who has been nothing but respectful and kind and funny to me and Peeta, who has shown incredible maturity at such a young age.

Then again, at his age I had already been through two games and a war. Peeta had already been hijacked and fought his way back. I'd already lost my little sister. Me and Peeta had our toasting at only a year older, at nineteen. Maybe eighteen isn't a young as it seems to me now, looking at youthful Finn, who I watched learn to walk and talk and swim and tie a knot.

Or maybe I was just as young when all that tragedy occurred. Maybe I just felt older because of the circumstances in which I was born, because of the world in which we lived.

I shake my head slightly, trying to shake the bad thoughts away.

"Indy, guess what?" Finn prompts enthusiastically—but not without shooting me a teasing glance, knowing my distain for her nickname.

"What?"

"I brought something."

"What?"

Both Peeta's and my curiosity has been peaked now, just as much as our child's. Annie's hesitant glance, that looks both hopeful and apprehensive, only fuels my confusion more.

"Well, there's a new tradition in some of the other districts that I think you'd find fun," he explains, but his eyes flicker to me and I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he could be suggesting. "You see you cut down a tree—or sometimes people in One or Two buy a plastic tree—and then you bring it home and decorate it."

Indigo claps her hands together, too excited and too precious for me to disappoint her. "I want to do it!" She yells, with an exuberance only a three-year-old could possess. "Kenny, we're gonna decorate a tee!"

I hear a variant of what being exclaimed in the other room, where my mother, Haymitch and the Bagley's still are.

"Where do we buy decorations?" My child asks, abruptly serious, the details of this tradition becoming clearer in her little mind.

"Indy," Finn quickly tries to corral. "I brought decorations with me, but we need a tree and..." He hesitates, looking at me now.

"And?" She prompts, confused.

"We have to ask your momma if it's alright to get one. Since it's her house we'll be doing this in." He winks at me, then turns his eyes pleading, half mocking me.

Indigo doesn't have to even feign the look, she naturally inherited that sweet, wide eyed, begging glint. Either from Prim or Peeta—probably both—and I'm powerless against it.

"Fine," I relent dramatically. Indigo rewards me by jumping from Finn's arms to mine and kicking her little chubby legs excitedly. "But not until after dinner," I condition.

"We should probably go get the tree now though?" Peeta suddenly speaks up, looking at the clock on the wall. "Before it gets dark?"

I shoot him a glare over Indigo's head. "It won't get dark for hours. And why do you seem not surprised by this?"

Peeta shrugs too innocently and when Annie giggles and nudges his shoulder, I realize they had been conspiring behind my back.

"Daddy is definitely the bad influence around here, Indigofera," I declare, as my husband walks closer to us, leans down and kisses my hair.

"We love you," he says teasingly, against my crown. "Even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes."

Before I can respond, likely with a snappy comment, our daughter pops her head off my shoulder. "Daddy, I want to pick out the tee."

Of course she does. That girl has been in charge of us since the day she was born.

"Okay, Bean. Ask your mother if it's alright," he tells her, but it's just a formality at this point, as to not ruffle me further. She's his kid too, he can take her to get a tree if he wants.

"Mommy, can I-"

"Yes," I say exasperatedly, giving Peeta a look as I hand him Indigo.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he whispers, leaning down and touching his nose to mine. "I'll take care of our girl."

"I know," I sigh, because I do know that. I've never not trusted him with our child. Even if I prefer to keep them both here with me. Even if I'd have preferred to keep her inside of me, where I knew I could protect her always.

I can't keep the smile off my face though when he pecks my lips unexpectedly and then my nose. "We won't be long."

"Better not be," I call as he grabs their coats and carries my little girl out the door, following behind Finn and Kanon and the Bagley kids. "Or else I'm eating without you."

"Same here," Delly calls from the kitchen, though they probably can't hear her.

"Go change," Annie suggests, touching my messy braid gently. "I'll go help Delly and your mom."

I shoot her a grateful smile and make my way upstairs. In the years since the war both Annie and Johanna have remained, shockingly—maybe only to me—constants in mine and Peeta's lives. They both returned to their home districts, but through visits and telegraphs and phone calls, even just for Jo to call me an idiot, they both became a part of a new blended family I didn't even know was being created.

Though I am grateful now for it. Beyond words. As neither me nor Peeta can offer Indigo any sort of extended family, her having Johanna, Delly, Annie and their families somehow fills the space left empty from the loss the war gave us.

As if on cue, just as I'm thinking of her, I hear a loud rapt on the bathroom door and know Johanna has arrived.

"Come in," I yell as I pull on a dark green—which for some reason is an acceptable color on Yuleday—sweater and push a brush through my hair viciously. I'm just moving on to rebraiding it simply when Jo enters.

"Hello, Brainless," her voice rings out as she steps into the bathroom.

"I'm shocked you knocked."

"I didn't wanna see you indecently."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Probably won't be the last."

We both let out a laugh and—pretending to be at least a little begrudgingly about it—embrace for a moment.

"Missed your stupidity these last couple of months," she murmurs as she pulls back.

"My stupidity? You once almost shot an arrow at Haymitch."

"You thought that was an accident?"

I can't help but snort as I turn back to the mirror and finish up my braid. "How's Christopher?" I ask, my tone a little more serious.

But she just shrugs, her gaze focusing now on Indigo's tiny comb. The one with the diamonds that Effie sent and Peeta insisted we keep.

Christopher is the man Jo, almost against her will, fell for almost two years ago. She refuses to commit to him entirely, especially since he has a son not much older than Indigo and that prospect alone terrifies her, but when Peeta visited her last year he told me that Christopher and his son, David, without a doubt live in that house with her.

"I can't believe you keep stuff from Effie Trinket?" Jo segues gracelessly. "Especially for a three-year-old."

"Blame Indigo's father. Both for her love of fancy things and his compliance in letting her have them."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you make sure she only gets the bare necessities."

"Okay, who's side are you on?"

"The one who makes the dinner around here."

"I hunt it."

"He stuffs it and bakes it."

"This feels personal. Is this because I didn't save you any pumpkin cake or sweet nut bread from Harvest Dinner?"

"Now that you mention it-"

Johanna is abruptly cut off by the sound of a yelp. Only, instead of the sound being a distress call or a bone chilling cry, it's one of excitement.

"Johanna Mason, get down here!" Annie yells, way too excited to be beckoning Jo of all people.

She rolls her eyes—a little too good-naturedly to be as annoyed as she'd like for me to believe—before exiting the bathroom and heading down to greet Annie at the bottom of the staircase.

I chuckle to myself, marveling at their odd friendship, before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading down to join them as well.

I almost run headfirst into my husband as I walk by the front door. "That was quick," I note breathlessly as Peeta catches me by the waist, burying his now chilly face into my neck. Probably more for warmth than romance.

"Hmm, Indy-Indigo," he corrects himself humorously. "She is very decisive. Saw the tree she wanted and looked at no second options."

I wrap my arms around his neck and peer over his shoulder. "And where is the little decisive thing now?"

"Having a snowball fight with Finn and Kendall in the snow. You'll be happy to know your daughter is winning."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she is. Well, I guess we better start the fire to warm her up when she's done."

"Hypothermia would be a bummer on Yuleday," he agrees cheekily.

"For us more than her."

"Pretty much."

Inside the living room, Kanon and Haymitch—but mostly Kanon—are finishing setting up a newly trimmed tree, right by the back door.

"Sweetheart, it's your dream," Haymitch taunts. "Having part of the woods in your house."

"Did he knock a few back on the way to grab a tree?" I ask Peeta quietly, as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

"Probably. I was busy watching the four little ones, I didn't have time to monitor an old man too."

"Should have put Finn on Haymitch watch."

"You know, I can hear you," our old mentor barks as Kanon finishes putting up the tree.

"Indigo!" I hear my mother exclaim, as the front door opens again.

I spin around in time to see a little person, shorter than all the other kids, practically dance her way into the house. "Gamma!"

"Hey," I halt her, pulling away from Peeta. "Let's not track snow into the house, baby."

Delly and Annie both help dust off the other three while I pull Indigo's scarf, boots, hat, gloves and coat off and toss them all aside carelessly. Much to Peeta's dismay, as he sees the snow fly all over the entryway.

"Let's not track snow into the house, baby," he imitates.

"Shut up."

As soon as she's free from the white frozen slush, she launches herself towards my mother. "Hi!"

"Hi, sweet girl! How'd you like playing in the snow?"

"It was fweezing. But I beat Finn and Kenny at our snowball fight so it was worth it." She smiles up at my mother proudly and for a moment, Indigo looks exactly like Peeta and I am amazed at that fact somehow. Considering, at first glance, she's all me besides the eyes.

Except sometimes she looks at me and I see my sister at her age, so deeply ingrained in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her voice, that I'm taken back to being child again myself.

"You're a little messy," my mother also notes, pushing back the hair that has fallen from her braid.

"Well I like to play so, things happen." Her little shrug is one of the most endearing things about her.

"Your mother also loved to get messy."

I furrow my brows. "I was always very clean, Mom."

"Oh I doubt that," Peeta disagrees and has the audacity to laugh, standing right beside me now. "You aren't even very clean now."

I turn to him, pressing my face close to his, trying to look threatening as I push my nose against his. "I will get you."

"Oh, please do," he eggs on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I have a bow, I could literally-"

"Is dinner almost ready yet?" Rhys, Delly's only son, complains.

Chuckling slightly, I pull my face away from a still smirking Peeta. Thankfully, no one else noticed our exchange, aside from my mother, who's too polite to do more than smile.

"Yeah, Rhys, dinner's all ready," Peeta says, putting his hand on the back of the little boy's head and guiding him to the table.

Dinner is only slightly chaotic. Four kids under eight-years-old, a teenager who can match Haymitch's humor effortlessly, Jo and Peeta and I swinging insults back and forth like compliments and then Annie, who's quiet and blissful spirit can't be tempered for anything in this world on holidays, and my mother, who feigns oblivious to the chaos surrounding her, all adds up to an interesting affair. Add in the stupid stray cat my daughter adores meowing at the back door and it's practically a circus.

But it's a circus I have found myself loving, more and more, since Indigo joined us. Since I somehow made the most beautiful and intelligent and spirited human being, somehow the dreary outlook I used to hold on this new post-war holiday has turned to excitement.

Maybe it's the fact that eighteen years have passed since the war that stole my sister from me. Or maybe it's that I'm looking forward to who's here now, who's experiencing this holiday with me, who I get to share this day with and witness their enthusiasm.

My daughter.

I never thought, in a million years, I'd have a child of my own. I never thought once that she'd come to exist, that I'd feel safe enough or strong enough or brave enough, to bear bringing something to delicate, something so wonderful and precious and breakable, into this world.

But she has lit up my life in ways I didn't even imagine possible. I thought I was happy, blissfully happy most days, with Peeta. And I was. But that was before I saw what life was like with Indigo and now I can't even picture how miserable and downcast this day would be without her.

As the sky begins to darken outside and Peeta stands up to light candles along the windowsills while Kanon adds logs to the fireplace, my child suddenly starts squirming in her seat. "Can I decorate the tree now?" She asks as I wipe her face with a cloth napkin.

"In a minute, Bean."

"I want to now!" She whines as I scrub the leftover food that didn't make her mouth off her cheek.

"Indigofera," Peeta says in a warning tone.

"I wanna decorate the tree right now," she says in a slightly quieter voice.

"Okay," I murmur, smiling slightly as I drop my hand from her face and let her go. "Go decorate, Sweetie."

With my consent, she practically flies out of her chair and—nearly knocking Evie over—pushes her way to the bag of ornaments Finn brought from Four.

"She didn't get a nap today," I explain to Johanna and my mother, who watched the almost tantrum unfold.

"You were the same," my mother replies and then chuckles. I toss her a look, before I spot Finn lifting Indigo up to place a trident high upon the tree.

My eyes aren't perfect but from where I'm sitting I can make out the name Finnick Odair gracefully carved underneath and my gaze falls on Annie.

She offers me a knowing smile and shrugs. "He wanted to handmake the ornaments himself. Meaningful ones you can't just buy. I wasn't going to discourage him."

I nod, a feeling of pride for some strange reason flooding me. I didn't raise Finn. The indefinite length of my sentence to Twelve was never revisited and, in truth, I had little reason to care enough to fight it. But it did mean I wasn't able to make it to Four, to see my mom or Annie and Finn at my own whim.

But Annie has always made a point to come here, every so often since the war ended. She's written letters and called and sent photos, consistently, for so many years that I've lost track. They were both here the day after I had Indigo. They've never missed any of our birthdays. And I've watched that boy, with his father's tan skin, bronze hair and sea green eyes grow into a man who'd make Finnick proud.

And it's nearly impossible for me not to feel so sort of pride in him as well. If for nothing else, the way he treats my daughter. Always patient, always kind, always ready to play.

"Where'd he get this idea?" I ask, if for no other reason, just to change the subject before I get visibly sentimental. "To decorate a tree, I mean."

Annie's expression shifts and changes slightly. "Coral McGonigill."

Johanna's ears almost noticeably perk up. "Is she is his new flavor of the month?"

"Well, she's lasted for several months," Annie corrects, but doesn't seem too enthusiastic of this girl.

"Do you like her?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I don't even want to imagine my child dating. The idea of her spending time alone, with anyone I don't personally know already drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, but to add in teenage impulses and hormones? My skin is crawling at the thought and I feel a wave of nausea come over me suddenly.

Before Annie can answer though, Haymitch is cutting into the conversation.

"Look at you guys," I hear him guffaw over my shoulder. "Gossiping like old ladies."

Jo throws her fork in his direction, barely missing her target. His left eye and cheek. "Hey, hey, hey," Haymitch bellows now. "Not in front of the children."

"I agree with Haymitch," Delly calls from behind the tree, where she's helping Kendall hang up a pink squirrel ornament.

"Of course you do," Johanna mumbles, loud enough only I can hear, and I have to repress a laugh.

All levity though slips away from my features as I watch Finn hand my child a new ornament. I feel Annie's eyes on me, apprehensive and a little fearful.

The ornament is an angel. It has blonde hair and blue eyes and my sister's exact nose and mouth. She's wearing a skirt and blouse, both pure white, to perfectly match the halo floating above her head. But the skirt is untucked in the back, giving her a duck tail, and it's this fact that registers in my brain. It's this fact that makes me realize that the ornament is Prim, even before I read the name sprawled across the bottom.

Peeta's staring at me now too, but it's my mother that grasps my hand. Our eyes barely meet for a second but we both understand what the other one is thinking.

She should be here. She should be helping decorate the tree. She should be playing with my daughter, who she'd surely love.

But she isn't. Because someone I trusted may or may not have built bombs that killed her. Because a vindictive woman thought that killing her and dozens of other children was the only way to win. Because I was too stupid for too long and didn't see what the real plan was, even as it sat right under my nose.

But she can be here now. If there's anything I learned from Indigo, it's that someone can exist, even in a small part, inside another person. It's that life doesn't have to end at death, as long as someone is around to remember them.

"That's a beautiful ornament, Finn," I say, as evenly and as kindly as I can.

He takes my other hand, his eyes sweet and gentle. "I made it for you. I thought..."

I nod, even though he doesn't finish his sentence. "I know. Thank you."

My mom keeps hold of my palm underneath the table for minutes after everyone else has moved, and even with the issues that still lie between us, I give her fingers a squeeze. Because she's the only one who really understands my grief.

I watch on as the kids decorate the entire tree, top to bottom, with shaped ornaments, ranging from plants to flower to boats to berries to pastries. And a loaf of bread, which Peeta finds particularly funny.

At the end though, all that's left is a large star, clearly meant to sit at the top of the tree. "What is this?" Evie asks Delly, turning it over in her hand.

"That goes on top of the tree," Annie explains, gesturing to the point of the pine near the ceiling.

"How do we get up there?" Rhys asks, stealing the star from his sister, his little eyes confused. "Daddy isn't even that tall."

"Someone's gotta lift us up to the top," Kendall states, munching on something I hope came from her dinner plate and not the floor.

"My daddy can lift me up there!" Indigo suddenly exclaims and reaches her grabby little hands for the star.

Rhys, however, jerks it out of reach automatically. "Why do you get to do it?"

"It's her house," Delly chides her son sternly.

"And she's the youngest, Rhys," Evie says, in a tone that clearly imitates her mother. "Give her the star."

He does so reluctantly and I'm glad that moment passed by quickly, before I had the chance to tell Rhys—as much as I care for him, and I do, deeply—that he better give my kid her star.

I don't even care that this isn't my tradition to start with. My house, my rules. My kid puts the star on the tree, end of story.

"Daddy!" Indigo squeals as Peeta scoops her up in his waiting arms. "Lift me," she commands, holding the large tree-topper with both hands.

Kanon and Haymitch start directing her, as her little eyes can't see to the top, even with Peeta lifting her as high as humanly possible. But when she gets it into place, she grows so excited that her limbs start flailing.

"Look, Daddy! I did that!" She says once he has her on his hip again, pointing to the star she just placed.

"I saw," he enthuses, brushing back the long, dark hair that's almost entirely out of her braid. "You did good!"

And if I thought my heart was melting before, with Finn and Indigo, it explodes when Indigo puts her tiny hands on Peeta's face and turns him towards her. "I love you, Daddy."

His eyes are awed and grateful, as this was all he wanted for years. For years upon years, he remained patient and understanding when I said I wasn't able to give him a child. When I explained all my reasons to why I didn't want a family. He always was respectful of my wishes and of my feelings.

But I saw it in his bright blue eyes, the ones he passed down to our daughter. He wanted a child so badly. He wanted this, this love that Indigo so easily has to offer, that we effortlessly shower her in.

It took me fifteen years to realize that perhaps I wanted it too. Perhaps my fear was overshadowing me from what I truly wanted. Perhaps it was better to have a child and do everything to keep her safe, to fret and worry in addition to love and adore her, rather than to never know that kind of love at all.

"I love you too, Indigo Sky," he murmurs back softly, before she leans in and kisses him.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand again and I know it's not out of sorrow this time, but out of joy. Joy that her child was able to have a family full of so much love. A family so similar to the one she had decades ago.

I squeeze her hand back, feeling horrific now for how angry I was with her for so long. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do if someone took Peeta or Indigo from me.

"I think Mommy needs to admire the tree," Peeta says, eyeing me conspicuously.

I stand up, looking at the decorations admiringly. Of course, this tree was mainly decorated by young children, so the majority of ornaments gravitate towards the bottom or are clumped into one place, but still, I tell Indigo how pretty it looks and how good of a job she did.

My eye still catches on the Primrose Everdeen angel, hanging right in the center of the tree, and I have to force myself to refrain from tracing the face on it. The details are even more impressive up close and I wonder if Finn has become an artist or if his girlfriend is the talented one.

Just as I'm about to say something, anything really, to take my mind off my deceased sister, a meaty smell fills the air and my stomach lurches without warning.

I propel myself towards the kitchen sink and lose majority of what I just consumed at dinner.

Behind me, I hear a small commotion. Peeta telling Indigo to go to Finn, Delly and Kanon keeping their kids back, Annie and Johanna saying something to Haymitch.

My mom's hand comes in contact with my cheek, feeling my face and pushing the hair that fell from my braid back behind my shoulder. "What happened?"

As I'm about to answer, Peeta comes up to stand on my other side, one hand subtly turning on the water to flush out the sink, while the other rubs my back soothingly.

"I don't know," I croak, as puking always makes my throat raw. "I just smelled something like meat-"

"Told you it was Haymitch's fault," Jo cuts in, clearly speaking to Annie.

"I only asked if this bird was still good," the old, paunchy man defends himself, holding up some game I shot a while back.

"Well, if it makes Katniss throw up just by smelling it, I'd say no," Finn says.

"You don't have a fever," my mother notes, but her eyes are still confused. Though, I will say, not as worried as I thought they might be and for that I'm glad. The last thing I wish to do is ruin everyone's holiday, especially when I've only just started to enjoy this festivity in the last few years.

"I'm fine," I insist, pulling away from both my mother and my husband and wiping my mouth on a cloth quickly. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Okay, but still sit down," I hear Delly say and I roll my eyes but do so anyways. Because I'm genuinely tired, not because anyone told me to.

"I'm fine, Indigo," I promise when I spot my daughter's scared eyes, still being held in Finn's arms. "I'm just tired."

Peeta follows me to the couch and, even though I wish to refuse out of embarrassment, when he offers me a fizzy water and starts subtly massaging my back, I can't help but lean my head into his chest gratefully.

I still fight the urge to fall asleep right there though. I still conjure up as much willpower as I can to stay alert, to watch Indigo and Kendall play with their stuffed toys, to listen to Finn and Haymitch shoot smart remarks back and forth, to listen to Annie and Jo catch up or my mother and Delly share stories of their vastly different lives.

By the end of the night though, when it's way past all of our bedtimes, as people start to filter out, planning on catching the late night train or taking a shortcut to their houses here in Twelve, my eyelids begin to involuntarily droop.

"You can sleep," Peeta whispers against my forehead. "I'll take care of everything else."

I want to turn down his offer, to say I can help clean up and put Indigo to bed. But when the last of our guests dissipate and Indigo, exhausted herself, climbs into my lap and curls up against me, I lose the battle and doze off right there on the couch.

Hours must pass, because when my eyes crack open again, the flames in the fireplace have been put out, the entire kitchen and living room are clean, and my child is missing.

Of course, those are the first words out of my mouth. "Where's Indigo?"

"I tucked her in. She's in her own bed tonight," Peeta promises, pulling my arm up to wrap around his neck. "I told you I'd take care of everything."

"You didn't have to..." I mumble sleepily as he lifts me up against him.

"Shhh, just go to sleep," he whispers, his lips pressing against my neck then collarbone. "Just rest, Katniss."

When I wake up again, the sun has already risen in the sky. Thankfully though, my child hasn't yet.

Peeta is alert already, propped up on his elbow, when I open my eyes. "Hey," I rasp, my voice not working yet.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets softly and I roll my eyes at the compliment. I do appreciate hearing it though, despite the years we've been together and how some things can lose effect over time. Peeta's little comments and gestures still haven't. They still mean more to me than I'd ever admit.

Now that I'm fully awake, I feel a small bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "Sorry about last night."

His blonde brows twist with confusion. "You mean getting sick? I don't think that's anything for you to be sorry about, Katniss."

"It was just strange," I note, more to myself than to him. "I just smelled the meat Haymitch found and for some reason, my gag reflex couldn't handle it."

The look that crosses his eyes is sly and reserved and I must still be a little foggy from exhaustion, because it's a rare time where I don't understand what he must be thinking.

He changes the subject abruptly anyway. "Did you have a good time yesterday?" He asks kindly.

"Yes," I reply, maybe a little begrudgingly. Considering for years I complained that I hated this newfound holiday, it is both a joy and a joke to Peeta that I look forward to this day now.

"Good," he replies and kisses my forehead, then my mouth warmly. "I like it when my wife is happy."

"Your wife is always happy when she's with you."

He moves back a little to smirk. "Me too."

I can't help teasing him though. "You're always happy when you're with you too?"

"Yes, Katniss, that's exactly what I meant."

I lean up then and kiss him again, this time with more passion. It's a real testament to our marriage that he can still conjure up butterflies in my lower stomach, after almost two decades since we had our first kiss-our first real kiss-in that cave.

"Thank you," I whisper softly as we break apart.

His eyes flicker lightly with confusion. "For what, Sweetheart?"

"For everything. For Indigo and the life we have. For the last eighteen years," I profess, genuinely. Words have always been difficult for me, and they still don't flow at the slightest slip of my tongue, but it's easier now. It's easier with Peeta, just the two of us, and the strong foundation in which our relationship and life is built upon.

Words for him, however, have always come as easy as breathing. "You have made my life so wonderful," he murmurs and tenderly kisses my lips one more time. "Thank you."

Weeks later, the source of my mysterious illness, my nausea and exhaustion, is discovered when we find out I'm pregnant again.

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfic #everlark fic #fic #writing #christmas #oneshot #post mockingjay #canon compliant

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littlemissagrafina · 4 years ago

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Comfortember Day 14. Road Trip + Day 15. Campfire

With Blue Skies Ahead, We're On Our Way

@comfortember

Read On AO3

When Tony found out that Peter had never been camping, he was appalled (read: very dramatically shocked in his Tony Stark™ way).

If even he, the classic rich boy, had been camping as a kid (okay, Jarvis may or may not have been the one to take him but the point still stands, yes?), how could Peter not have?

Voicing a similar question, Tony couldn't help but feel like a massive asshole when he heard Peter's response.

The kid was supposed to go camping with his parents a week after their trip to a science convention in Sweden. The trip they had never returned from because of the plane that crashed with them in it.

"Oh, Pete. I'm sorry, Bud, I didn't know." Tony said to him, remorse obvious in his tone but Peter was happy and relieved to hear that it wasn't paired with the usual pity that people spoke with when his parents or uncle were brought up.

"It's okay, Mr. Stark." Peter shrugged. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. 'Sides it's not something that I could have really done with May and Ben anyway." He knew that they had struggled enough with money after they took him in. He couldn't ask for something as trivial and wasted as a camping trip with all they did for him already.

As if reading his thoughts, Tony perked up and gave him an uncharacteristically wide smile. "So let's go camping then!"

"What?"

"Let's go camping. I only went with Jarvis when I was pretty young, and you've never been. Let's go now. We can make plans and do a whole trip of it. It's your summer break soon anyway, we can go then."

Peter had a puppy like look of confusion, his brows furrowed slightly and his head tilted a bit to one side. His chocolate curls flopping over his forehead, only helping the uncanny resemblance to a labrador puppy.

"For real?" Peter asked him, a hopeful lilt to his voice. "You'd take me camping?"

"Course I would, Kid!" Tony ruffled his curls, laughing when Peter tried to pull away and "fix" his hair.

Peter couldn't believe that Tony was willing (and actually wanting to) take him camping. He would have thought that from his obvious inclination to technology and the lifestyle he lived that the older man wouldn't have wanted to be around in nature.

But apparently he was wrong and Peter couldn't have been more happy about his mistake.

It was going to be the best trip ever!

---

When Tony had suggested making a trip of it, Peter had thought only a few hours out of New York.

He hadn't thought that Tony would take them a whole 37 hours away to the freakin Grand Canyon of all places! Although maybe he should have expected it, he was dealing with Tony Stark after all.

They set off in one of Tony's more discreet and comfortable cars, a trailer with their camping equipment pulled behind them.

The trip, albeit long, was pretty good. They played loud music, fought over who picked the next song or album, they passed snacks and drinks between them, and took pictures both of the scenery as the drive and a few of them together.

After around 12 hours, and a few food, gas, and bathroom stops, they stayed over for the night in Indianapolis before leaving early the next morning again after breakfast.

The next 15 hours of their trip was much the same as the first portion of their trip the day before but this time, Peter was more noticeably fidgety and energetic. As much as he was having fun there was only so much time an enhanced teenage boy could spend sitting still in a car.

Eventually they came to a stop somewhere in Texas that Peter hadn't caught the name of since he'd fallen asleep an hour before they got to their motel. Tony shook him awake, his own eyes a bit bleary as he hadn't gotten to sleep like Peter had since he was driving.

They stumbled up to their room before passing out on their beds, not bothering to eat since they had grabbed some dinner at a roadhouse an hour or two earlier.

The next morning found them following the same routine as the day before. Breakfast was finished before they were on the road again.

10 hours later, they stood breathing in the fresh air of their campsite a safe distance from the edge of their destination stretched out in it's glory before them.

"What do you think, Pete?" Tony asked, an arm slung over Peter's shoulders as he stood next him. The obvious awe on the kid's face made the hours of travel more than worth it.

And it wasn't to say that he hadn't enjoyed it, he loved the time he could spend with Peter, but Tony still had to admit, he wasn't as young as he used to be. Spending so many hours in a car definitely wasn't good for his back.

But that was beside the point. The point was that Peter was able to experience something he hadn't had the chance to and Tony had the honour to be the one with him as he did.

"This is amazing, Mr. Stark! It looks so much more beautiful than in the pictures and videos I've seen!" Peter answered, his eyes still on the broad canyon before them.

"It really is, Kid. Now, c'mon and help me set up the tent and then we can find some wood for our fire."

Peter practically bounced over to Tony, his enthusiasm and excitement once again reminding Tony of an overeager puppy. It was adorable.

Setting up the tent was surprisingly fast and easy between the two of them, and it was up and had their bags, pillows, and sleeping bags stacked inside of it.

They marched around the edges of the trees bordering one side of their campsite, the pile of sticks and bark slowly growing in their arms. They were both happy to discover that almost all of their pile was dry enough to burn nicely. Not so green that it wouldn't burn but not too dry and old that it wouldn't last in the fire.

As they built it up carefully in a stack that would burn for a good amount of time, Tony taught Peter bits of what he could remember Jarvis and Peggy teaching him when he was younger. He told Peter about different ways to build a campfire so that it could either burn hotter, or cooler, for longer, or for shorter. He told him a few facts about the creatures that they heard out in nature that he recognized.

Peter soaked it all up like a sponge. It was all so different and exciting. He loved the city but there was something so freeing about being here with Mr. Stark.

It just made him happy.

Tony turned to Peter. "What'cha feeling for dinner, Pete? The meat is still cold in the cooler for the fresh ice, I can take it out and we can grill it? How's that sound?"

"That's good!" Peter smiled. "Can we use that baguette you got at our last stop? Maybe we can mix some garlic butter and let it bake in the bread over the fire?"

"Garlic bread and grilled sausages coming up!"

They gathered what they needed, got the meat out and wrapped the garlic bread in tin foil. They had to wait a while for the fire to cool enough to cook their food without burning it, so Tony sat back and watched as Peter explored the area around them, taking pictures of the things that he thought May, Ned, or MJ would like to see. It made Tony's heart warm to see Peter just having fun and not worrying over school or Spider-Man.

Checking the fire, Tony decided it had cooled enough and he started setting the meat and foil wrapped bread over the little grill. It wasn't too long until it was ready so he called Peter over, asking him to grab their plates and cutlery on his way.

They sat side by side as they ate, a warm silence around them that was only broken by the crackling of the fire and twittering and chirping of various little creatures around them.

Peter would remember the smell of the smoke, the garlic, and unique freshness of nature forever. He would smell a blend of the aroma at barbecues in the following years and think back on his trip with Tony with a fond heart.

He would always have a part of him that wished he could have had the chance to do this with his parents, with Ben. Similar thoughts would appear over the years but he would be happy because he knew that would want him to.

Peter looked up and caught Tony's eyes, the flames of the fire making the warmth in them seem even brighter than normal. He smiled and Tony echoed it.

He was happy.

#irondad #spiderson #comfortember 2020 #peter parker #tony stark #ironman #spider-man #irondad fanfic #irondad fanfiction

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funnylori · 4 years ago

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Baking alchemy: if the recipe says use a pan, use metal; if the recipe calls for a dish, use ceramic or glass. Otherwise you may need to adjust baking times and temperatures to get an even bake.

For example, my bread pans are glass, and that's why the inside of my banana bread is crazy moist (ie almost underbaked) and the outside is so browned. Though, using glass for pies instead of the recommended metal pans is handy if you're new to pastry. It will help you see when the bottom of your pie is truly baked. It can be dangerous to check the bottom of hot pies, so use the buddy system. Don't be spilling hot pie filling all over yourselves.

Also, know your oven. Get an analog oven thermometer and leave it in there. I used to have one I'd hang from the center rack so I had a good idea of how it was doing. My oven is hella slow on a good day. I think the element needs maintenance.

I like to use chocolate chip cookies as my gauge of how an oven is heating. The time it takes them to be perfectly baked is what I keep in mind for everything else. Normally the recipe I use says it should take 9 minutes to bake but they are still raw then. It takes my oven 12 minutes to get them browned on the edges and still have just baked but still gooey soft centers. If you're not confident about your mixing skills using store bought dough is totally okay! It's honestly easier to check temperature with dough you know is consistently made.

☆☆☆WRITE NOTES DIRECTLY IN YOUR COOKBOOK☆☆☆

You'll learn new things every time you make something. Adjustments you like. Things that work or don't work. You'll 100% forget what those are at some point and then be frustrated. Also, use bookmarks like little sticky note tabs to help you find your favorites.

Anyway, I'm making a rhubarb pie for my dad because tomorrow is his birthday. I'm not sure how I'm gonna deliver the pie to my dad safely, but that's another story. But I make pretty good pie crusts because I use my dad's recipe. It's flakey, tender, and tastes good. I hate chewy or though crusts. My dad mixes his dough so gently it's often not strong enough to actually get a slice of pie out of the pan in one piece. It tastes so good we don't care. I like to mix mine just a touch longer so it holds up better, but it's really easy to over mix it and make a tough crust.

Tonight my husband was chatting about how one of his friends was getting help making pastry for crusts via zoom meetings. He said I should make a video of mine and share it. Maybe I will if people are intrested. I can do the fancy way and the bare bones no special tools way. I like to bake and I like to make things accessible to everybody. I still wrote it out for him, you can have it too.

If you have read this far my perfect pie crust recipe is 3 parts flour to 1 part fat and a pinch of salt.

For me that's usually 2 cups all purpose flour and 2/3rds cup shortening for a single crust in my pyrex 9.5 inch glass pie pan with a little extra left over for decorating. Fruit pies need a top crust or lattice so in that case I'd use 3 cups flour and 1 cup shortening.

Blend the fat with the flour in a bowl. I use a pastry blender cutter thing (not the kind that are a bunch of round wires with a handle, but the kind that's more metal with flat blades like this one). You can also use a couple of butterknives for this. Use a twisting motion with the pastry blender to cut the fat into the flour until it's combined into about pea sized chunks. I like to scrape the blender with a knife or fork every few turns. Don't over work it or it will get tough! You want the chunks, it'll become flakey bits. There will still be some finer bits that are more flour.

Stir in ice cold water a couple tablespoons at a time until things just start coming together. Like, be cautious with the water and use a fork to combine it with the dough with kind of a whisking motion to moisten the dry flour bits and get them sticking to the floury fat bits. How much water you need varies with the weather and humidity. Definitely don't get the dough too wet. If it gets sticky you've gone too far. You only need enough water to get it all to just come together into a ball. Once it starts coming together you'll see it's kinda shaggy, that's your flakes! Gently push it together into a ball and flatten into a puck or disk. Push the edges together so it rolls out evenly later. Don't knead the dough! If it's not staying together maybe give it one or two light kneading turns in the bowl but no more or you'll get a tough crust. If it's warm or a hot day, wrap the dough in plastic and put it in the fridge for a bit. Keeping the fat cold keeps the flakes.

When you're ready, generously flour a flat surface and roll it out. If you're worried about picking it up to put it in a pan, roll the crust out in between two floured sheets of waxed paper. Beware that it'll totally still stick to the waxed paper if you aren't careful to keep checking that it's floured enough while rolling it out. I have a fancy silicone mat I got to put on my table when I roll out crusts, but it's honestly a pain in the ass and stuff still sticks if there isn't enough flour.

For sizing, hold your pie pan upside down over the crust and roll at least two inches wider than that. Drape the crust into the pie pan, don't stretch it. Lift the sides and ease it into the bottom. Wrap it a little bit over the edge of the pan and trim the excess. This recipe has a habit of shrinking in the pan, so having a bit extra around the edges helps keep it in place. Prick all over with a fork if blind baking / baking it empty, and bake at 425°F until golden brown, which is probably around 15 minutes.

For my fat I always always use butter flavored vegetable shortening such as crisco*. It tastes good and works consistently well. Butter is sometimes used, so is lard. They have different water contents and work differently so experiment with them before expecting them to work with my recipe. Shortening is solid and works good at room temperature. Butter should be worked colder and has water in it which changes how bakes turn out. I've never tried making a butter or lard for crust myself though.

My mom always made us a treat with the extra crust bits cut off from the pie pan. She'd put the funky strips on a cookie sheet and dust them with cinnamon and sugar and bake it them for us. Usually she'd forget to pull them out until we could smell them burning around the edges.

*when trans fats were banned because they're truly awful for the body, the formulation of vegetable shortening changed to include palm oil, which is so so bad for the environment and deforestation destroying orangutan habitat. It might be option for crusts, but it can have ethical issues as well. Check your ingredients and where they come from. Bob's Red Mill has an article on shortening, what it is, why you want to use it for crusts, and what it can be made of.

Anyway, I love pies and have strong feelings about crusts that goes quite deep. I can keep going, if y'all wanna know more about anything. Lemme know if you want directions to good videos or if I should make one myself. I'll post a picture of the pie tomorrow once it's set and we cut into it.

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quotes-of-dreamland · 4 years ago

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BANANA BREAD RECIPE!!! (Not kirby related but I tried to make this specific bread once and it didn't go well qwq)(please help)

BANANA BREAD RECIPE!!! hell yeah i’m not too experienced with baking but i hope this helps you! if you have anymore questions feel free to ask ^^

Here are all the Ingredients you’ll need for two loaves:

-1 1/4 cup of sugar

-1/2 cup of butter, softened (basically an entire stick of butter)

-2 eggs

-3 very ripes bananas mashed together (the riper the better, makes it sweeter!)

-1/2 cup of milk

-1 teaspoon of vanilla

-2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour

-1 teaspoon of baking soda

-1 teaspoon of salt

-over two cups of either chopped walnuts or chocolate chips (OPTIONAL, step 5 explains)

1. First preheat your oven to 350°F. Make sure you have two loaf pans (this recipe makes two loaves) and spray the the inside with cooking spray.

2. In a big bowl stir the sugar and butter together until it’s mixed, (you’d want the butter to the softened (but not completely melted) for this, otherwise it’s going to be very hard to mix.) then put in your two eggs and mix it all together.

3. Next you’re going to want to add the bananas, milk, and vanilla. For the bananas, put them in a smaller bowl first and mash the with a potato masher, though if you want chunks of banana don’t mash them too much! Afterwards you can add it along with the milk and vanilla and stir it all together.

4. Now you’ll want to add the flour, baking soda, salt. Not much to say here, just stir until it’s all blended together!

5. So this is entirely optional but if you want you can add nuts or chocolate chips! The book I use says to only add 1 cup but if I’m being honest it’s better if you add more, I usually add two-three cups of chocolate chips, the same with walnuts.

6. Now divide the batter evenly into the two loaf pans and put them in the oven! Depending on the size of the pans you’re using it can take 1 hour or more to finish baking, though if you’re not sure you can check with a toothpick or knife. Under cooking it is bad but also over doing it is a bit worse, I don’t really think you can save burnt food.

7. You’re basically done now! Just let it cool for a couple minutes and then you can slice it up and eat it!

#mod galacta #anon asks #hmm i hope im not forgetting anything #also hope it's readable hfgdfsd

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sunflower-swan · 5 years ago

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Wolfstar Chapter 12

A/N: Here’s what you need to know: I created this story for Writer’s Month 2020. Every day is a new prompt, and therefore a new chapter. This is an AU Wolfstar where Remus is a tattoo artist next door to Sirius who manages a flower shop. James and Lily are alive in this universe and own a coffee shop across the street. And to make parts of the story work with the prompts, Remus is about 10 years older than Sirius. It also takes place more or less in present time, minus Covid-19.

This is chapter 12 of a multi-chapter work. If you’d like to start from the beginning, here is chapter 1.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I just like to play with them.

Day 12 Prompt: Meet Cute

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1854

Tags: flashback

Chapter 12

Remus

David Bowie, “When I Met You”

You actually become the center of my world

The seams of my life

The streams of daydream

Like the wounds of a friend

Remus leaned back in his favorite chair. He wanted to read but found his eyes glazing over and rereading the same page at least three times. Giving it up, he closed the book and tossed it on the table next to his long forgotten cup of tea. He crossed his legs, setting his right ankle on his left knee, and steepled his fingers under his chin.

With helping Sirius go through everything the last couple months, Remus had been thinking more about the day he moved in here.

It was mid-morning. Remus stood in the living room of his new flat above what would be his new tattoo parlor. He placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cleaning supplies used by the last owner. With a swish of his wand, his magically shrunk packing boxes grew with a POP. This was what he needed. New start, new place, new life. His old place was...too full of painful memories.

He levitated boxes into the rooms to which they belonged. First he set up his bedroom. If nothing else, he needed a place to sleep tonight. By the time he finished the bedroom, it was afternoon, and his stomach was reminding him that he had missed lunch. There was a cafe across the street he had noticed, maybe they had something decent.

The bitter scent of coffee and warm yeasty bread invaded his senses when he entered.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Potter’s Wheel!” a red-headed woman greeted him when he entered.

Remus gave her a friendly head nod and glanced at the menu board over the order counter. It was designed to look like a chalk board with different chalk colors. The Potter's Wheel Cafe served a full offering of coffee and caffeine laced beverages, as well as soup, sandwich, and salad specials. They also had a quick take-away cooler with simple premade sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. Today’s specials appeared to be a turkey club on a kaiser bun, broccoli cheese soup with croutons, and a beet salad with feta cheese.

“Erm…” Remus stepped up to the counter, uncertainty festering inside him.

“What would you like, dear?” the red-head asked with a wide smile.

Overly friendly waitresses were not one of Remus' favorite things. They made him nervous and uncomfortable.

“I’ll take a bowl of broccoli soup, a turkey club, and --” he still had a lot of unpacking to do “-- a large black House Blend coffee, please.”

The red-head nodded and wrote down his order. “No problem.” She handed him a table number and said, “Pick any table and set this on the edge. I’ll have it out to you in no time.”

Remus accepted the number with a whispered, “Thank you,” and turned to choose a table. A two-top in the corner, where he had a view of the front door and the counter, was the winner.

The cherry wood grain formica table top matched that of the front counter. He was thinking about his new tattoo parlor venture and absentmindedly tracing the curve of the faux grain with his fingertip when the red-head brought his coffee.

She sat the coffee down, pulling him out of his reveries. “I’ve never seen you in here before. Are you just passing through?”

Remus looked up into the brightest emerald eyes he had ever seen. “Um...no...sorry, I mean, I’m not just passing through. I moved in across the street.” He pointed out the window. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

“Well, that’s neat!” She smiled and held out her right hand. “My name’s Lily. My husband James and I own this Cafe.”

He shook her hand. “I’m Remus. Nice to meet you.”

“I’ll be back with your food soon,” she said with a wink, and walked back behind the counter.

Remus put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. He looked around the colorful interior of the Cafe. Three of the walls were a golden yellow hue, and the accent wall behind the front counter was burgundy red. Long, red pocket curtains hung over the windows. They were semi-transparent and allowed the sunlight to bask the Cafe in a warm glow. The other corner held a comfy sitting area with a dark brown leather sofa and two leather armchairs. Something about the place made him feel like he was home.

Lily returned at that moment with his food and a coffee pot to top off his coffee.

He offered her a smile with a soft, “Thanks, Lily.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

Remus tucked into the meal. It was delicious. More delicious than anything he had eaten in a long while. Impossibly delicious.

In what seemed like no time, Remus finished the soup and sandwich. He stacked the bowl on the plate and pushed them toward the center of the table. Letting out a content sigh, he leaned against the back of the chair.

Lily appeared and collected the empty plate and bowl. “Anything else?” she asked.

“No...thank you. I don’t think I could eat another bite. It was all delicious.”

“Are you sure? Not even any desert? I bake a mean chocolate cake,” she said with a smile.

Hmm… “Chocolate cake did you say?” He couldn’t say ‘no’ to that.

“Yep. Bake it every morning. I got one piece left with your name on it.”

“Alright. Yeah...I’d love a piece of chocolate cake.” Remus laughed.

Lily walked away and he tried to remember the last time he had actually laughed. It had been a while.

The sight of the cake Lily placed in front of him made his mouth water. Which was saying something because he was already so full from everything else he had eaten. It smelled rich and decadent, and tasted even better. With every bite he could feel his spirit begin to lift.

He finished the cake and the last of his coffee, then went to the counter to pay his bill. A gentleman with messy black hair stood at the register holding a young boy with equally messy black hair.

“Eight pound, fifty,” said the man.

Remus fished in his pockets for his Muggle money, and found a tenner. He handed it to the man and said, “Leave the rest for Lily, please.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks! Come again soon.”

He started back across the street to finish unpacking his flat and noticed the shop next door to his. Dog Among the Daisies, Flower Loft, Remus read the sign over the door. Might as well meet these neighbors, too, he thought as he stepped inside. And maybe I’ll pick up something small for the flat. Something that looks and smells nice.

The floral fragrance overpowered his senses upon entering the establishment, and he had to shake his head to clear it. A refrigerator stood to one side with an assortment of arrangements. His brown brogues tapped as he made his way across the hardwood floor toward the front counter.

There was a service bell on the counter so he dinged it a couple times.

“Just a mo’!” called a man’s voice from the back.

He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered around the small lobby, looking at the floral creations. He had his back to the counter when he heard the man again.

“Sorry about that. What can I do for ya’?”

Remus turned around and took in the sight of the man before him. He had shaggy black hair pulled back into a bun and a closely trimmed beard. His grey eyes pierced into Remus’ and stole his breath.

“I...uh…” Remus stammered. “Flowers…” He pointed like an idiot.

The man looked where Remus had pointed. “You want to buy some flowers? Well, you came to the right place.” He gave a lopsided grin that turned Remus’ will into a puddle.

Remus cleared his throat. Let’s try this again. “I...uh…” What the fuck is wrong with me?

The man moved from behind the counter. “These premade arrangements are popular with people passing by.” He gestured to the refrigerator case next to Remus. “Or you can place a special order to pick up later.” When Remus did not reply, he turned to face the case and continued, “See anything in here you like?”

A whiff of leather and coffee cut through the floral scent when the man moved near Remus. He had to close his eyes to control the involuntary shudder playing down his spine. When he opened his eyes again, the man was staring at him with those eyes the color of steel.

“I...uh…” Breaking the eye contact, he looked over the arrangements in the cooled case. “That one is nice.” He pointed at a medium sized arrangement with white and purple flowers in a clear vase.

“Interesting choice,” the man said as he slid open the case and pulled out the arrangement. “Gardenia and Calla lily. I made this one yesterday.” He turned his head to the side and considered the arrangement. “I wondered who would take it home. Did you know most florists believe different flowers have different meanings?” The man grinned at Remus before he turned to head back to the counter.

“No...what do these flowers mean?” Remus asked, almost afraid of the answer.

The man was behind the counter again, but the scent of leather and coffee still lingered in the air.

“Gardenia,” he pointed at the white flowers, “are symbolic of a secret love.”

Remus tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

“And calla lily,” he continued and pointed at the purple flowers, “are named after the Greek word for beautiful, so some people associate it with the Goddess Venus.” His charcoal eyes sparked.

“Interesting...well, they are certainly beautiful. You uh...you did a nice job.” Remus felt like he was crashing and burning in this interaction. All he wanted was a few flowers for his new flat. He didn’t expect...this.

“Thanks.” The man grinned and held out his right hand. “I’m Sirius, by the way.”

“I’m Remus.” Shaking the hand, he felt something warm shoot from his hand and up his arm. He tried to hide the gasp by clearing his throat. “Ahem, I’m opening a tattoo parlor next door.”

Sirius' face glowed in his broad smile. “Brilliant. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Remus paid for the flowers and retreated back to his flat. He shut the door and released a long breath.

He wasn’t ready for what he thought this might mean. It was too soon.

Remus shook himself from his thoughts, and brought himself back to the present. He took a deep breath and stood. As he walked to the bathroom, he removed his shirt. Looking into the mirror, he traced a tattoo on his sternum that was indistinguishable unless you knew what to look for. Maybe it was time to stop running from...this. Before that can happen, Sirius needed to know the truth about him.

He closed his eyes and hung his head. The full moon was in a couple nights. He’d tell him then.

Next Chapter: Chapter 13

#writersmonth2020 #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #mauraders #slow burn #alternate universe #harry potter #fanfiction #fanfic #james potter #lily potter

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healthyworthyofficial · 5 years ago

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20 Ways With Tinned Tuna

Way earlier than Lockdown, if I noticed a particular on tinned tuna, I might replenish. Why? Because tinned tuna is a flexible, ready-to-eat, good-for-you protein. And it might usually kind part of my work-day desk lunch rotation. In truth, I saved tins of tuna in my desk drawers for emergency lunches! So, to be trustworthy, when tinned tuna specials got here on throughout Lockdown (5 for R65 — I’m looking at you Woolworths), I purchased in…

Now in the event you consider tinned tuna, I guess you'll be able to consider perhaps 3, Four or 5 methods you should utilize it… however 20? I’ll admit, it was a stretch for me too… But then I began remembering recipes my gran would make once we had been youngsters. And recipes from the Jewish aspect of my household (as a result of in case you don’t know, you can't combine milk and meat, ie: no cheeseburgers for you)… So, right here, a complete checklist of recipe concepts that includes tinned tuna. READ MORE: 5 Delicious Lockdown Recipes That Won’t Need A Trip To The Shops

1/ Tuna-mayo sandwich

Okay, let’s begin basic right here. Tuna and mayo are a successful mixture. How to fancify this up? Add a squeeze of lemon juice, some freshly — and finely — shopped spring onion or crimson onion. Serve it on 100% rye toasted in sizzling olive oil with layers of chopped tomato and lettuce. YUM.

2/ Tuna-avo sarmie

Orrrr on rice truffles… Okay, so it is a WH HQ fave, particularly now when it’s avo season! Easy sufficient: mush one ripe avocado and mix it with one tin of tuna. Spread on sandwich bread or on rice crackers or in butter-lettuce leaves (relying on what number of carbs you’re chopping…) and munch. Why that is such a success: avos are actually good for you and full of vitamins. Yes, they're excessive in fat — the great type although — and once we’re speaking getting in nutrient-dense energy, avos trump mayo.

3/ Egg-mayo sarmie with tuna

Brunch you say? Who has the finances for salmon on this financial system anyway? Now once I grew up and we used to go on street journeys — all the youngsters squeezed at the back of a bakkie — my gran used to make egg-mayo sarmies. Easy sufficient: you boil the eggs, you mash with mayo, salt and pepper and unfold on a sarmie. Now, we already know eggs and tuna work nicely collectively, because of the French and recipe quantity 5. So why not double up on that good protein and add some tuna to the combination? It works! READ MORE: Yummy Vegan And Gluten-Free Healthy Chocolate Cereal Bars Recipe

4/ Basic tuna salad

Think of this extra like a inexperienced salad with tuna thrown on high. This is de facto what it’s about: you could have some salad substances and also you wish to add some protein. Oh, hey there, handy tin of tuna! Simply add on high with a primary olive oil and balsamic vinegar combine.

5/ Salade Niçoise

A way more intentional and fancy salad made handy by the ready-made tuna. This salad has the next fundamentals: tuna, boiled egg, olives, tomatoes, child potatoes and inexperienced beans. There are variations of this salad that embody lettuce, anchovies and capers… Mix it up as a lot as you want! It’s certain to maintain you fuelled for a busy day forward.

6/ Chopped Israeli-style tuna Salad

Think Israeli-style chopped salad: all the things chopped into same-size 5mm cubes. Tomatoes, carrots, peppers, cucumber… and chickpeas! It’s a leafless salad with a whole lot of crunch. Now add tuna and a few scrumptious avo (once more, chopped into little cubes) and you've got a filling dish that’s full of all the great things.

7/ Tuna salad wrap

Take recipe no.Three above and place all of the substances right into a wrap.

8/ Tuna salad wrap with mealies and mayo

The above recipe bulked up with flavour. I don’t know why sure combos work… Like Tuna and corn aka mealies. But they do! So combine your tuna with some mayo, add corn kernels, then wrap with greens in a big tender tortilla.

9/ Warm tuna pita

In a bowl, mix chopped celery, chopped crimson onion, tuna and mayo. Layer this right into a pita. Add grated cheese of your alternative (have you ever heard of Eatlean Cheese?). Bake within the oven for 10 minutes till the cheese has melted. This is critical consolation meals. Salad on the aspect non-obligatory.

10/ Tinned Tuna (not) Tartare

A play on the French delicacy, you should utilize the rules to assemble a similar-looking dish, simply with tinned tuna. Use finely chopped avocado as the bottom, then layer with chopped child rosa tomatoes, layered on high with tinned tuna. The secret is to decorate the substances beforehand. A beautiful lemony French dressing will do nicely, with some seasoning. Top with leaves and herbs, and serve. Thin slice of toast non-obligatory.

11/ Tuna pasta salad

A quite simple dish I used to make once I was a pupil, tuna-pasta-salad takes the instance of recipe 4 (primary tuna salad) and combines it with mayonnaise and penne pasta. It retains within the fridge for 3 days and it’s simple to pack in a Tupperware. It’s not very fairly to take a look at, however it’s easy and tastes good.

12/ Lemony zesty tuna pasta

A really quick-and-easy recipe that may be served heat or at room temperature the following day. What you want: lemon (zested and juiced), olive oil, garlic, 1 tin of tuna and a few pasta of your alternative, plus herbs of your alternative (parsley is an efficient one). Make it fancier: add wilted child spinach to the combination. Heat olive oil in a saucepan. Add chopped garlic clove. Allow to sizzle for a minute or two, then add the tuna, lemon juice and parsley and stir till heated. Add the recent cooked pasta to this pan with among the pasta water and stir to mix. Serve with zest sprinkled on high and a few additional herbs… For additional yum issue: add a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese.

13/ Tinned tomato and tuna pasta

Cupboard stacked with tinned tomatoes too? Well, that is a straightforward recipe that may assist make use of each tinned substances. What you want: olive oil; one massive onion, chopped; one clove garlic, chopped; one tin of chopped tomatoes; chilli (or chilli flakes); pasta of your alternative; one tin of tuna; contemporary basil (non-obligatory). Method: Sauté onion in olive oil. After a few minutes, add the garlic after which the tin of chopped tomatoes with the chilli. In the meantime, prepare dinner your pasta. Season the tomato combine with salt, pepper and a teaspoon of sugar if wanted to calm the acidity. Simmer to scale back liquid. Toss the recent pasta into the tomato combine and flake within the tuna. Serve with contemporary basil and a drizzle of olive oil. READ MORE: 3 Ways To Pimp Your Hummus For Your Next Mezze Platter

14/ Tuna Lasagne

Heat oven to 200 levels Celsius. Tip one 400g tin chopped tomatoes, 250g of sliced peppers, 50g of olives, 1 tbsp blended dried herb herbs right into a pan, cowl and simmer for 10 minutes till the tomatoes have damaged down a bit of. Add the tin of tuna and season with salt and pepper. Pour one tub of cream cheese right into a bowl, season and blend to loosen a bit of, including a splash of water (or milk, if in case you have some) to make a thick white-sauce consistency. Assemble the lasagne in a baking dish, approx 20 x 30cm. Pour roughly a 3rd of the tuna sauce into the underside of the dish, high with Four lasagne sheets, a 3rd of the cream cheese sauce, then repeat the layers twice extra. Scatter over some mozzarella and bake for 40 minutes till golden and effervescent.

15/ Gluten-free tuna fishcakes

Who doesn’t love a superb fishcake? Mix collectively: 1 tin of tuna, 200g mashed potatoes, 1 egg, 1 tbsp gluten-free flour of alternative (rice flour works nicely), Four finely chopped spring onions, 1 tbsp finely chopped contemporary parsley, salt and pepper to season. Form patties together with your arms. Coat the patties in some extra rice flour earlier than cooking gently in a pan with some olive oil. Yum!

16/ Tinned tuna poke bowls

Ah, we love a superb poke bowl! But we don’t at all times have entry to freshly caught tuna (like on this pic). You could make these the way in which you'll another good poke bowl. The base: steamed rice topped with crunchy, contemporary veggies, nuts (almond or macadamias), avocado, spring onions, sesame seeds, fruit… The secret is the great dressing! 1 tbsp sesame-seed oil + 2 tbsp tamari + Juice of 1 lime + Tiny drizzle honey blended collectively and drizzled over. Find extra scrumptious, wholesome seafood recipes here!

17/ Baked potato with tuna

I like a superb baked potato. In truth, candy potatoes baked entire are in all probability my favorite. Their skins caramelise so fantastically and inside it’s tender and simply practically candy. Top this sizzling child with some tinned tuna blended with a bit of mayo (or creme fraiche in the event you eat dairy) and a few chopped spring onions and dill. Add a squeeze of contemporary lemon to complete it off and also you’ve bought a cracking little meal!

18/ Tuna frittata

A fast and simple lunch for the entire household — you'll be able to pump this up with additional veggies like peppers and mushrooms. Yes, added vitamins for the win! Preheat oven to 180 levels Celsius. In an oven-proof skillet, sauté chopped spring onions in a bit of olive oil. Add your veggies (child spinach, courgettes, tomatoes). Sauté till mixed and wilted. Add one tin of tuna, drained. Whisk collectively 12 eggs and 1/2 cup soya milk (or cow’s milk) with a pinch every of salt and pepper (to style). Pour egg combine into massive skillet. Place within the oven and prepare dinner for 15 to 20 minutes, till eggs are cooked via. Garnish with chilli flakes, Peppadews and contemporary basil. READ MORE: This High-Protein Peanut Butter Breakfast Smoothie Will Make Your Morning

19/ Tuna Tacos

Now the trick right here is to mix the tinned tuna with some crimson onion, corn, tomatoes and chilli to make a spicy salsa to fill your tacos with. So, finely chop half a small crimson onion, combine with one tin drained tuna, one massive chopped tomato, about 1/2 cup corn kernels and one finely chopped chilli. Add the juice of 1 lime and a bit of olive oil and stir collectively. Now mash avocado with chopped coriander, lime juice and salt and pepper. Have some bitter cream on the aspect. Spoon your tuna filling into the corn tacos, add guacamole and a dot of bitter cream. Delish. I like serving my tacos with a bit of shredded butter lettuce for additional crunch and freshness. Imagine the beneath with tuna as a substitute of mince – a lot more energizing!

20/ Tuna, olive and rocket pizza

Home-made pizza evenings are nice! But you won't at all times have a great deal of toppings a hand… Enter that outdated devoted tin of tuna. Get your bases prepared, smeared with some tomato puree, and your oven sizzling at 200-220 levels Celsius. Top your tomato bases with shredded tuna, chopped black olives, capers (if in case you have) and mozzarella cheese. Bake till golden and melted and scrumptious. Serve with contemporary rocket and skinny slices of crimson onion. So yum! Want extra? We’ve bought you coated: all of your healthy recipes sorted. READ MORE ON: Food Food News Health Advice Nutrition Nutrition Advice Recipes !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s){if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function(){n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)};if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=;t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e);s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window, document,'script','https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '2162521310492989'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); Source link Read the full article

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Chapter 1 - Venus et Éclair

La Patisserie de la Rose by George deValier

CHAPTER ONE Venus et Éclair

It was a dull, grey morning as Matthew walked briskly down the dull, grey street. It was the ninth morning he had walked to work down this very street, every one the same, every one dull and grey. Matthew was used to being passed over and unnoticed, but in this new, huge city, he felt completely invisible. This place was too large and unfriendly: hundreds of people hurrying past with their eyes on the ground, practically identical in their grey suits with their grey expressions. Grey buildings lined both sides of the street; grey shops and businesses all blended together. And it seemed that every day the sky overhead was dark with the promise of rain. Matthew clenched his hand around his briefcase, clenched his teeth as the teeming crowd pushed past him unseeing. At least his little apartment was not far from his large office block, so this dull, grey, every-morning walk did not take long.

It was a good opportunity, they had said. A promotion to a new position in the big city. And Matthew had never been good at confrontation, so he had simply said thank you, packed up his dull little life, and moved across the country to become another number cruncher lost in a faceless company. He had been here two weeks now, but no one in his office even knew his name yet. He was pretty sure no one even knew what he did.

Matthew suddenly had to dodge out the way of a man not watching where he was going. Just as he fell against a shop wall to avoid a head-on collision, it began raining heavily. Matthew groaned to himself. This day was starting even better than usual.

Matthew put his briefcase over his head and began to look for cover. His eyes darted along the street, looking for an awning or a ledge or any kind of shelter from the pelting rain. And then, like a bright burst of colour exploding into this grey morning, his gaze fell on the most colourful little shop window he had ever seen. He took a few steps closer, fascinated. Variously shaped and coloured cakes and pastries sat arranged like an art exhibit on white-clothed tables and silver tiers: little fruit tarts, pies topped with berries, plates of red and pink iced biscuits, white dusted muffins, cupcakes of every colour of the rainbow. Matthew almost forgot the rain as he stared at the visual feast, his mouth starting to water, his eyes drinking in the explosion of colour. But he quickly began to shiver, realised the rain was soaking through his clothes, and darted into the shop.

A cheerful little bell announced his arrival as the warmth of the place engulfed Matthew immediately. Inside, the burst of colour was even more intense, along with the sweet, delightful scent of melted chocolate and baking bread. The nostalgic sound of Edith Piaf's unmistakable voice flowed softly through the shop; elegantly framed black and white photographs of Parisian landmarks decorated the walls. A glass counter ran across the back of the room, separating the front of the small shop – the word 'cosy' sprang to mind - from a little serving area behind. Matthew felt strangely comfortable in here; oddly at ease as he looked around at the side shelves of even more exquisitely lovely sweets and pastries. He had already eaten breakfast – pancakes with maple syrup and a café latte at 7am sharp, the same as every morning – but he felt suddenly famished.

"Bonjour, monsieur!" Matthew looked up at the voice. The man behind the counter blinked as Matthew turned, his eyes widened, and he looked Matthew up and down. "Well, bonjour!" he said again, emphasising the second part of the word, then leant forward on the counter and smiled brightly. He had wavy blond shoulder-length hair and slight facial stubble on his handsome face, and was dressed in jeans and a flour-dusted apron. And there was something about the way he smiled, the way he leant easily on the counter, the way his dancing blue eyes ran across Matthew's body – Matthew felt himself blushing red, without really knowing why.

"Bonjour," Matthew responded, somewhat hesitantly.

"Can I give you a… hand, by any chance?" Matthew had to pause and wonder whether the blond baker had actually meant it to sound like that. The man winked and Matthew's eyebrows shot up. Oh. He had.

"No, thank you. It's just…" Matthew looked down at himself, his suit dripping rain onto the floor. He was creating puddles all over the shop. "Well, it started raining, and I didn't want to get wet, but… well, it looks like I have anyway, doesn't it. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to drench your floor. I'll just go."

"No!" The man said it so sincerely that Matthew stopped immediately. "No, please," the man continued, softer. "Stay there one moment."

Matthew waited, a little unsure, as the baker disappeared out the back door. He reappeared a moment later with a white, fluffy towel in his hands, then walked through a gap in the counter by the wall and handed the towel to Matthew. Matthew smiled carefully as he took it.

"Thank you," said Matthew as he placed his briefcase down and dried his hair, feeling a little awkward at using this stranger's towel. Now that he was so close, Matthew could see that the baker stood at an equal height to his own, those dancing blue eyes still travelling up and down. He smelt like caramel and spun sugar. And why did he keep looking at him like that? Like he was almost amused, his eyebrows raised and his lips curled upwards.

"But not at all. You are on your way to work?" The man's voice was heavily accented. He could possibly be from Quebec, but something about him seemed undeniably French.

"Yes," replied Matthew. "Or I was, before the rain caught me."

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let me guess. The suit tells me… investment banker?"

Matthew exhaled sharply in amusement. "Close. Accountant."

The man wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Oh, I do apologise." Matthew rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. "But please, forgive my rudeness. My name is Francis. Welcome to La Patisserie de la Rose!" Francis held his hand out and Matthew took it in a firm handshake. Francis' hands were smooth with flour.

"Thank you. I'm Matthew." Matthew quickly found himself fascinated by those dancing blue eyes. Just what was going on here? This man certainly seemed interested in him. But then maybe he introduced himself to all his customers like this. "Your patisserie is… well, it's amazing. Do you make all these yourself?"

Francis nodded slightly, his expression pleased and proud. "Every one, my dear. I am an artiste, and these are my humble creations."

"They're incredible," said Matthew honestly, his eyes falling on a fully formed and intricately decorated gingerbread house, complete with marshmallow windows and liquorice latticework and even a chocolate chimney. "I can't believe I've never noticed this place before, and I walk past every day. Of course, I've only been in town two weeks." He realised too late that Francis had called him 'my dear' and felt just a little awkward again. But then, Francis seemed like the type of man who could get away with using endearments like that with virtual strangers. Or the type of man who simply didn't care.

"Two weeks, hmm? That makes sense. If you had been in before, I surely would have remembered."

No, he definitely seemed interested. Matthew had to wonder at the statement. He was not the type of person people remembered. He was not the type of person who was flirted with by complete strangers, either. Beneath the awkwardness and slight confusion, Matthew was also starting to feel strangely flattered.

"So exactly where on earth did you drop in from?" continued Francis easily.

"Just a little town up north. You wouldn't have heard of it… no one has. I must admit, I'm not used to a city this big."

"This is nothing to Paris, my dear." Francis pronounced it the French way, and Matthew nodded to himself. French – of course.

"Paris? I wondered about the accent."

Francis sighed dramatically. "Oui, Paris, the city of my heart, and where I perfected my trade."

Matthew looked over a little table display of exquisitely embellished red velvet cupcakes, then back at Francis with a tiny, uncertain smile. "You are very talented." Matthew wasn't sure if he was flirting back, and wasn't sure if he wanted to. It was definitely not something he was used to.

"You are too kind to say so. But my artwork is not just for looking, Mathieu. Tell me." Francis' blue eyes twinkled playfully. "How can I tempt you this morning?"

Matthew tightened his grip on the towel. How did Francis make those innocent words sound so – well – un-innocent? Matthew swallowed and stammered. He had quickly reached the limits of his flirting ability. "Uh… well, I don't really know…"

Francis smirked and beckoned him with a finger before walking back to the counter. Matthew followed, slightly dazed, his eyes travelling downwards of their own accord. The way Francis walked - the phrase 'sex on legs' immediately entered Matthew's mind, and he mentally slapped himself for thinking something so ridiculous. He placed the towel down on a stool by the counter. Francis reached into the glass cabinet, pulled out a tray of bite-sized desserts, and laid them on the counter. Matthew studied them closely. Perfectly smooth, round, white meringues topped with little red berry tips. Matthew gasped when he realised what they were. "Oh!"

"My own version of the famous Nipples of Venus," said Francis, grinning wickedly. "Or, if you prefer, I have these…" Francis reached again into the cabinet, bringing out another tray of unusually shaped desserts, and laid them beside the meringues with a flourish. Matthew recognised immediately what these were. The miniature log éclairs had two little chocolate orbs attached at one end, and a darkened little sculpted end at the other.

"Oh!" said Matthew again, feeling his cheeks burn bright red. He had to stop himself putting a hand to his mouth, determined not to look like some sort of blushing schoolgirl. What sort of man made pastries like these? He forced himself to look directly at Francis. "Please tell me they're not cream-filled."

Francis laughed lightly, then gestured dramatically over the two trays. "So, Mathieu. Which do you prefer?"

Matthew's eyes went wide and his mouth almost fell open. Surely, he couldn't be asking… Francis winked. Oh. He was asking. The room felt suddenly very hot, despite Matthew's wet clothes. Well. This was one way to ask a sensitive question… Matthew took a deep breath, told himself to man up, and very deliberately reached out and picked up one of the little éclairs. Francis' grin widened. He looked positively thrilled. Matthew suddenly did not know what to do with his hands, with his eyes. Francis looked pointedly at the éclair in Matthew's hand and inclined his head slightly.

"Please. Tell me what you think."

And now came the dilemma of actually eating a pastry shaped like a penis in front of a man he'd just met. Matthew wasn't quite sure if there was a correct manner to do such a thing. But he certainly wasn't about to back down now, so he just met Francis' gaze evenly, and placed the éclair in his mouth. And then he forgot to feel awkward, or embarrassed, or any of it. Because this was the most amazing thing he had ever tasted. The hard chocolate layer cracked between his teeth and gave way to a silky, white chocolate centre that melted on his tongue. The contrast of textures played on his senses, the touch and smell and incredible taste of it; the brief richness of dark cocoa, the sweet burst of flavoured cream, the lingering lightness of sugar-dusted pastry. Matthew couldn't stop his eyes fluttering closed, the final taste like an explosion on his taste buds, and he swallowed almost regretfully. His fingers lingered on his mouth and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, wow."

Francis laughed breathily and Matthew's eyes flew open. "Was it good for you?" asked Francis, his eyes slightly lowered, his cheeks just the tiniest bit darker.

"Wow," said Matthew again, unthinkingly. He had never tasted anything like that in his life. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Francis looked quite self-satisfied. "I hear that a lot."

Matthew dropped his hand and laughed shakily. What a completely embarrassing, new, strange, amazing situation. "Uh, I mean... I'll take a dozen."

Francis shook his head and folded his arms. "No."

Matthew blinked his wide eyes, taken aback. "No?"

"No. I could not stand to have you make such a display without me there to watch. It would be a betrayal, darling." Matthew raised an eyebrow. Darling, now? "If you want more…" Francis' expression twisted deviously, "You'll just have to come back." Matthew wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or just really annoyed. He glanced back down at the plate of pastries, but Francis took it away and placed it back under the glass. "Uh-uh. I think I shall allow you… one a day, yes?"

"You can't do that!" said Matthew indignantly.

Francis smirked. "Oh, but I can, dear Mathieu. After all, I need some assurance that you will return to me, don't I?"

Despite his annoyance, Matthew felt a warm glow in his chest. Francis must really be interested in him to go to such elaborate lengths to see him again. Matthew studied the baker closely: his alluring smile and teasing expression, the seductive way he leant against the counter and gazed with heavy lidded eyes. Matthew realised that he wanted to see Francis again, too. He had never met anyone so brazen, so… intriguing. Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes in surrender. Francis grinned in triumph. "Fine. But it's terrible customer service. What do I owe you?" Francis frowned, and Matthew knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. He began to stammer an apology, but Francis just shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Ever the accountant, no? Please, Mathieu." Francis placed a hand to his chest. "All I require in payment is the great pleasure of your company."

At the mention of his work, Matthew suddenly gasped. Oh, he had gotten so carried away… "Oh, no! I'm going to be late!"

"And such perfect timing. It has stopped raining."

Matthew jumped up and rushed for his briefcase. He looked out the window at the clearing skies and saw that Francis was right. "I'm so sorry, I have to dash! Oh no, and I've already been late twice this week… Um, thank you, Francis, and it was nice to meet you, and…" He turned back to see Francis resting his chin on his hand, smiling at him softly. Matthew immediately forgot the rest of his panicked rant.

"Tomorrow, yes? Until then." Francis waved his fingers lightly. "Au revoir, mon cher."

Matthew bit his lip, then smiled across the charming, bright little shop at the bold, captivating French baker. "Yes," he replied, nodding. "Tomorrow."

Matthew stepped out of the patisserie and, before taking off again down the street, glanced back at the door he had just walked out of. There was an intricate red rose carved into the wood. The entire patisserie was more like something from an enchanting little Parisian alley than this grey, industrial street where all the buildings looked the same and no one looked you in the eye. And yet, now, the dull, grey world seemed just a little bit brighter. Matthew spent the rest of the day thinking of Francis, of visiting the little patisserie again tomorrow. And Matthew realised, that for the first time in weeks, he was actually looking forward to something.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#george devalier #la patisserie de la rose #la patisserie de la rose chapter 1

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welcometohetaliahell · 6 years ago

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Their scents/natural smell

*just an f.y.i these are all my personal headcanons and I chose to describe them versus using a couple of words for no reason other than I wanted to. Also, there are characters like Sealand, Seychelles, Liechtenstein, and Moldova missing because in my mind they are babies and it would just be weird for me.

The America’s

America: His scent changes depending on where he’s coming from in the U.S., one day he could have of a pine tree scent, to him or motor oil, but generally his cologne is very metallic but underneath that is Evergreen mixed with a faint scent of gunpowder.

Canada: This may seem stereotypical, but he smells sweet, like sugary donut pancake sweet, but that’s mixed with that crisp, fresh, winter air that comes like a week after it snows, thick, rich wood, and coffee.

Mexico: Her scent changes based on the seasons, or in general the time of year. During the fall/winter months for the U.S. (September to March) her scent is very subtle and maybe a little dry, not like dusty, but she just smells clean and plain. But during the warmer months is when her scent can be a little overbearing. It’s hot and salty because of the heat but very fruity and sweet, it doesn’t come off as a perfume but rather like she’s eaten a bunch of fruits in one go or had been picking them.

Cuba: He overwhelmingly smells like motor oil, but not in a bad way, like it’s mixed with sweat because I think in some ways he’s had to learn to love fixing up old cars because of his countries situation. But it’s also mixed with salt water and sand with just a hint of cigar smoke underneath.

Europe

Britain: Britain’s changes based on the weather. If it’s raining that is the main scent with a mix of smog and motor oil. But if it’s just overcast he still smells like dim weather because it’s so common, but it’s mixed with pipe-smoke, or canon smoke, and old books.

France: This man smell’s like roses like he just does. But he doesn’t smell like the same rose, there’s always something different that may hint at specific color or type of rose, hell maybe where it was grown. He also smells like cheese, which is weird I know, but like really good cheese that when you smell it you just want a cracker with maybe a piece of ham or something and gobble it up. But underneath all that is like old grime, like old metal building grime, and sweat mainly from around the time of the industrialization of Europe and America i.e. the building of the Eifel Tower and the Statue of Liberty.

Russia: Now like Canada he also smells like winter, but he smells like that impending snowstorm, cold winter weather that almost leaves a taste in your mouth though he burns like a furnace. I also think he smells like old brick or masonry in general. Like an old brick building that hasn’t had a fire blazing inside in a very long time.

Germany: While I want to say he smells like a beer, which he does, but that’s not his main scent. He mainly smells like the top lining on a drum kit, not the old animal hides they used to use, that has gone through a few 6+ hour long practices with a broken stick or two. Now underneath that is the beer smell, but it’s mixed with sweat and motor oil but not only does he like working out he also likes working, mainly on cars, but every once in a while a hint of wood or fire will come through.

Italy: This boy smells like a chefs kitchen, a mix of a lot of things that sometimes makes your nose itch and you wonder what the hell is cooking. But he also smells like oil paint and canvas and marble because like Germany he likes to create, just more Bob Ross and less Rudolf Diesel.

Southern Italy: This boy like a vineyard, and I know you’ll be asking why Italy or France don’t smell like that, and idk but this boy smells like he spends every morning standing in the middle of the vineyard where the wind can pass right through him and that’s his cologne. But he also smells like shoe polish and fresh, baked bread.

Spain: This man smells like a lot of various things and changes constantly. The most prominent thing he smells like is seafood, like battered and fried seafood with an undertone of salt. But other times he’ll smell very sweet still with that undertone of salt.

Scotland: This man smells old, but not like the same old that China smells, but more like a castle – masonry old. And he obviously smells like smoke/nicotine because he smokes but it’s not seeped into his clothes its right around his head/neck area and everywhere else just smells like old linen. Like something you haven’t worn in a few months that’s been hanging in your closet clean but maybe you should’ve shaken it before you put it on.

Poland: So, if you catch him when he wakes up in between showers he’ll smell spicy actually with like an undertone of rugged wilderness, like plain grass and wheat, and water. But he really likes the flowery smells of perfume so he’ll wear those a lot though he is conscious of the impact it can have on other people, so he never wears too much and he tries to go for the more shuttle scents like flowers over things like cotton candy or berry because those are really pungent.

Lithuanian: He smells like the woods, like dead-ass middle of nowhere moss covering everything woods mixed with fresh water and sometimes things like berries with a rugged undertone of dirt and evergreen that was pushed into his scent all the time's wolves would just tackle and love all over him. During the winter his scent can get very stuffy and plain, like what happens to a house when it’s being lived in but not, yet it’s surrounded by the cold.

Latvia: This is gonna sound odd, but he smells like ham, potatoes, and alcohol. Like most of the time, he smells very plain and nothing really sticks out so sometimes he’ll wear cologne but when it’s colder out and he’s stuck inside and everything he smells like ham, potatoes, and alcohol.

Estonia: This man smells like an office/server room. It’s really clean but cold with a metallic undertone. But he also smells really fresh after he’s left the office and showered – like fresh berries and other fruits. Sometimes he’ll smell more like potatoes and meat but that’s mostly when in the winter when the fresh fruits and all can’t be picked. There are also some earthy undertones to his scent that come out during the winter.

Austria: He smells like old sheet music, or just like old paper in general. That kinda dusty but intriguing smell you get from a really old document or book. There’s also a layer of coffee, fried bread, and evergreen. He sometimes wear a sharp cologne if he’s going out or something and he doesn’t use any super flowery shampoo or anything in the shower so most of the time he smells like old books and food – might made you hungry.

Switzerland: He can also sometimes smell like cheese, but again the good kind of cheese that you wanna eat. But he also smells like really clean, crisp water with an undertone on evergreen and metal. He’ll sometimes smell sweet and other times he’ll smell like beer but those come out depending on what he’s eaten or whenever he showered last.

Netherlands: This man is a blend of tulips, chocolate, and pipe smoke. On is always more dominant than the either and kinda gives away his mood. Sometimes he’ll have a woody-fury undertone to him from the time he's spent outside with rabbits. The heavy smoke smell typically gives away that he’s stressed or maybe even mad. The chocolate says that he’s been with his sister and could be in a good mood if it was just them, but it can also be a sign that he’s trying to relax and it’s not working. The tulip smell says that he’s suuuuuper happy and relaxed and that you could go and talk to him and he's chill. Mostly on the weekends.

Belgium: She smells like chocolate, chocolate, and flowers but with undertones of a vegetable garden and fresh air. She doesn’t really wear any perfume and doesn’t use super pungent shampoos and lotions. She mostly smells sweet but occasionally there will be this metallic, salty sea air undertone that comes out especially when she’s sweating that’ll remind that his women will kick your ass if she needs to.

Belarus: She smells very metallic but also sweet, like sucker sweet with while you have a tongue or lip piercing. Her cold undertone is the cold air that you breathe in super deep to fill your lung and try to relax, maybe the kinda cold that fills you before you start running outside or hiking.

Ukraine: She smells like wheat, but not like gross wheat but like the standing in the middle of the field kinda wheat smell that is where you’d wanna take a super aesthetic photo those it’s kinda itchy as hell. She also smells like flower, as in cooking flower, because I picture her as liking to bake and yeah. Her undertone is cold, but like the cold of seeing your breath, the also sweet cold that doesn’t hurt at first but if you stay out in it you’ll nose will hurt.

Nordics

Iceland: Because he is an island with volcano’s he smells like molten rock mixed with cold seawater but with an undertone of grass. It’s very inviting and warm to smell, no sulfur unless there was a recent eruption and then he reeks of it but also sweats and he’s in a lot of pain and a cloud of smoke almost lingers around him until everything is calmed down.

Norway: This man smells like Evergreen/Pine trees and cold water with clean linens that weren’t washed with anything scented. But he can smell like chocolate, beer, and pancake mix with just a hint of pipe-smoke. (*this is coming from personal experience in Norway and this is what I remember smelling*)

Finland: I wanna say he smells like Christmas, but he’s Finland and so his Christmas is different from mine, but I will say it’s a good bet that he smells like sugar cookies and maybe wrapping paper, like that smell that lingers after you’ve cut it a bunch in the same room. Like Russia, Norway, Canada, and the rest of the colder nations he too smells cold, but he smells like snow cold, like a gentle flurry that you’d take aesthetic photos in kinda snow. But I think he has undertones of gunpowder and metal.

Denmark: This man smells like a bonfire, and I don’t really know why, but he smells like a bonfire mixed with sea water and fresh brew booze. It’s very welcoming and it almost gives you energy and makes you want to stay there a socialize with him and maybe drink and cause some trouble but that’s your decision. Unless it’s the dead of winter he doesn’t smell as cold as say Russia or Canada, but if there’s a bad storm that bonfire smell with mix well with the cold and will make you want to curl up and nap with him.

Sweden: This man smells like a wood workshop, sometimes he smells like more fresh cut wood and others he smells like wood sealer and sawdust. Again, like the others, he smells like the cold but it’s not a pungent as some of the others like you’d have to be hugging him for a while to notice it versus Russia where you’d immediately notice it especially during winter. There are some undertones of sea water and motor oil/exhaust but like the cold, you’ll have to be hugging him to notice or he just took a shower and then those are more present.

Asia

China: So like Scotland, he smells old but a different kind of old, like old wood and paper. Liked like a house that hasn’t had anyone in it for a long time but it’s not rotting or anything. But on a bad day, i.e. bad weather and such, he heavily smells like smog and he desperately tries to cover it up if he gets out of bed and has to leave the house. But he tries to purposely smell clean like fresh linen’s just washed or a sparkling clean house though in his young years i.e. Silk Road and all he heavily began to smell like opium. But he always has an undertone of warm tea.

Japan: This man smells like ink mixed with paper, and it shows on the tips of his fingers. This mainly comes from the hours he spends reading and writing various mangas and stories. But he also smells like pillow packing feathers, you know that ones that’ll stab from the inside of the pillow lining but smell great and are super fluffy. There’s also so undertones of fire embers and cats.

South Korea: His smell changes like some of the others, but its equally based on where he is and the weather. If he’s coming from Seoul he can smell like a busy street and a blend of people but if it’s raining it turns into motor oil and maybe a warm bowl of ramen. If he’s coming from somewhere like Daegu or Busan he may smell more like street food or more like the water.

India: This man smells like spice, which does seem stereotypical, but he also smells like rain and really rich tea. But it’s all brought together with a really clean, linen smell with just hint of metallic undertones. His smell is also really bright and even fruity almost or flowery with undertones of like massage oil or something.

Ottoman Family

Turkey: This man smells like olive oil, I know kinda weird, but the trees grow abundantly in the western part of the country and its used in the food. But she also can sometimes smell like fish but also sometimes just smell like the water, it kinda depends on what he eats and the weather. He has a smoke and sweetness undertone – like chocolate and maybe opium(?). He’ll also sometimes smell like mud and sweat but again it depends on the time of year and what he’s been doing.

Greece: I’m gonna say it, this man smells like cats but not like cat shit or litter, just cats. That soft, fluffy, warm feeling you have when you first interact with a cat before you realize how weird they kinda smell. But he too smells old in a way, but his old smell is like colosseum old smell – marble, stone, a bit dusty but doesn’t irritate your nose. Like it’s not dirty, just it’s been here for a while kinda old. There’s also a big undertone of sea water and linen but like none processed linen so like it’s being made into something linen not ‘oh this is a shirt or sheet’ kinda linen.

Egypt: Another one that smells old but this old can be the kind that irritates your nose because his old is the old of a place that was sealed away and not messed with for a long time for good reason kinda old. But he also smells like fruit and vegetables, nothing specific but like he smells fresh and natural (?) with a mix of fresh water.

Hungary: She smells like metal, shiny, heavy metal mixed with dirt and sweat because she’s a badass woman who fought but also, mainly because of her time with turkey, she smells a bit like hay, spice, and smoke. Though all of his doesn’t come out unless she’s either a) working out or b) just woke up because she likes to uses a lot of flower-scented products but doesn’t wear perfume.

Other

Prussia: He smells more like beer than his brother but like Hungary, he has an old metal and grime smell to him from years of fighting and wearing armor. He also smells like paper because for a long time, especially with Fitz, he played music and when he could sleep he would study it but also it’s from all his writing and home many times he’s sat down a read over his journals. I also think he probably smells slightly like smoke but no particular scent to it like bonfire or nicotine, he just sometimes smells like smoke.

Australia: This man is a bit all over the place. Mainly he smells a bit dry or clay-like, but it’ll mix with salt water and sand and sometimes it’ll turn really muddy and wet. I could compare it to a wet dog smell but its not gross he just very much resembles his environment and so it changes but in general his smell can be relaxing if you’re asking for a hug but if he throws his arm around smiling really wide that smell will likely give away the fact that he’s gonna drag you off to do something adventurous and potentially dangerous.

New Zealand: They smell like grass, but not like fresh cut grass or brittle dying grass, just tall, thick, plain grass with a mix of saltwater air and mountain top cold, but this last one changes depending on where they are because they could also smell a bit dry/sandy. They also smell sweet, but not like chocolate or sugar sweet, just sweet like you a few houses down from a bakery kinda sweet.

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